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