High Tithe For A Bad Joke...

True story around Christmas, 2009.  This is part of what happened after the Special Olympics story.  As of today 2/3/12, Mom and I have probably said 20 sentences to each other, and she sat in the car while Dad watched me play one night in SF.
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Been a year since the Presidential Election and when I said something silly and tacky to my church-loving, political-groupie Mom back home and am still paying for it.  Make a bad joke, pay the tithe…

In a nutshell, around last election, Mom and I were chatting when things got derailed, and this is as “word-for-word-y” as I can remember:
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So Mom starts talking about how my Dad really has it for Sarah Palin, the politician...  "Yeah, your father thinks she's a hot tamale, and I guess her nickname he says is 'Caribou Barbie'."

I said surprised, "REALLY!? Beyond me - I don't see it, but that's funny. No way I'd ever vote for her."

Mom stammered, "OK, Kar – uhh, how'd you come to that conclusion?"

"She had a retarded baby, and..."

"Jesus, KARYN, for Christ's sake!!! Sometimes you make me...", she interrupted.

"MOM!!!  Whoa, whoa, whoa - just shush up a sec - I didn't finish.  If you would have LISTENED instead of jumping on me, I was saying she had a retarded baby then named it Trig - like math..."

Long, long pregnant pause…  "I know what Trig is Karyn. I just don't understand why you're so cruel."

"Cruel??  How???  It's not a matter of cruel; it's a matter of judgement Mom. I'm not trying to be mean, but naming your retarded baby Trig is like naming a blind baby 'Colors' - I just don't think it was the best choice of..."

"You make me sick..."

And "boom went the dynamite"...  SLAM!!!
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OK, not the first time - but every call back got me an earful of slam.  While that was new and kinda amusing, she upped the ante significantly by having someone high up in our church back home (and a good family friend) send me an e-mail asking if I would "make use of free counseling" if they could arrange it for me here in San Francisco.

What the fuck?  I didn’t know whether to LOL or ROFL - counseling?  Me???  For that tacky observation / bad joke?  Had to bite my lip to resist the temptation to fire back: "Wonderful, maybe I could work through some issues I’m carrying from overly flirtatious elderly priests ogling me as a volunteer teen way back when." But that truth would be in bad taste, so I didn't.

Called and met with my California contact in the interest of keeping family peace.  The first time we met I felt as out of place as a penis at Lillith Fair.  Father was nice - think soft-spoken, anorexic Santa, probably 70’s?  Reminded me my Church attendance had gone from 2x weekly when I was a kid to ZERO in almost 2 years.  Threw back in my face I’d once considered making the Church my life (in fairness, I was 7 and also thought nuns flew back then).  Went on to inform me I had let down several people, including myself (unbeknownst to even me) and seemed aimless in life.  This total stranger - only knew of me from people back home, after 20 minutes, came to those conclusions!  Ahhhh, that’s why it’s been 2 years and counting...

Opens a manila folder full of papers bright with yellow highlights.  Adjusts his glasses and asks very 60 Minutes-like, “Did you write ‘a chubby rudder on the good ship Tards and Stripes’ about a mentally-disabled man having an erection to your Mother?”  He looked confused on the word “Tards” - did I spell it right?  Oh my freakin' God…  I wanted to die – she’s actually sent him the various postings I’ve done for a goof and forwarded to her.

Red-faced, I explained kinda, but not to her directly – posted it on a sports-like forum and forwarded it to her thinking she might get a laugh.  “Father, I helped at the Special Olympics - a swimmer in a Speedo had a gigantic bon... - ugh, and a rudder steers a boat, and a chubby is another word… nevermind – guess you had to be there.  I didn’t intend it to be mean, just wrote what I saw.”

So, for this past year, I’ve humored them with their little “exorcysm” by going to mass and meetings with advisors weekly.  We’ve talked about making fun of the “less fortunate”, importance of family and reconnecting with the Church.  To repay them for their mandatory wisdom, I've made up more shit to see them cringe than I ever thought I was capable of...  least I could do!  Wish I had no moral compass and would do all the things we talk about!  Of course I've never really held a horse's huge penis and shouted "Say hello to my leeetle friend!" to make my little sister's friends scream.  Wait, once on a bet, bad example - but I'd openly question if God thinks we are sooo stupid that he had to make shit really stink to help us discern it from food.  And that didn't even work on dogs...  You know - important issues - and they'd sit and take notes...

