The Unbelievable Life of Lynn Carmina

Chapter 1: Crazy Bitch

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Chapter 1: Crazy Bitch

I was born in Indiana. Yeah, I'm a Hoosier, but now I live in New York, the state not the city. I hate it! The weather sucks, the taxes are unbelievably high and the people drive like assholes, no matter what town you're in. But thankfully I didn't live in the great state of NY my entire life. We moved around frequently when I was a kid, until I was about eight or nine years old when we settled in New York.

While I was growing up, everyone always said that my Aunt dropped me on my head when I was a baby, a few weeks old to be exact. There was a tornado in our town that devastated our home. Somehow, my aunty was knocked off balance and dropped me, causing me to land on my head.

People always said that was why I was the way I was, a totally crazy bitch. They wrote a song about me, maybe you've heard it. It's called 'Crazy Bitch' by Buck Cherry. Well, it really isn't about me, but it should be. As for being dropped on my head, well I was certain that it was true, but I was equally certain that it wasn't. That makes no sense at all, but follow the fucked up logic and you'll understand.

Some of the best memories I had were when we moved around when I was a child. We had many great adventures. We were like explorers, before 'Dora' made it uncool. We lived in the mid eastern states and also out west. We traveled a lot in my dad Hanley's orange Datsun pickup with a cab on the back. Try fitting four girls into the cab of a pickup truck and driving cross country. That was a freaking riot, note the sarcasm.

One of my earliest family memories was when we went to Las Vegas. I was three years old the first time I went. It was not much fun for a three year old, with the bright lights, booze and gambling. But we had fun in other ways.

See, my dad was a gun connoisseur. He loved all kinds of firearms and would take us out shooting when we lived in Utah. I think I was three the first time I shot a gun. I was pretty good too, for three years old. We shot at glass bottles and they shattered all over the desert. It was a good time for young children and valuable lessons were learned.

Oh, that reminds me of the time when my dad pulled a gun on me when he caught me sneaking into the house at night when I was a teenager. But that story is for another time, or maybe not.

So, we were at some gun store in Las Vegas and there was this dog. I thought it was pretty and wanted to get a closer look. It laid sleeping in the doorway. I was a little scared because I was three and it was big, but it seemed like such a friendly dog. I wanted to go inside but the dog impeded my path.

So as any toddler would do, I bent down to say "hi doggy" and ask it to move, but it jumped on me and started chewing on my face viciously. I screamed and cried. What else was I to do? I was just trying to be friendly but the dog was a man eater. There was a lot of a blood and I needed a few stitches in my face.

My dad Hanley was really upset and my sisters just stood around panicked and crying. Are girls ever good for anything more than crying? Sometimes, I think not. To make a long story short, the dog had attacked other people before, so it had to be put down. It didn't faze me any, I thought the dog was evil. It was an Irish Setter. I thought those were supposed to be very gentle dogs or something, because it's not like it was Kujo. Apparently not.

I was left with a fear if large dogs and a small scar just below my right dimple. Yes, I have dimples. Aren't they so cute? Like I've never heard that before. I have freckles too, tons all over my body, but mostly on my face, shoulders and back. So, bring on the harassment of the freckle faced, dimpled girl. Anyway, the scar deformed my dimple and made it look like I had an oddly shaped dimple that was very uneven with the left side. That really sucked because it was so asymmetrical.