clueless in carolina

Accidental Motherhood

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 03:27:00 +0000

Well it all went down like this.

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Last Wednesday I turned into the driveway after a long day slaving away at the salt mines.

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I was met in the driveway by Meredith giving an excellent imitation of a person who had just done a healthy snort of crystal meth.

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"MOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!" she screamed. "ROLL DOWN YOUR WINDOW NOW!!!!!!"

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Well, what do you do? I rolled down my window, my eyes gently glazing over. All of a sudden a stuffed animal was shoved into my hands.

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The stuffed animal looked at me. And I looked at him. And my gigantic brain kicked into overdrive.

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I'm holding a puppy I bet he hasn't had any shots don't puppies get all sorts of horrible diseases where did this puppy come from oh my god I need to run inside and pour bleach all over myself oh my gawd it's a live puppy!!!

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"MOOOM!!!!! ISN'T HE CUTE!!!!!" screamed a small child leaning in my window.

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I quickly handed "him" back.

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"Where did he come from?" I politely inquired.

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"Well Josh's mom's dog just had a litter and they're giving away puppies can we please please please please please have one Mom oh please because if you say no I'll just die and run away from home at age 14 wearing Goth tattoos and take up with a gang of roving Goth vampires and not even finish ninth grade before becoming a disillusioned, post modernistic nilhilistic sad pathetic shell of a human being living under a bridge I know you'll say yes Mom just look how cute he is oh please can we keep him?"

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I punted. "Ask your father." Who was conveniently at work until 9:15 PM that evening, and hated dogs. More than one, anyway.

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Roger pulled into the driveway at 9:31 and at 9:32 was remoselessly attacked by pleading children. But I had faith that he would say no. After all, Roger did not enjoy constantly cleaning up after one spoiled poodle who refused to step outside to "powder her nose" if there was one drop of precipitation in the air.

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I had to teach a class on Thursday night. I pulled into the driveway at 9:00 and met our new son at 9:01.

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Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce Spike.

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Ladies and gentleman, the same man who refused to adopt a third human child with me or take shag dance lessons was talked into adding ANOTHER DARN DOG to the family by two irritatingly adorable children.

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Perhaps I shall ask them if they would be interested in taking shag dance lessons with their father and me.

One Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 05:01:00 +0000

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 05:48:00 +0000

GONNA FLY NOW

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 02:56:00 +0000

Warning: Shameless Bragging Ahead

I mean it!

I'm not kidding!!

You're going to want to

come through the computer

and punch me!!

2nd report card time. Both kids came home with straight As, Honor Roll.

Madeleine was about as excited as if I had announced that she would be getting an extra penny added to her allowance. Look, I'm simply stating a fact here: Somehow the Universe dropped a genius in our laps. The words "we are offering your child a full academic scholarship to a private kindergarten" "Harvard bound" " "She should start her college courses next summer" have been bandied about her tiny head since she weighed 30 lbs. Teachers have said this to her face. We don't. We don't dance around the house with her on our shoulders singing and praising the deities. It is what it is. We praise hard work.
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Although I surely could use a plastic surgeon in the family.
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I just included a few shots of past awards; she could paper a wall. (See the old picture of little kids holding awards? Meredith had to hold Madeleine's extra ones. The cup she's holding is hers)
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Big deal, so could I, and look at my incredible life achievements. I'm a small town lawyer gal, with a teaching gig, and I'm happy as a pig in the mud. Teachers extolled my limitless future once upon a time. However, my speed boat to success foundered upon the rocky shoals of "Borderline Remedial" Math SAT shores. A polite way of saying "This young student is doing well if she can add 2 and 2 together and arrive at the correct answer of 5."

It's just this simple. Madeleine is smart. She's smart, but it's her life, and she can choose her path. As long as she has friends other than her parole officer who observes that her methadone treatment seems to be working when she's an adult, and as long as she spends her days doing things that bring her joy, that's success enough for me.

Oh BWAHAHAHAHA. Yeah, okay, there's a little part of me that isn't quite as sensible and frighteningly stage motherish, but I put HER in a box and shove her into a locked steel cage in the back of my mind along with " Terrible Old Boyfriends Who Do Not Have This Blog Address So I'm Not Talking About You Okay?", "The Girl Who Once Told Me I Had Bad Breath" and "The Time I Ran A Fish Hook Into My Big Toe."

Now, let's go to the REALLY important news.

MEREDITH CAME HOME WITH STRAIGHT A HONOR ROLL!

THIS IS HER SECOND GRADED REPORT CARD EVER. THEY DON'T START GIVING GRADES HERE UNTIL 3rd GRADE.

MEREDITH IS THRILLED.

TODAY SHE FINALLY REALIZED THAT SHE IS A SMART KID!!!

MOMMY AND DADDY ARE THRILLED.

SNOOPY DANCE AND FREE MARGARITAS FOR ALL!!!!!!

(cue theme music from Rocky)

That Was Then, This Was Now

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 19:29:00 +0000

Setting: Ten Years Ago

I'd pull out an adorable outfit, dress her, and whirl her lovingly around like we were filming a Metropolitan Life Insurance Commercial.