Did it for the blank stares, the open mouths, the brows coming together in worry, but really my own amusement to keep me sane.  Seen more head-shaking than Michael J. Fox’s wife ever will, heard elderly men of the cloth say words surely they've only whispered to face-down altar boys, and endured their goddamn eternal lectures – all while while swallowing the real loathing I feel for the Church these days.  Guess I’m healed!?  Fast forward to today:

Feeling awful and guilty about all this blowing up into a huge deal, I called Mom a couple weeks back asking if I should come home for Christmas or fill in guitar work in Las Vegas again.  “The latter” was her entire reply.  OK.  So, I’ve learned not to discuss politics with my parents, math terms and babies’ names don’t mix (bummer, had my heart so set on Kotangynt Rose), and Sarah Pahlin is responsible for destroying American families - starting in the heartland!

Seriously, think I've learned you can never really go home again, there's a way-high tithe to pay for family peace when you gore someone’s sacred political ox, and not even a year dulls that mother-fucking razor’s edge of Catholic guilt. Oh well...

Merry Christmas!!! See ya in Vegas!

Sister Karyn Rose

Why I Can't Stand Women Co-workers...

Aug 27, 2010 15:35:20

Horribly mean, but it was "Arts & Crafts Week at Panty Camp" and this is what happens to me.  Have thrown rocks at squirrels, prayed people dead, screamed at strangers and even been in fights during this oh-so-glorious week of womanhood - NONE of which I'd think of doing normally as quite possibly the sweetest, most thoughtful, caring girl you'll ever meet...
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Fuck me purple and sideways, never been more furious in my goddamn life!!!  Wanna know why I have WAY more guy friends than girlfriends?  Because women are catty, gossipy, jealous, back-stabbing bitches who are way too emotional for me to deal with...  Usually not a concern at work - software company where it's 90% guys - dorks, but at least guys.  Only 6 women here including me, but more shit happens because of them than the entire company combined.  Misery really does love company, and today I was stupidly company...

Usually go to lunch with the guys or alone, but the girls invited me to Fuddrucker's, so I went.  Had a 1/2 lb. burger, fries with melted cheese, vanilla shake and a brownie - happens when I'm clogging Molly - early surprise of the week - yay fuckin' me...  Pigged out, but mind you, I ran a half-marathon couple of weekends ago, hit gym every other day, and am in better shape than in college.  The girls (all aged from 35 to 55) were teasing me for being able to eat a ton and and stay slim, and the conversation turned to diets and exercise and all.

This one particular aisle-blocker I don't like because she's a fucking head-case drama-queen told the group she is "struggling with bulimia" and has been for years.  Held my tongue but wanted to jump on the table, kick her heaping plate in her round face, and point my finger at her screaming "Bulimia?  You're fucking up bulimia?  How?  Eat, vomit, repeat.  You're damn near defensive-line big, and you 'struggle' with bulimia?  You have got to be biggest double loser in the world if you can't even do bulimia right!  If you could, you'd at least be skinny"...

But I didn't because I'm a nice person and didn't want to hurt her feelings.  But I did think it was oddly funny / weird and mentioned it to one of the girls after lunch where we both had a pretty good laugh.  Less than an hour later I'm staring at said horizontally-tall, fucking failure bulimic in my office - door closed crying because it got back to her what I said...

Oh my freakin' God...  Didn't know what to say and had no treats to throw in the hall she maybe would chase after, so I tried to explain just how I thought it was funny to be a overweight bulimic - like a slutty nun, talented boy band or funny Louie Anderson - just didn't seem to go together...  Blah blah blah, teased childhood, non-athletic, no prom, never popular, cried, cheated on, cats, unhappy, cooking, you'll never understand, eat to mask misery, makes herself sick, blah blah blah.  Holy shit, I'd rather be in Church or listen Fran Drescher read the goddamn Federal budget than be there right then - and it went on and on and on and fucking on.  

So I apologized and finally did the right thing - lied to her.  Told her how pretty and fun she was - how people really like and respect her, and she just underestimates herself - that's the real problem!!!  She wanted to believe it so much, she swallowed it (shocker) hook, line and sinker.  She left after a long fake hug and promise to "hang out more - get to know each other better".

And what do I get for my incredibly nice effort?  She's come by my office a million times, forwarded me e-mail jokes toddlers would say were stupid, and wants to know what I'm doing this weekend - "maybe we could go do something"...

This is EXACTLY why I don't like women co-workers!  Now I'm beyond furious at the woman I like who told the house cow what I said, AND I have this zaftig zero I hate all over me, making my day unbearable.  This simply does not happen with guy co-workers at lunch where maybe I put up with shitty table manners and funny Seven of  Nine vs. Troi "in the sack" debate.  I'll take my nerds any day over bitchy two-faced women co-workers...

