I 100% Absolutely Suck at Streaking...

Like to think of myself as decently talented or with the drive to accomplish what I set my mind to, but I do know when I suck at something...  One thing in particular:  Streaking.

Junior year of high school was like a senior year for me.  Our school let us play up, so when I was in 8th grade, I was playing varsity on our high school basketball / volleyball teams.  So by my junior year, I knew EVERY coach, all the staff on campus for YEARS by then - they were like second family to me.  Pretty popular - class president, sports, guitar player for years where most kids had seen me play live at some time.  But really innocent and shy around guys - hadn't even kissed a boy yet.


That winter, my best friend Amy got the bright idea we should streak the varsity football team.  They practiced late, it was getting dark earlier, so we recruited 3 other girls and came up with a plan.  We'd park on one side of the gym in one of my girlfriends' brother's car.  We'd strip, put on our masks, run around the gym to the back where the boys would be on the field way behind.  There's a long cement patio before the field, so we'd stick to that - once circle and back in the car with the waiting driver.

Now I have a huge identity problem here - was borderline 6 foot tall with blonde hair to my butt, so I stuck out like a heterosexual man at Lilith Fair...  Always been Star Wars nerd, so I had the idea of putting my hair up and wearing my talking Darth Vader helmet for the run.  Other girls went the ski mask to gorilla mask route.  This is sooo going to work!

So we pile in on snowiest Thursday night of year and make way to gym.  I get out and peek around the corner - yep, they're practicing under dim lights, the gym patio's snow had been pushed into field, so clear - all is PERFECT!!!  Run back, everyone gets excited, strip buck ass naked in car, masks on - hold hands and tiptoe through FREEZING snow - it's fucking Hoth cold - to gym corner's edge.  I'm last because I have a problem - I can't see a damn thing.  This crappy plastic helmet has shit for eyes - can make out shapes of people in front, but nothing else.  How the fuck did Anakin work with this thing?  Should be fine.  Getting up the guts, hit my talking Vader chest plate.  Says something like "hhhhoooo pppuuuurrrr" or however you spell his breathing.  Broke the nervous ice, ready?  ONE, TWO, THREE!!!

First two friends head out, and Amy and I are right on their tail with me bringing up the rear.  They're screaming getting attention, and I can make out their arms flailing around.  This is working - I can hear the boys shouting and hooting at us!  Next thing I see is Amy making a sharp right about 3/4ths the way down the patio - she's making the cut to head back to the car, we fucking did it!

Well, that's what I THOUGHT she was doing...  Next thing I see is my right knee gently rising in the landscape of Vader's darkened eye horizon.  Put my arms out I guess in a fucked up attempt to fly - who knows, but I had hit a solid piece of ice at full speed, and both knees were well over my head at this point.  I slam-landed back of head first - distinctly remember the sound of plastic on ice and teeth crashing together.  Cold and scratchy on my back, no control of arms, as I slid the last 10 yards, off the patio and into the snow.  Had to throw up, but couldn't move - fuck, did I just paralyze myself into a tube-blower for the rest of my life?



As a kid, I always asked women who had babies if they were embarrassed about being naked in front of everyone, because I'd could NEVER do that - biggest fear ever!  They laughed and would always answer "Honey, you're in so much pain, you don't give a shit who sees what."  Not me, I don't do nudity well - except for my brothers, ZERO boys have ever seen me naked...  and hat streak (irony!) would last for ummm...  about another 20 seconds.

Ragdolled it hard towards piled snow frozen tits up ruddering myself through the frigid Indiana night.  Was seeing black and feeling red:  Red hot of cheeks and red, irony taste of blood in my mouth and dripping from scalp.  I heard urgent footsteps crunching icy snow and people yelling.  Guess using the Force, sensed there are a lot of people standing around me, as wind is slight now - hear some giggling, some "what the fuck"s, some "who is that?", a "fuck yeah!" here and there.  Hear Coach Jenkins near my Vaderness ask me if I can hear him - he's yelling for people not to move me.  I heard him, but didn't answer.  Felt like I needed to save energy.  He's yelling for the kids to take two steps back - distinctly remember that - 2 steps.  Because I remember wondering why the fuck isn't he yelling for a blanket and how about 100 goddamn steps backwards to the field for the team?


