Not Marriage Material...

So here's what happened after last post.  Texted cop I would throw his key onto the balcony upstairs, reared back and YAY me...  landed right on the fucking roof.  Wow, I stood there staring at it on the slanted roof thinking I can't do shit right these days.  Just amazing - why didn't I just put it under his mat?  Like I'm retarded on a whole new level now...

Sooo… day before Giants' parade, cop texted me he wished I’d just stay at his place, as traffic from Palo Alto (where I usually live) into SF was going to be bad – and, pffttt, forget parking!  Said he’d be working late and leaving early, so we wouldn't have to see each other much, so I agreed and a key was left under mat. Beats the hell out of on the roof – so much more convenient!

So I went over after work to collect junk I left over at his place – kinda sad, empty place – fuck-ton of wonderful memories made my eyes kinda wet. Bored alone, so poured some stiff vodka tonics and soaked in the tub for about an hour before curling up on the couch watching TV. Went to bed around 10:30 – sometime during the night, I heard him come in and over to bed, stroked the side of my face, then sat on bed's end taking his shoes off.  It all came flowing out - his sudden explosion me - his attacking me out of the blue recently - and the reason behind it all.



He said he hoped I was awake and listening, but came clean that ring shopping with me was kinda freaking him out – that he wasn't so sure he could undertake something as serious as marriage with someone who thinks life is a non-stop party and lives on “the edge”. Said these things initially attracted him to me, but thought I’d “grow out of it” by now and become a more stable, serious person to marry and start a family with. Said my unwillingness to even meet with anyone from his Church raised red flags, as that meant a lot to him and bothered him when I said I wouldn't miss football for that (my fucking God, we had all summer, WTF?). Said I burn the candle at both ends instead of making time for ONLY the two of us, rather we’re too often with friends in large groups or going out to events.

Apologized for how he “ambushed” me out of the blue the other night, but I was having a lot of fun partying it up with others, and this is EXACTLY what he wants me to dial down. Claims he should have approached me with his concerns privately and didn't mean for it to escalate like it did. Said he never should have told me I’m "not now or ever will be marriage material", but he did...  Oh, I'll never forget those exact words.

Finally he said the last thing he’d ever try to do is change me. Says I’m just who I am and, and he’s secretly jealous I’m always there with a smile and laugh and a walking party. Said I really do light up a room and put everyone in a good mood when I’m around, and of anyone he’s ever met, I have the biggest heart by far. Said he fell in love with me on our second date, but knew from the day I drunkenly mistook his cop car for a cab, there was something special about me.

So I heard my ring placed on the nightstand, and he said, “Put this back on, Karyn.” Said he loved me more than anything and kissed my cheek before going to sleep on couch. I never  flinched, never moved, didn't cry – just acted asleep. Was gone in morning before I got up for parade. See him off in distance - get a huge smile, run bouncing up to him near Civic Center pleading with urgency, hands clasped like prayer “Hey Officer! Puullleeezzzz can I ride your horsie?” Laughed, trying to remain composed, but saw his eyes kinda sink when he looked at my ring less finger. Oh well...

I have a date for tomorrow night's Dropkick Murphys concert and another for Wednesday GWAR's show - yeah, I don't know one GWAR song, but that show looks like a hoot... And they're not "date, dates" - one is a friend and the other the cop's friend who is also a cop and wants to see GWAR for a laugh as well.



So there's the story, as it appears I'm not "marriage material". Gotta be honest, have a healthy ego, wow - that one floored me like a Tyson hook on Robin Givens's cheek.   Maybe Mom's right - oh wait, she's such a walking cunt, there's no way...

I know you read here Dad - I'm 100% doing well.  Ignore that last part about Mom - know you can, as you've done it all these years...

Karyn

Wannabe Drama Queen...

Quick backdrop: If you played the word game correctly, some of y’all noticed a ring on my wedding finger.  Not an engagement ring, rather like a place card at your shitty, mandatory Christmas party showing what dickhole you’ll be stuck sitting next to all night.  Well, that’s what this ring is – kinda holding a place for now – cop gave to me fairly recently.

Tuesday the Giants won (great news!), and combined with me having a crime scene in my pants (yucky news!), cop and I had a major-league fight of unprecedented proportions – and that’s plain sad news...  But he’s never really seen this kitten’s claws, and for everything he threw at me, I screamed, gritted my teeth, squinted my eyes hard and furiously and shredded him like a stray dog through a wood chipper.  But I KNOW in the back of his mind what he was thinking: “She’s not crying, uh oh…”  Not one tear and either intimidated or scared him I'm certain.