Karyn

Why I'm Going To Hell, Vol. 1 - Special Olympics

Wish this post from years ago hadn't happened, but it did.  Stop right here if you're offended by words - don't mean to shock or offend.  Was kicked out of an online forum, subjected to "Church counseling", and shunned by my Mom like an Amish electrician for posting this...  Really a reflection of my own insecurity and immaturity, not meant to disparage any of the people...
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I've volunteered (and still do) at a Children’s Hospital, coached tennis camps for underprivileged children, donated over 4 feet of hair to Locks of Love, gave blood regularly, and played guitar in Sunday church services for more Sundays than not.  Virtuous bragging?  Not at all; truth is I’m scrambling like a fat tourist in Pamplona - for heaven points.  See, I’m going to Hell for something I did with the all the best of intentions...

Upon moving to California from Indiana, sorority girlfriends approached me about being a "hugger" at a Bay Area Special Olympics event.  I should have stopped there - never really been the touch-feely type unless I know you.  My nicknames growing up were "Ice Princess" & "Iron Maiden".  Plus, I’d never been around retarded (or special needs or handi-capable or whatever makes you feel better) children before, but my heart kinda smiled thinking how touching this might be.

So on a gorgeous Saturday I drove to the hosting school, got my super-cool free shirt, and was ready to hug away at the Track & Field event.  Was a little late, so they directed me to help get athletes into the starting blocks for the 200m, then I’d beeline it to the finish line in time to hug my runner.  Didn't know they weren't divided into age groups, because I got a really fragrant Hedo Turkoglu look-alike guessing in his 40’s (?) going against younger runners.  He mentioned to me his shoes ran fast today.  Cute...  Others in our prelim had unique starting styles: One stood fists-clenched with thumbs in, one imitated a bull scratching the track with his right foot about, one was turned towards me staring, one fire-hydrant meets man-child went with a 3-point lineman stance, and Hedo used blocks - but almost in a yoga pose his butt was so high.

Starting pistol raised, fists-clenched became ears-clenched, and every tongue in the field came out.  “On your mark... get set... BANG!!!!”  And that’s the millisecond it happened – I swear to God things went Matrix-slow motion and absolutely spiraled downhill for me faster than JFK Jr's Cessna …

Fists-clenched didn't run, rather cowered at the pistol’s blast.  Bull guy got caught with his foot at the end of his bull-stroke, slipped, righted his bovine self, then decided the outside lane was the way to go today.  I accidentally cracked a smile – nobody wins in that lane!  Started laughing in playful desperation to get him to stay in his lane.  Fire hydrant had been eyeing the finish line from the beginning and bolted right across the infield straight through the long jump pit.  His sand rooster-tail and glance back to proudly see it made my laugh grow exponentially.  My Turkoglu-twin’s legs fired, but hands cemented as he practically somersaulted and did the first couple meters handstand until his feet came down.  When they did hit the track, he let out THE most awesome tire squeal and proceeded to run down the track making race car noises.  I dropped to one knee from really breaking up now, but when he audibly shifted gears about the 10 meter mark, I was starting to come undone...  Had hiccups and was light-headed by 8th gear, but had to get into hugging position and started jogging after fire hydrant with my face covered laughing.

As I neared the finish line, it became pretty obvious everyone must have missed the whole "tard scatter" at the start, because not one person was laughing with me.  They had seen my “deliriously drunk with laughter” serpentine jog back, and I found myself drowning in a glaring mix of disgust/shock/anger.  Race finishes, everyone yells “I WON!!”, even fists-clenched from clear on the other side of the oval.  Was about to hug my sore-throated Heed Racer, when I was pulled aside and read the goddamn riot act through gritted grey teeth by a woman not 3 minutes removed from being the sweetest grandmother-type ever to hug a 15-gear Olympian.  Holy shit was she mad - not just angry mad, but possessed mad.  I apologized profusely, was asked to compose myself and go hand out towels at the “Aquatics” event.

Never been more ashamed of myself in my life seriously - feel horrible and would give anything if I could NOT laugh.  My reputation made it to the pool before I did, because one very angry mother-hugger shoved folded towels at me, asking me to grow up.  Quick look around – pretty sure I heard God laugh at me when it hit me I’m surrounded by Special Olympians in bikinis, nose clips, floaties, ill-fitting Speedos and SpongeBob towels.  Oh Christ, no...  As the next race is about to begin, a Dirk Nowitzki-looking swimmer bumps me as he climbs on the swimming block ready to go.  And boy, was he ready to go…  An American flag pair of speedos with a raging erection.  A chubby rudder on the good ship "Tards & Stripes” if you will.

My face gets red, shoulders start bouncing, and throat closes as I’m trying my best to not laugh – God, please don’t let me laugh.  Takes his right index finger & middle finger, makes a little man out of it, and his “little Greg Lou-penis” finger-pranced down the erection springboard and bounced a couple of times on the end.  Buried my face in the towels and absolutely fucking howled.  It physically hurt - got scared because I couldn't breathe.  Only one wide-eyed little girl in the audience besides me notices and is laughing as well, while everyone else is pretending not to see any of this.  How can you NOT see this - look!!!  It's the funniest goddamn thing I've ever seen - look you people!!!  Race starts - equal mix of dives, cannonballs, stares and belly-flops.  Angry mother-hugger sees me face down in towels, thanks me for my time and asks me to leave the grounds.  Tried to apologize all choked up but voice cracked like Carl Lewis attempting the Star-Spangled Banner.  She says something over her volunteer walkie-talkie, and I'm walked back to the parking lot borderline crying.