Coaches feeling wrist for pulse (why?), said they "gotta get that mask off of her".  Oh great!  Just fucking wonderful...  Helmet is top dickhead-looking part snapped on rest of mask.  Felt the un-snap the Darth glans penis part, as he threw it aside freeing my long blood-blonde hair.  You'd reckon by now SOMEONE would have covered me with a blanket or jacket or fuck, how about a snowball please to just cover my kipper mitten, but no.  He sees blood and yells for a coach to call 911.  Wrestles with back of mask frustrated like a high-school kid trying to undo his first bra, finally cracks the code...


And with one hand holding the talking part, and weirdly like the Vader death scene of in Return of the Jedi, he unmasked full butt-ass naked me for every lineman, backfield - hell, even the bench gets an eyeful tonight!  Right at that second, it hit me what the pregnant women were relaying to me - didn't give two purple shits that every boy on that team was now pulling his pervy jaw off the snow now.  I mouthed, "Hey Coach..."  He'd been at our house the week before for dinner.  Was like a collective chorus "Holy shit, it's KARYN!!!"  Could hear excitement, a buzz, laughter - turned my head right and first coughed blood, then threw up down the side of my face.  With no more humiliation possibly to be had, it was NOW Coach freaked out and yelled for them to get to the locker room and get me a blanket.  I could hear my name probably 50 times in the distance as they were running way.  Ambulance, neck brace, hospital, parental explanation, overnight for observation - even missed Friday school where stories buzzed all day about Karyn UnKlothed...

Later, Amy told me she saw the girls in front dodge sheet of ice and did same, but was almost around corner when I slipped.  Was in car before realized I wasn't behind her.  Ran back, but saw football team sprinting to my au naturel aid and high-tailed it back to car.  Said nothing she could do but give them two eyefuls of nudity if she came to help me.

So that was my first attempt at streaking:  Concussion, shaved head, stitches, naked spread-eagle in front of football team, vomit on self, severe embarrassment, police questioning, school suspension...  Guess how many damn times I heard Karyn Vader, Ice Princess, Darth Karyn, or that fucking Vader breathing noise (how DO you spell that?) in school hallways until summer?  Oh my...

Thank God, but it took the glitter incident with my pink canoe the next school year to chase all the old Vader nicknames away...

Streaking K
#FML

Odd text reply...

Had knee surgery recently after some slacker dick-tart snowboarder plowed into me at Tahoe.  But, at least I got some GREAT pills out of it that I would STILL be on if Docs didn't insist I not mix meds and drink.  So I weaned myself off quickly, choosing to self-medicate by my own pouring hand.

Knee is MUCH better and actually went jet-skiing around SF Bay this past weekend, right?  Holy shit, wet-suit and all still delivers glass-cutting tit-cicles - that water is freezing!!!  And SORE!  No idea how bad it beats you up out there.  Cop threw me off at one point and just left me, so I'm bobbing up and down in water alone with thoughts of sharks and people on BART underneath me.  Thought water was cold, should have been there when shit-head finally did come back for me...

Back on beach, cop took two pics of me on my phone.  In full wet-suit on jet-ski, then half a wet-suit as I was getting re-dressed, nothing really explicit - bikini top under wetsuit, whoopee freakin' fizz... So yesterday (Wednesday) morning, I finally got around to sending one to my Dad.  It's been butt-ass freezing back home over the last few weeks, and I wanted to rub it in how nice it's been out here.  Looked cold in full wet-suit pictures, so texted him the one with bikini-top and wet-suit bottoms - had my thumbs on sides about to slide out of suit.  Put something stupid like "How's weather back home? Kar"

Hit send. Minute later got:
 "Looking good Kar-Bear (that's what he calls me). If I weren't your Dad, I'd be all over you and trying to get up in that. Love, Dad"

What the fuck fuck fuck fucking hell did I just read?  Stared, backed out of messages, went back in and damned if it isn't still there. Thought even if he was trying to be funny, just really freakin' disgusting and crossed the line.  Sat at my desk, put my forehead on desktop, started shaking and felt my throat closing up, as I'm about to cry - cry like I piss - once even a little started, takes an act of God or car accident to stop until 100% finished.