I grab my purse heading for the door, but I have to do it with some drama.  And shut your mouth, I’m the one practically blowing a fuse through my tampon, so I will damn well leave any way I want.  And I’m going to rip off this ring and chuck it at his head with such force Jacque Kennedy herself will emerge from the grave to pick up pieces of his head scattered “back and to the left”.  So I took a step towards the door, he says “Karyn, don’t…”, and I spun around DARING him to come closer.

“Just go fuck...” I start to scream and rip off ring.  Nada, it’s not budging.  Try to get a tighter grip and give a hard yank again.  “You need to just go fuck your…”  Hard tug only pops my knuckle.  Oh Christ, I have to get it this time, or I’ll I swear I'm going to start laughing and cause drama-interruptus,  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself!!!” and with a final pull I manage to free my personal Excalibur of a ring from it’s stone talon.  Collected in hand, took aim and sidearmed it like a Kent Tekulve fastball, wizzing it past his head and down the hall somewhere to hopefully imbed itself in the wall or something dramatic like that.  Drama finally accomplished, but I’m not near done yet…

Reach for the door one-handed – point in his direction and screamed, “And don’t you fucking think of calling ME…”  Gonna time this ending of “EVER AGAIN!” perfectly with the door slam, right?  God help me, the damn door was locked, so not only was drama lost, practically dislocated my shoulder in the process.  Unlock, repeat, SLAM!!!  “Oh, that was good K” was all I could think.  Stomped especially loudly down steps, fumbling for keys while talking to myself like Amanda Bynes in…  well, anywhere.

Approaching Jeep anticipating revving and screech out parking lot, but within a few steps of car door, realize I left keys in the little bowl we keep our keys in – wow, drama squished…  Lean head against window and start crying.  Walked to hidden dark side-street, called roomies to drive to SF to get me, and just sobbed.

So maybe drama isn’t my thing – I tried...

K

The Toothpaste Does NOT Go There...

Holy cats, a minor little toothpaste incident really blew up on me recently…

So cop leaves for work, and I was running late - showered, dried off, got mostly dressed and went potty. It’s a trusted zone, so don’t hover – plopped down, saw my electric toothbrush within reach, and figured I’d multi-task and brush teeth to save time. Heaped Crest Gel–Cinnamon Rush on, hit the button and whirrrrrr – oops, it flung the red blob smack in the financial district of my panties. First trying to pinky it out, then standing up to waddle to sink, really smooshed it, but got out what I could. Oh well, in a hurry, so out the door…

On hour work commute, I felt a little warm and tingling downstairs and caught myself fidgeting in my seat. Get to work, grab equipment and have to drive to Fresno, CA – 2 ½ hours away. Around Modesto, I’m really feeling something baking and hot near the baby oven. Against the angels’ wishes, I leaned back in the seat and jammed my right hand down my jeans – just to see if my maybe my panties were scrunched or sitting funny – even fanned some cool air down the mineshaft, but all appeared perfect in Panty-ville.

Few miles later, something smells good – like a bakery, like pastry, like CINNAMON! Jesus, it’s my fingers on the steering wheel – that freakin’ toothpaste is why I’m squirming like McGwire in front of Congress. Pull over next exit, find bathroom, created cinnamon paper trying to wipe clean, but what to do with panties? Not tossing and certainly not going without. Got it! Turn them inside out – ugh, so Ohio State skank-ish of me. Back on road.

Made it to Madera before I really had to do something about this now fire in my front window. Burning and waddling to convenience store potty (which is filthy, tiny, stinky, and wizz-drenched), I now get a fistful of toilet paper soaked in the sink – have to get some cold water on this bush fire. Lock door – whew… but look down to see this giant red stripe in my white panties. Not exactly the Red Stripe I was hoping for in my day. Not-wearable, so take off, rinse out, then go to dry myself off – no paper towels? As God is my witness, I've never felt more trashy in my life as I actually kicked a leg up half-naked on the sink and had to use an air hands-dryer to funnel hot air to my already scorched lava-labia in a disgusting, rarely cleaned Sip ‘n Pump bathroom…

Wet panties fisted in hand, I leave. Thought it might be a good idea to maybe dry them out. No close cars, so at 75 mph, I rolled down my window, hooked them on my index finger, sloooowly eased them out to the window and TTHHWWOOOOP – gone like a David Blaine magic trick… Red-faced and watching my red-striped panties fly in the rear view mirror was not part of the plan. Later I called my “girl doctor” because still irritated. Something about perhaps upsetting the pH level in my southern playpen, so today in about a half an hour, you’ll find me in the stirrups getting my Cinnabox checked out most certainly smelling like a pack of Big Red.

Karyn

It's up and it's... NOT GOOD!!!

