bonnet~free

this blog regarding the weekend will sorta seem backassward and that's just the way i am, doncha know. this morning, i slathered on the one inch thick layer of sunblock (no screen for me, thanks, just the full on block~~hhhhuuuWAH!), climbed on the bike behind jert, and waved g'bye to my folks. that's right, withOUT a helmet!

friday, we discovered that arkansas has no helmet law, and wow, we took full advantage of that there kick-ass factoid. wahootie-hoot! five hours of toussled hair rioting in all the free glory of rushing air whipping along at highway speeds, dashing around cool curves, and plunging down the foothills of the ouchitas (well that part wasn't five hours, cuz the entire mountain chain isn't five hours worth of driving, but it's all part of the package, a package deal, ya might say, yeah, a package deal, that there's the ticket).

so about two hours into the whole air-rushing-by freedom fest, an intensely paralyzing pain ripples across my lower stomach. as the sting spreads and deepens, i think, "holy mother of god, that there is a godawful bitching itch" as i unsuccessfully claw my self. in an attempt to stem the sensation, i grope myself in the worst imitation of michael jackson {squeals thrown in for the special tribute} and assure myself that whatever had been responsible for the hellish piercing pain was no longer present.

only to discover a mere five minutes later that the beast has taken up another residence, still on my person. so i pinch the offending critter thru my shirt and ask jert to 'omg pull over, would ya just pull over before i hurl myself from this speeding demon trap?!?'. whereupon i show him a fuzzy black and yellow banded bee, that i'd managed to kill without squashing his guts all over the inside of my shirt, thus saving my skin from that particular brand of punishment {the layers of sunblock and road grime, dust, and truck grit all mixed to give me that permanent pancake appearance of bad stage makeup, or really awesomely horrid whiteface~~twas a close call}. the bee had bumbled about, in my pants, stinging me multiple times {i wonder if those stings are orgasmic experiences for the bee, shuddup, you don't know}. i hoisted my tank top up, bending my neck, trying to look at my ribs for any other sting sites.

yesterday, i had ants in my pants. and i can only surmise that the bee was not in my bonnet as i was not wearing one. entirely too many critters are having fun in my pants to suit me. so if you see a woman screaming at her nether regions, commanding all to vacate the premises; that there'd be me.

nice to mee'cha.