Sat in my Jeep, took a deep breath and cried pretty hard.  Seriously questioning what exactly the fuck is wrong with me?  I have never ever been kicked out of anything, sent to the office, or even pulled over by a cop in my life – but blackballed from hugging?  As I’m ready to leave ashamed, wiping my tears and knowing full well this will go on my permanent moral record, I started to smile and laugh again - not to be mean, but holy shit - it WAS funny.  Will never know why, but I turned off the Jeep, got changed out of my super-cool free shirt, grabbed sunglasses and a ball cap, tucked ponytail in, found a laughing towel on floor and went back to watch  - hidden in the obscurity of the way back of the track bleachers. Stayed the entire day event-hopping until my abs were killing me by sundown.  Easily in the Top 5 days of my life for laughing, I’m an awful person for it, regret it big time, and well aware I’m going to Hell as a result unless I can reel in more Heaven points. 

That's why I keep trying so hard...

Karyn

P.S. That next day's gymnastics made this Saturday look like a funeral. Permanent in my Top 3 days...

All That Glitters...

Painfully true.  Posted many Halloweens ago...
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Halloween always brings out the practical jokes and pranks in me, and almost every practical joke I do ends with a scream of "Fuckin' Karyn!!!"  I’m a Sharpie virtuoso on the canvas of my passed-out friends, and I simply can’t resist the urge to hide your car, fuck up your computer or scare the shit out of you to tears if given the opportunity.  What goes around really does come around, so here’s what happened when it came around on me.  Occurred many years ago, but every time I visit home, this comes up and likely has been told to everyone who has ever come in contact with me.

My little sister Kaitlyn is a couple of years younger, and in high school was the cheerleader who partied probably too much.  I caught her drunk with a bunch of MY friends racing their cars once and told my parents.  They sentenced her to home restriction for 2 months, which comes out to about 4 years in social cheerleader time. Scorned woman?  Pffftttt... hell hath no fury like a grounded cheerleader.

During my senior year, Mom scheduled my “yearly girl visit” with our female doctor for after school.  She is a wonderful, thoughtful older doctor, and she’s also very “man-ny”.  Not as in Ramirez or Pacquiao, more like if Herman Munster, Popeye Jones, and Rachel Dratch all chipped in on one baby.  I race home from volleyball practice to see my sister and her pony-tailed, skirted minions making school spirit posters and get a chorus of “You suck Kar”, “We SO hate you”, “You are like the worst sister EVER” from the bobble-heads.  Their thank you getting Katie grounded.  Expected, so I run upstairs and shower.

In the face of a killer Indiana tornado, my Mom would rather see me die in clean panties than survive in marginally dirty ones.  I grew up with her laying out my underwear literally every day, every event, and every appointment.  Rarely saw any pair hit double digits worn, as she rotated panties like baseball players through Alyssa Milano.  So it was again today; grabbed her brand-new white selection, got dressed and bolted downstairs.  Mom drove, and I told her on the way over I wanted to be in there by myself this time.  Something just isn't right with having your Mom there while the exam is going on, and I’m going to have to go alone eventually.  She said “Fine”, and asked what Kaitlyn meant by yelling “Go get some girl!!!” on our way out.  No clue, still angry?

Say our hellos, Mom waits outside, and I quickly change into that sheet masquerading as a gown.  Questions, checkup stuff and during the breast exam, she laughs and says “Oh to be 17 again...”  Hhhmmm, what the hell does that mean?  Nervous laughter...  Let it go and now we get to the part I hate worse than even musicians using auto-tune.  Quickly jump into the stirrups, using the given sheet like the Berlin Wall to separate me from whatever is going on down there.  She wheels her way on a little squeaky stool towards my Southern Belle and gets ready.  I’m desperately trying to think of ANYTHING except what’s happening on that end of my Mason / Dixon line.  And right when it’s about to start, I hear words that haunt me to this day:

“Ohhh, how cuuuuuute…”

<<What the fuck?  Oh my freakin' God…  Did she say “How cute????”>>

Can feel my face blush and get really hot.  Do I ask her what she said?  Is that some normal doctor / baby-cannon greeting I missed last time?  Is she expecting a response – mine doesn’t talk yet.  Certainly I heard wrong...  Well, I came back with my worthless standard answer for when I don’t understand someone, “Yeah, hehehehe...”  So instead of blocking out ANYTHING happening down there, EVERYTHING just got magnified tenfold.  Every touch, every pressure, every stroke, every movement – I’m dying and wondering if I’m getting some kinda special “how cute, how do like it without your Mom here” exam.  Christ, I might be having my first girl / girl thing and not even know it.  She’s mumbling as well, and I’m desperately trying to catch something audible to contextually hang “how cute” on…  Maybe I’m just paranoid, can’t take compliments well, or am just plain adorable down there, but I doubt it.  Those uncomfortable spread-eagle minutes there were like cheerleader hours.