Have to tell someone… Last night I had rehearsal with the boys – we practice at an almost abandoned strip mall on the Peninsula – only one or two shops left, so we can jam “on 11”. Docs got me a fridge we hide in back for ummm, refreshments!!! So I rode down with a Doc, and cop was picking me up later for some dinner and drinks. Earlier at lunch, I picked up these killer new square-toed black leather boots – almost to knee and couldn’t wait to show him –plus they were 65% off!!!

Band was on a tear – haven’t practiced together in ages, so I was bouncing off the walls having a blast and probably mis-pacing myself drink-wise. By the time the cop walked in, all the Docs were warning him “Oh boy, you’ve got your hands full tonight…” while I put down Gretzky (that’s my Goldtop’s name) and jumped into his arms wrapping my legs around him. Asked how much I had to drink and whispered back “Only a couple officer…” Docs gotta get home to real families and life, and cop and I jet back to SF.

One of my fave bars in SF is Lefty O’Doul’s, as I know people there, they have a fun piano bar up front and sssshhhhhh, sometimes I get passed free drinks and shots. Plus near cop’s place, so we can stumble back when need be. Well, “need be” was in effect last night, as we drank and laughed and did shots and met friends – lather, rinse, repeat… Before I knew it, it was last call – noooo!!!! Start walking back - still amped from rehearsal (and diet Red Bulls / Ketel One) and particularly having fun. Made cop give me a piggyback ride, walked on my hands for half a block, sang loudly, did Rockette high-kicks with my awesome new boots – just mucking about.

So we’re a few blocks away and walking up a pretty steep dark street – kinda dingy area. Nearing the top I see an unopened big Lemon-Lime Powerade plastic bottle sitting in the middle of the sidewalk with nobody around. Let go of cop’s arm, lined up straight-on (no soccer-style for this American girl) and announced, “Karyn Dempsey, with only a half a foot and special gorgeous boots will try this to set the NFL record. The snap, ball down…”, took three steps and BAM!!!! - tried to launch that thing into the street. Form was perfect, head down, caught it square on the bottom – it’s up, and it’s – well it’s, oh no…NOT GOOD…

Turns out it wasn’t unopened NOR was it lemon-lime Powerade – the millisecond my foot connected, that thing exploded like a Michael J. Fox can of Coke – just a wall of yellow – almost hit me in the nose. All over my face, soaked my hair, my coat, MY GD NEW BOOTS!!! The cast of the Poseidon Adventure didn’t get as drenched as I was – literally spitting and wiping my eyes. Just stood there in shock – wide-eyed staring at cop – “What the hell just happened?” As cop stumbles over, trying not to fall over laughing, he gets close, makes a face and says…

“Oh Christ, Karyn, that was piss…”

And he was PARTLY right, as my jeans and blouse were also splotted with crap like some Jackson Pollock poo painting… Now it’s setting in I’m not in a good place – fragrant piss smell envelops me – wondering what was on the menu for that bum who wrung out his kidney into that bottle. And how the freakin’ hell do you even begin to poo into a Powerade bottle? That’s an aim Lee Harvey Oswald would envy…

Before I could start crying, I start laughing – my default emotion. So we walk home laughing, screaming, extreme gagging – never had a better, longer shower in my life. So you’ve officially been warned about mysterious bottles in SF. Let them be...

Karyn with a Y the hell did I do that?

Crazy woman moons my cop...

My poor cop has to put up with a lot. People in San Francisco are just nuts some days - he's been spit on, tripped, called a bajillion names, had things thrown at him, but takes it all with a grain of salt and a smile. He's so tolerant and truly one of the great guys out there watching out for us all...

Case in point: This past Sunday around 1 p.m., by Washington Square Park on Filbert, the cop said he saw a woman jogging - she ran across the street against the light - plus she had earbuds in, making the situation more dangerous.

Said he briefly blew his horn and appeared to scare her and said something over his loudspeaker. Unappreciative runner not only didn't stop, this ditz proceeded to slide her shorts down in back - she MOONED my cop!!!! And NOT just mooned, she continued on jogging with her lily-white hiney hanging out WHILE flipping him off behind her back.

Said he followed her for blocks - she only pulled up her shorts when strangers were around - then right back down. He eventually turned onto another street, and she went on her way...

So when he's telling me this, I'm out of my mind shocked. Get her!!! Tase her ass!!! Go tackle her, handcuff her on the spot and throw her in the back of your damn squad car!!! So I asked him why the hell he didn't do any of these things, and he said, "Because you probably wouldn't have talked to me all night if I did..."

OK, this is the 2nd damn time he's done this to me...  Totally minding my own business, he sees me running and can't resist but to come up behind me and chirp his siren or beep his horn or yell through the loudspeaker at me, and frankly he's scared the living shit out of me both times. Twice!  Suffice it to say then, that this past incident also marks the second time he's followed me bare-assed and flipping him off.

Certainly this is some abuse of civic power, right?

Kar