Setting: Our House. Ten Years Later

Madeleine (hitherto known as Ungrateful Child): I want a poodle skirt to wear to my dance and for Halloween. Let's hit the stores.

Me: (hitherto known as Long Suffering Mom) Okay.

UG: (first Halloween store). Oh no! They're out.

LSM: I could probably make you a poodle skirt with some felt and a glue gun.

UG: (not even bothering to acknowledge such silliness) Let's hit another store.

LSM (next Halloween store) Here we go! Just your size--8-10- Let's go!

UG: NO! I'm a LARGE! Size 12!

LSM: Picks up poodle large, notices it has already been returned. Easily removes it from package. Holds it to child's waist. Hmm, looks okay. You happy?

UG: MOOOOOMMMM! THAT IS NOT MY WAIST!!!!!

LSM: WELL EXCUUUUUSEE ME! (Hands skirt to child) YOU hold it to your waist.
(Child holds it approximately at hipbones).

LSM: This work for you?

UG: Walks away, deep in thought.

LSM: Um, hello! Um.. Madeleine, if you don't like this, I can sew a poodle onto your concert black skirt for the party!

UG: Stops, turns around, eyes light up. You can?

LSM: Sure!

UG: Let's go to the fabric store! And I want the poodle to have sparkly eyes!!

LSM: (at fabric store) It closes early on Sunday. Let's go home.

LSM (at home) Okay, let's assemble your outfit.

UG: MOOOOOOOOOM! I have HOMEWORK TO DO!!!

LSM: No problem. Go naked to the dance, I don't care.

LMD: (Loud Mouth Dad) Well, I have a problem with this.

LSM: (saintly patience beginning to fade). UG, please go fetch the black skirt that you plan to use while I try to find the pink sweater your grandmother wore in the 40s.

UG: (sincerely) Mom, thanks. It helps me so much to have a mom who lived in the fifties.

LSM: I'm happy to help. (thinking: I ALMOST MADE IT TO 1960-only 10 months more!) Here you go, here's a nice, clean white shirt. Do you like that?

UG: (looks up from homework) nods briefly and ungraciously.

LSM: Okay. Now show me the black skirt you plan to use.

UG: Gets up, sighs loudly, goes to bedroom, reaches into hiding place, pulls out evening broomstick skirt that belonged to a Charity Dance type outfit purchased by UG's grandmother. LSM has been looking for said skirt for three weeks.

LSM (voice rising to levels heard only by dogs) WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THIS SKIRT! THIS IS AN EVENING SKIRT! IT DRAGS THE FLOOR ON ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, TRIP ALL THE BOYS AT THE DANCE??

UG: (sulks)

LSM: DON'T YOU DARE RAID MY CLOSET AGAIN, MISSY, WITHOUT PUTTING THE CLOTHES BACK IN PRISTINE CONDITION!!!

UG: (sulks)

LSM: Where's your old black velvet skirt?

UG: MOM! It's way too small!!!

LSM: (Finds old black velvet skirt belonging to her). Okay, here you go. Do you think this will work for you? I can pin it up to fit.

UG: (sulkily nods, turns to homework).

LSM: Repeat after me: "Thank you Mom, for working so hard to get me ready for the dance."

UG: (whispers)mmmmmmmmmtha..........hmmmphhhhhhh.

LSM: (to herself) If you need me, I'll be in a bubble bath wishing for strong narcotics.

The Plague And I

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 02:35:00 +0000

Ah, Expletive Deleted!!! The phone rang at 1:00 PM today. Meredith had 101.3 temperature. Come get her from school.

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Both of our kids have immune systems that could win prizes. I think it's the orphanage where they began their life. Many older kids who came out of the girls' orphanages tell stories of children dying regularly. Back in the day, these orphanages had hundreds of kids. It is what it is. But the kids just never get sick. Honestly, they're in the 3rd and 6th grade, and I can count the TOTAL sick days on my fingers.

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Meredith is lying on the sofa, telling jokes (What happens if two green peas get into a fight? They turn into Black-eyed peas!!!), laughing, singing, screaming "LOOK MOM! MY TEMPERATURE WENT DOWN TO 100 DEGREES!" Nothing hurts. No coughing. Nothing. No sore throat. Nothing. Eating like a horse.

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Everybody else feels fine. I confess that I have been a big chicken for the past few months. I'll grab the kids around their waist, hug them from behind or pull them to me, and plant a kiss on their hair. Then I immediately douse myself in sanitzer, making myself so germ free that I could perform an operation with my BARE HANDS.

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We all feel fine, but naturally, NATURALLY. NATURALLY. TOMORROW.

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Tomorrow is the Homecoming Brunch for alumni of the Honors College at USC. We look forward to it all year. I've been working on a course to teach for the Honors Program--either "The Life Of A Real Lawyer" or "Basic Law." The Dean told me that both sounded like great ideas and he wanted me to start working on it. They already have a course entitled something like "The Life Of A Real Doctor." But USC just laid off all their adjuncts anyway. (shrug).