“Ok, Karyn we’re done. I’ll be back in a second, feel free to get dressed.” she says, probably going for a cigarette.  Hands down the fastest I’ve ever dressed myself and frankly felt like crying.  When she returned I asked, “I thought I heard you say ‘How cute’ when we started the exam, weird huh?”

“I did honey, it was.  I have never seen that before.  I’m older and not that hip.”

“See what???”  There's a question you really don't want your gyno to answer...

“The glitter…”

“Is that medical term?" I asked.

"No, honey - glitter."

"Are you saying G-L-I-D-D-E-R?"

“Karyn, you’re covered in glitter - T-T - like the sparkly stuff, go check."

“Glitter?” Tilt my head and nervously smile.  There’s a race between crying and laughing beginning.

“Oh, you don’t know, do you honey?  I thought it was something the kids are doing now.  I was going to tell you a little really went a long way.”

Excused myself, found the restroom and sure enough I’m caked in glitter like a goddamn Gay Pride parade exploded in my panties.  Fucking Kaitlyn!!!  Find the waiting room and tell Mom what happened.  She thinks it’s hilarious and tells me it’ll ruin her laundry, so "ditch the panties" - nice priorities.  Clean up the best I could and find my doctor, my mother, the receptionist, a lab guy and several waiting women dying laughing.  When they see me the laughter doubles, as it’s all over my face and hair now.  I’m even laughing – what can you do?

Drive home, throw open front door, cheerleaders ironically shriek in unison as Kaitlyn scrambles over glittered posters for the stairs to the safety of her room screaming something about “All that glitters..."  Am probably the most clean person in the world, yet was still finding glitter the following week around my cellar door.  And still, not a reunion or trip home is ever complete without a glitter-britches, glitter-slit, sparkle-snatch, glitter-gash comment...

Surely this has happened to someone else?

Kar

First Impression With New Boss...

Timely... 

Waking up this Thursday 1/26 in Vegas with a hangover thicker than I imagine the soles of Carnie Wilson's dirty feet to be...  Feeling reflective, and by reflective I mean I don't want to drag my burnt ass out of bed, so this is the least energy thing I can do and still feel a petty sense of accomplishment.

My "boss-boss" drove up from LA last night to check up on me and others - actually confessed he told people to "get rid of me", then had a change of heart.  Not the way I remember it:
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Was in the LA recently putting the final touches on the upcoming cruise gig, when I finally learned the importance of first impressions...

We’re rehearsing in an older theater – not just us bands, but other groups doing dance-y / Broadway stuff, so it’s on a stage, full-blinding lighting and all you can really see is chair outlines and shadows of people milling in and out.  The dance-y people sit in the audience and yap and choreograph and stretch while we do our 50-minute set, then we watch them:  Rinse, lather, repeat.  Really dull…

Near the end of one set, it’s hot and I’m tired and bored and grab a towel off a stool to dry my face and back of neck - look at setlist on floor: "Gimme All Your Lovin’" by ZZ Top is next.  Since nobody was really watching us, I tied the dark towel around my head so it looked like an old-west bandana / Amish / ZZ Top beard hanging down.  I’m the only guitar and have to cover it all, so I start loud and full.  Boredom lured me into doing that stiff ZZ Top-sway while some of the dancers start laughing and egging me on.

My boss near song’s end yells "Please Karyn? C’mon now…", so I pull my towel-beard down around my neck and finish. Walk to setlist and see: "Don’t Go Breaking My Heart" ( Jeff / Karyn ) – WHAT???  I yelled to him:

"Nope, I’m not doing that."
"What’s the problem Kar?"
"I’m not doing that – it’s awful and I’m supposed to sing backup only."
"This IS backup, Jeff is singing."
"No it isn’t – it’s a DUET by Elton John and Leather Tuscadero, and a bad one as well - nope."
People start laughing and looking at each other and I hear "Leather Tuscadero?" being whisper-questioned, then more laughter.

Some older, silver-fox kind of man in a suit walks halfway down the aisle and yells. "Hey, do you even know the song?"
"I have tabs, so I can do it, but it’s awful and I don’t want to sing it. Not background."
"You aware that ‘awful’ song was a #1 hit?"
"So was ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred, and I’m not doing that either."  Much laughter and the dance-y people start singing and dancing it.  Go figger...