Do I ignore him?  Did he mean that for someone else?  Couldn't have!!!  Kar-Bear is what he's called me since I was a child.  It's OUR thing - I don't care how corny it is, he's my Dad, and I love him more than any other man in this world.  Even if for someone else, why in the fuck is he talking like this to ANYONE?!?!  He wears Dad jeans, "appreciates" Taylor Swift and complains how young his doctors look for shit's sake...

Compose myself for a few seconds and dialed - half furious / half crying / half crushed - don't care if that's too many halves, I HAVE to get to the bottom of this NOW.  Picks up after 2 rings...

Heard nothing but my little sister Kaitlyn laughing so hard she was unable to talk.  Thought I heard her yelp "Dad - meeting oh my God!", but she's in hysterics.  Appears she's in Indy for the week and at Dad's office visiting for lunch.  Yeah, that's the same bitch who glittered my squish mitten all those years ago got me again...

God I hate that cunt.

Kar-Bear

Bad drugs, bad friends, BAD DOG!!!

Jan 18, 2011 17:30:27

Friends from a band I played with in Vegas were in SF last night.  Offered my place and a night out for taking care of me out there.  Went pub-crawling - ran into one of the cops (not MY cop) and his wife, and they invited us back to their place in North Beach.  He’s great and I adore her – a blast – drinks a lot and ummm, has a medical marijuana card and really racks up the "frequent-higher" miles on that thing.

Beautiful Victorian house, very Full House-ish – open door and at the top of steps is this gorgeous German Shepherd!  Now, I’m about the most “dog” girl you’ll ever meet: I screamed, tail went flying and we met halfway up stairs – hugged, scratching ears “Awwww – look at the good... uhhh BOY!”  Boy oh boy, what a boy – his puppy lipstick was sticking out!!!  Chased me to the top of the stairs, SLAM – jumped ON my shoulders, knocked me down.  Laughing, I flipped over and goddamn – puppy was happy to see me – had his arms around my knee and was trying to make little Nike-puppies with my sneakers.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa – stop pup!”

Cop puts him in the bedroom.  Drinks and shots and TV and music and funny Vegas stories happened out loud.  The pharmacy pill bottles of medical marijuana comes out.  Bass player goes to restroom, opens wrong door and dog comes flying out of the bedroom, sees me, jumps, pot goes everywhere as he tries to sit in my lap.  “Ssshhh, quiet pup – calm down!” I whisper to which he just jammed his snout right in my jean crotch, kept pushing harder - scared he was going to bite my birthing bunny he was so aggressive.  What the fuck is wrong with this dog?  Again with the humping of my knee as half the room is trying to get him off me, the other half laughing.  Back to puppy jail with cop – cop had to go to bed early anyway.

I suck at pot.  Laugh my head off for hours, play guitar forever, get paranoid and scared, starved, then nap – whole cycle takes 10 minutes.  They were smoking and asked me to be the judge on WHICH of the 2 pots(?) was better.  In the future, this is right where I say "NO" but it wasn't the future yet.  I light the bong, bubble up and rip it in.  Ever had a shaken Coke can explode on you?  My Coke lungs itched and expanded disproportionately to the intake.  Held, held, start chirping out my nose and woosh – breath smelled like I ate a pine cone!  Nada.  Second one – thick and heavy – held, held – whew!  Still nothing , but everyone's staring at me alarmed like something big is about to happen.

Couple minutes later while glazing at the TV, I got a phone call from that lady in my brain that we had about 6 minutes of consciousness left, and I needed to start planning right this fucking second for it.  Then she started counting down "5:59, :58, :57..."  Pulled a pillow off the couch, curled up on the rug, face TV with college basketball and announced I was going to take a quick nap.  Dreamt about laughter – was at a comedy club – maybe the TV?  Comic was making funny noises into the mic – kept bouncing it off his head talking about being hit in the head during a sporting event.  Hysterical laughter – like people couldn’t breathe laughing – had to get a better look, so I lifted my head up a little – can’t see what’s so funny.  MORE LAUGHTER – try to get up and squint – what’s so GD funny?