He walks closer, squints and says "Who is that on your shirt?"
"Bill Hicks, an old comedian who died."
"Finish this sentence, and I’ll take that song out right now, fair enough wise ass? ’We live in a world…’"
"OK ready? We live in a world where John Lennon was murdered, yet Barry Manilow coooontinues to put out fucking albums. God-dammit! If you're gonna kill somebody, have some fucking taste. I'll drive you to Kenny Rogers' house."  (Cut / pasted the EXACT, but I was within a word or two.)

He laughs because I was really hamming up the delivery.  "You win.  Take Elton out.  By the way, I am his (pointing at my boss) boss, thus your boss and Leather Tuscadero was from Happy Days.  It was Kiki Dee you smart ass."

So the way I see it, minus the "ass" bits, I was called both "wise" AND "smart" first day by the new boss...  Yes!  She shoots, she scores!!!

All of us went to dinner that night - learned he worked with the band Tool in the 90’s.  Bill Hicks actually opened for them, as well as being a big fan.  We sat around drinking, talking Bill most of the night, even after everyone else left.  Got an old school education in Happy Days' lineage.  Only remembered her name and face but now know she certainly did not sing on that piece of shit song with Elton.

Reasonably sure I’m his new favorite employee…

Kar

Ever Been Caught?

Old, true, silly story about "catching" my best friend Amy and her unique choice of material...
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Being a (ahem...) perfect Catholic girl, I've never been CAUGHT doing that unhealthy act, but I do have one confirmed "catch" – totally accidental and disturbing to this day - my roommate Amy.  Not telling this to be titillating (but if you’re smiling over that word already, there’s no helping you…), but Ames is extremely pretty – like a taller, athletic Anna Kournikova – except she is an incredible athlete, not a model in a tennis skirt.  We've called her "Hands" or "Jack" since our freshman year in high school, because she has the biggest hands I’ve personally seen on a woman – Jack Skellington digits on a superb volleyball / basketball player.  I roomed with a bunch of girlfriends my 2^nd year at IU – all athletes – in a two-story old house off campus. Amy and I moved in early, so it was just the two of us…

So, I worked in the chem lab getting set up for the new year and got my work done early.  Drove home - scorching Indiana afternoon - opened the door and the house was echoing with the TV blaring – sounded sitcom-y.  Cautiously walked to the living room, and there she was:  My wonderful roommate in panties and a IU half-shirt resting on her breasts, heels dug in the couch - one knee facing Maine, other Oregon.  She had her right hand down the front of her panties, and her left hand was pulling on her right breast.  Not holding, pulling – like trying to pull an icicle off a frozen gutter – she would pull on the end of her nip-cicle, hand would slide off, then go at it again.  Actually winced because it really looked like it hurt - head back, mouth open, eyes closed and pwning the nub like some genital genie was going to come exploding out of her magic labia lamp...

I froze – literally froze for at least 15 seconds wrestling with all the critical questions that popped to mind.  Can I tiptoe backwards without getting caught?  How will this affect our relationship and school year? Can I keep this story from my other roommates?  Are her nipples made out of different, sturdier material than mine?  Why are her fucking feet on our brand new couch?  And oh my God, is that "Saved By The Bell" on TV???

And I tried my hardest - trust me, I tried…  Did everything in my power to squash the laughter growing exponentially by the second – my ears even popped as the laugh eruption backtracked from my closed mouth - only to reroute, hiccup, and sneak out my nose in some freak half-bark / half-snore yelp that only made me want to laugh more.  Her eyes opened, big hands abandoned moist parts, and head flew my direction to the right with a speed only Vic Morrow would appreciate.  Mouth didn’t move – stayed open, but now in shock as we made eye contact. Fraction of a second of panicked "what to do?", then I lost it and thank God she did too.  Dropped my backpack and fell on the couch laughing with her probably the hardest of my life...

And we laughed and laughed and laughed and started crying from laughing, until I could barely utter the question burning in my mind, "Zack or Slater?"  The situation was hilarious already, but the fact she was masturbating to "Saved By The Bell" of all things slayed me.  She started screaming now and said "Screech", and I was worried I might actually black out from not being able to breathe.  I said "My God Amy, they’re underage – they’re in high school you know…", and she grabbed my left arm to hold herself upright.  So we tried to get our composure back – she’s squeezing my arm and lets go – but not quite...

She let go alright, but we kinda remained attached – skin stuck weakly together, and I freaked the fuck out.  That was her right hand on my arm – the one she’d just been playing the clitar with, and that epidermal post-it note paste holding us together was her panty pudding – vaginal velcro, whatever you want to call it.  I screamed like never before – I’m weird about stuff like this.  Don’t even do my laundry with other girls’ panties in the load, so coming into contact with this made me dart for the shower - don’t even think I got fully undressed.  Haunts me even today to think one of my best friends in the world would be romancing her own to young high school boys on "Saved By The Bell" (the one where Zack met the college girl even), then use my arm as some sort of vag adhesive Baby Wipe...
　
Out of boredom today, I called a prominent law firm in Indianapolis earlier and asked my favorite paralegal / best friend in the deepest voice I can muster, "Hi, this is Screech, do I make you want to touch yourself?"

"Go fuck yourself Karyn..." was the laughing reply.  Chronic masturbation seems to lead to cursing.  I told her I was going to post the story, and she said it would OK if I would offer her defense.  Her words:  "I was wearing my panties and shirt watching TV, but I had an itch on my inner thigh and fluff on my shirt I was getting off when Karyn came barreling in laughing hysterically.  It was humid and hot, so that’s why we were sticky.  I was laughing because she was.  Hey Kar, you feel so much like posting - why don’t you tell everyone when you got shit-faced with those girls from Florida and you all..." <<CLICK>>

Tsk, tsk – just like a lawyer – can’t stay on topic, so I cut her off…

Kar

Happy Birthday Mitch Hedberg...

Remembered this from a few years ago.  Might as well start here...

Happy 40^th Mitch Hedberg

"I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too."

Yesterday, Sunday, February 24^th was comedian Mitch Hedberg’s 40^th birthday, and he - in typical Mitch fashion - flaked on us again. What’s atypical this time is he had a somewhat legit excuse… He only made it to 37, dying March 29, 2005 in a New Jersey hotel room. Drugs of course, you know the story – same one attached to many of the great comedy minds that flame out early. Every once in a great while, some artist or performer does something that absolutely blows me away - Mitch did that for me. I thought I knew funny – thought I knew how people think and view things – apparently, I overestimated myself. Lucked out and had the pleasure of bumping into Mitch a couple of times, and here’s what I saw…

"Is a hippopotamus a hippopotamus, or just a really cool Opotamus?"

The first time I "met" Mitch personally was 2001-ish – in between sets at a comedy club in the Midwest where I used the ID of an older friend to get in – my worst crime to date, but worth it. There were probably 7 of us chatting with him at a table for 10 minutes. May sound odd, but I found him shockingly shy, self-deprecating, and unaware of how special everybody thought he was – like he wasn’t buying into all the hype people were throwing his way. Distinctly remember seeing him physically wince when people complimented and praised him – that really stuck with me - just how uncomfortable he seemed around strangers. I sat quietly in the background - taking him in and listening, but when the topic of comedy favorites came up, I chimed in with "No brainer, Bill Hicks". He looked over the top of his tinted glasses and said, "Damn girl, do you smoke unfiltered Camels and cut yourself as well? Bill was the man." He signed my napkin in all caps: YOU GOT TASTE - WHY YOU HERE? LOVE, MITCHELL.

Absolutely killed that night… never have seen someone onstage so in control of a crowd – his timing and pace were perfect, yet he rarely made eye contact with the audience. It was like he was channeling one-liners of comedy genius – even making himself laugh regularly. Always admire when someone does something incredibly well and makes it look easy and effortless, but in his case, I honestly wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose. Remember covering my ears during his show – trying to get a few seconds of silence so I could simply catch my breath lest I be the first comedy fatality ever recorded – death by laughter.  Audience members – total strangers - stood in the parking lot for an hour after the show talking about Mitch, laughing about the show and reciting their favorite lines of the night – now that’s a rock star of comedy…  Still is one of the best stand-up performances I’ve ever seen in person.
　
"I don’t have a girlfriend. I just know a girl who would get really mad if she heard me say that."

Second time was a few years later when I was still in school out here. Saw he was at one of the comedy clubs in San Francisco, so on a whim (and knowing it was already sold out), I went to the city hoping to scalp a ticket. Half-hour until showtime - it was apparent I was not going to be able to get in, so I begged and flirted with the ticket-taker guy to let me just stand in back or hang around the fire exit where I could hear. "Absolutely not", and he added he’d been watching me trying to get a ticket out front, so I needed to leave "this GODDAMN second." Of course I didn’t... I hung around the entrance and kept trying. Not my night, because not ONE person had an extra or was willing to take double what they paid. Couple minutes until show starts and that same bouncer walks out front, sees me, turns around, and with phone in hand yells, "I told you to leave, now I’m calling the police!"