Well, appears the dog got out and was going to town on the top of my sleeping forehead in some bizarro interspecies K9-69. Pretty sure he felt me up as well, because I had claw marks on my shirt and slobber all over the butt of my jeans. Was obviously too funny for any of my friends to assist me, but their stoned laughter woke the cop up, AND instead of helping, he was looking for his phone to film this mutt molestation.  See the kind of crowd I call friends???

Not posting how they described it or length (of canine assault) – suffice it to say I saw the “red rocket’s glare” up close and personal.  NOTHING sexual happened - guess it’s an attempt at dominance or something.  My forehead itched this morning, my hair cowed when I touched it, and my scrunchie wouldn’t make eye contact with me.  Counseling will be sought.

Drugs are bad, friends on drugs are worse and friendly dogs while drugged are the worst of all.

You've been warned…

K

Carolla and Cops

Read something recently about a cop being sued for looking up a girl he pulled over.  Pffttt, if that had worked out, it'd be a cute "how I met your Mom" story.  Here's my "how I met my Cop" story written 5 years ago.  No idea when written we'd still be hanging out together, even went shopping for rings recently.  #gimmemyring
----------------------------------------
May 21, 2010 

FANTASTIC show, but I maybe need to slow down drinking a tad...

Saw Adam Carolla last night in SF - planned on seeing the show, have a few drinks and pop in to say hello to him before leaving.  I do remember his standup being fantastic and brilliant, but that's about when the night started to get away from me:

A hotel friend got me a room cheap, since I figured I might be having a few, and, Jesus Christ did I...  Before, during and after, including several Long Island Teas during the show.  Cabbed it to my Irish pub Kell’s after show.  Had little money, but Reason # 5,247 why it’s better to be a woman than a man?  Guys buy you drinks if you’re fun to talk to.  Met a fun group from Washington, and we drank and laughed and danced, only to part company around 2:30-ish.



Couldn’t get a fucking cab to save my life!  It was late with sketchy people around so was kinda scared.  Flagged, whistled, screamed, nothing – all full or just flew by me.  So I started walking in the direction of my hotel and figured I’d get one en route.  Finally found a parked one, ran up to it and found 2 people in the front – odd…  I try to get in, but door is locked.  The passenger asks me for ID - figured it was a security thing being so late, but hey, safety first!  Gave it, he unlocked, and I climbed  - maybe more like tumbled in to be more accurate.  Remember noting how paranoid these SF cabbies are now – they actually have a cage between them and their passengers - almost like we're prisoners!  Leaned my head against the glass pillow to catch a quick nap on way back.

Suddenly I woke up in my room wearing exactly what I had on and using the nightstand as a "damn, I hope my neck hurts in the morning" pillow.  Sporting vodka perfume, I showered, poured myself downstairs to check out and high-tail it to work.  Front desk guy hands me an envelope from the SF Police Department.  Fuck me red...  Did my Jeep get towed?  Handwritten note with a business card read something like this:
----------------------------------------------------------------
Karyn,
I am Officer Stevens and with Officer Morello, we picked you up last night highly intoxicated.  Instead of taking you into custody, we dropped you off at your hotel to Crystal Rados, who took you to your room.  Please call me to discuss and let me know you are OK.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Jesus Christ, am I being punked?  Am I gonna get arrested?  Front desk dialed number on card, and I shyly spoke to him pretty much about to cry – really scared.  And he starts assembling the puzzle pieces of my night for me...  So it appears I flagged the police down thinking they were a cab, climbed in, and talked up a storm about comedy, football and my job.  Asked officers if we could find a drive-thru (I was buying!), laughingly mocked several foreign accents, and rolled the window up on my hair more than once leaving tufts of drunken blonde behind.  Smelled strongly of alcohol, demanded a demonstration from them HOW pitchers throw knuckle balls, played drums on the barrier separating the seats and was apparently quite a handful.


Started crying and told him how truly sorry and embarrassed I am.  Turns out, no need to be...  Reason # 5,248 why it’s better to be a woman than a man?  Non-arresting cop cutting you a break asks you out for coffee (no Irish) on next trip to the city!  She shoots, she scores!!!  Now if only I could remember what he looked like…

Not proud, just true,

Officer K

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