Asked back with a disbelieving smile, "Can you make any bigger mountain out of this molehill you mall-cop fucktard?" He points at the phone and slithers back inside. Actually kinda scared at this point and ready to bolt to where I parked. Near showtime, what the fuck is this?  Mitch loping up lazily.  Has to go by me to get in, so I stuck my hands out to stop him - blurting in one quick sentence "Mitch, Mitch, Mitch – Oh please, please I need your help. I drove all the way from Palo Alto, but it’s sold out and nobody has an extra ticket and that guy over there is calling the police on me because I won’t leave. Can’t you tell him I’m a friend or just to let me in? I’ll stand in back – you won’t even know I’m there and won’t say a word, I promise, I promise, I swear to God – I just REALLY get what you do."  All in one breath...

He laughed half overwhelmed / half sympathetically and said, "Awww, that’s so cool, but I can’t do a damn thing with them people – it’s their place, but I tell you what. You stand right here and as soon as I’m done in there, I’ll come right to this spot and do it all over again just for you. And we will call the cops on that dude if he watches."

Busted me up, then I reluctantly and sadly said, "OK Mitch, you got it. Can I give you a hug?" No idea why I said that, as I’m the least touchy-feely type person with strangers you’ll ever meet. "Little lady, you have my full permission to do whatever you want to me." He made himself laugh as I hugged saying, "I’ll catch you next time through. You’re wonderful at what you do Mitch."

Backed up, hand-ironed the front of his crumpled jacket, and looked through his light-blue sunglasses at eyes masking a mind somewhere else. Primary colors don’t lie: Red and blue do make purple, as his scarlet eyes through the blue lens looked as baked as Tommy Chong at a Cypress Hill concert in Amsterdam. He smiled crooked at me, half-jogged towards the door, then yelled back laughing "Right there, do not move!" I could hear and feel the excited buzz of the crowd even before I got to the street…

"I saw a wino. He was eating grapes. I said, 'Dude, you have to wait!'"

Last time I saw him was with musician/comic Stephen Lynch at the Warfield in San Francisco on September 25^th, 2004. I was right by the stage, so I got a very good look at what was happening. Mitch opened and was an absolute mess in every respect. Disoriented, limping and incredibly out of it, he kept going back to pages of notes he had written down and spent a disproportionate amount of time apologizing to the audience. He lacked confidence in his new material he could remember, was mumbling, and his timing was nonexistent – actually stopped several times and just looked around drowning in painful silence. He slurred out his "greatest hits" and left most of the crowd open-mouthed and wincing. Was so difficult to watch – way worse than the Rosie O’Donnell sex scene on "Nip / Tuck", and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Talking with some people with Lynch after the show, they said Mitch was "sketchy" at this point and had real concerns about him. Everyone had a helpless "what can we do about it?" attitude, and nobody would talk openly about was apparent. I didn’t even venture near his room backstage, but they warned me he most likely had already pulled his disappearing act again. Probably better - didn’t want confirmation, and who the hell is going to listen to a well-intentioned stranger?

"I like the Fed-Ex driver, 'cause he's a drug dealer and he doesn't even know it."

Walking, listening to the Howard Stern Show on campus when he announced Mitch died, and I froze in my tracks numb. They followed it up with an interview of him or some of his bits, and the second I heard his spacey delivery and half-stoned laugh, I lost it… My chest hollowed, and I cried my eyes out - not really sure why even today. I didn’t know him personally, so maybe I really was heartbroken over his unfulfilled potential. At the time of his death, Fox had already offered him a deal to develop a sitcom and thrown a lot of money his way; Time Magazine called him the "next Seinfeld". He’d been on Letterman 10 times, considered a rising star of comedy scene for years, and had been supposedly making as much as 25K per night.

Also on his resume by this time were a few things not known to many. He was arrested at the Austin airport in 2003 for felony heroin possession and had prescription drugs he claims were given to him. During his few nights in custody, a jail physical caught an ongoing leg infection he’d been ignoring. His leg was just saved by a 13-hour operation. His flaky behavior and stories from concerned people had made it back to his parents. Story goes people tried an intervention with Mitch and his wife, only to be convinced by the two the stories they’d heard were simply not true. Addicts even trump politicians for the title of greatest liars…

"I hate dreaming because when you want to sleep, you want to sleep. Dreaming is work. Next thing you know, I have to build a go-cart with my ex-landlord."

SF Sketchfest held a Mitch Hedberg tribute at Cobb’s in January of 2007. We watched a corny movie he wrote and directed called "Los Enchiladas", saw some hilarious home movies and heard brilliant Mitch anecdotes from friends and family. Confirmed my suspicion of his shyness, but learned it was almost a paralyzing stage fright for him – even performing shows with his eyes closed. Heard many stories of his great generosity and kind acts too few people will know.  Was more of a comedy wake than a tribute, and I had the most wonderful feeling of déjà vu from seeing him earlier. Because even in death, people – total strangers – were getting together talking about Mitch, laughing about the shows and still reciting their favorite lines… Again, that’s a rock star of comedy… Quite a gift.

Karyn