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And tomorrow night is the Halloween party we look forward to every year.

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Ah, Expletive Deleted!!! Meredith will probably be fine by this time tomorrow, but we can't go out in good conscience and expose her. And I don't want to leave her.

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Shoot.

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Edited to add: the words "school dance" just floated across the family room (where Madeleine is chatting to a friend on the phone) to the dining room-cum-computer-office where I'm pounding out this blog entry. I just screamed "WHAT DANCE?" and Madeleine informed me that she will be attending her first dance soon. Well, that will be interesting. Soon, Madeleine will have topped my record of attending dances while in K-12. Which is--ZERO!!

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BREAKING NEWS UPDATE SATURDAY AT 6:00 PM!!!!! I found three old thermostats that Mom used on us back in the day. Two oral, one rectal. My did that bring back some fond memories, NOT.

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So I sterilized one of the oral ones and did the old shake shake motion, feeling like a REAL MOM. Temperature today: 98.6. Meanwhile, Roger was at Walmart buying a new digital. The digital readout: 97.3. Meanwhile, Meredith has been jumping, eating, giggling, watching TV, playing computer games, and riding her bicycle up and down the street.

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The agonizing suffering that child endured!!! Really, I should put up a Paypal button for all the Tequila Sunrises I need to recover from her illness. "Mom, I feel GREAT. Can I have Nick over to play? Please?" Lather, rinse and repeat.

This Old Piece Of &&* House

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 21:03:00 +0000

When I was younger I dated a guy who told me (Hi, T! Thanks for being my pal and putting up with 30 years of wackiness) that he always took pictures of every place that he lived in. I thought that was a great idea, but I always forgot to do so. Well, my parents' house sold, as you may remember if you READ THIS BLOG FAITHFULLY, which I know you do, because it's so darn FABULOUS. Ahem. Moving on.

Well, I decided, during the final walk-through, to take along my camera. So welcome to a place you can't visit any more, even though it's been less than three weeks, because the fabulous new owners have painted the house a beautiful shade of tan with white trim and replaced some of the nasty ceiling fans already.

Welcome.....to the House of Horrors. (Begin ominious music like when the teenage girl, wearing nothing but a skimpy top and Daisy Mae shorts, begins to go down into the attic where the chainsaw killer awaits to saw her limbs off).

Now above please note the front door. See that cute little window? Well, the door is this hideous pseudo-Spanish thing that was all the rage back in 1965 (remember the black leather sofas and the bullfighter posters? No? Well, you missed out). We moved into the house in 1970, and the little window opened. I loved playing with it.

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But Miss Paranoia--a/k/a Mommie Dearest--had the window sealed. Quickly. It's been sealed ever since. Buuuummmmerrr.

Come on in....to the entry hall. The closet was just emptied of dozens of coffee makers, Ginsu knives, food processors, fans, broken fan belts. broken heaters, broken coolers, broken humidifiers, broken anti-humidifiers, dead rats, etc.

Welcome to the weirdness. Okay, now please note the 1973 washing machine and 2004 dryer. In 1973 the nation experienced a devastating energy crisis. My father recorded on his ubiquitous index cards (What? He was a Ph.D! He had a degree from a credentialed university! He had pocket protectors! He had index cards on him AT ALL TIMES IN CASE SOMETHING OCCURRED THAT NEEDED TO BE RECORDED)...well, anyway.

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Daddy recorded the amount of kilowatts or whatever that the household used in 1973, along with the monies paid to the Evil Power Company, and then drew a line and compared the similar data to 1974.

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The dryer ceased to be used. At all. It sat for 30 years, and, peeved at its neglect, decided to blow up. And I don't blame it at all. Mom hung everything outside to dry. So the dryer is relatively new (if you call 5 years "new") and the washing machine is pretty much ready for the Smithsonian's Institute Of Really Atrociously Colored Appliances From The Seventies Where Everybody Was Doing So Many Drugs That They Failed To Notice That They Had Avacado Stoves, Copper Dishwashers, and Dirty Yellow Washing Machines.

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And I swear I did not notice this until I was uploading the pics, but if you look closely....There! I cropped the picture so you could see....

What happens when you marry men and you stay

married to them for seventeen wonderful years filled

with love and happiness and sunshine and roses and

little bluebirds tweeting around their heads..... who

can't keep up with the brutal demands of their loving

spouse to move 5,345 pieces of junk out of a house.

Quickly. Trit-trot.

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I beg your pardon, DARLING. I never promised you a

ROSE GARDEN.

Okay. Now this was in the laundry room. The "Little Gray Box" contains a note from Mom circa 1997 and one from Dad circa 1992. I went over to Picasa and cropped them to see what they said. For future archaeologists, here we go.

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The top note, in Mom's handwriting reads: 11/20/97 I finally discovered the noise maker!

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LEAVE I OFF!!! I guess it's only a timer but original water heater fuse. We now have a gas water heater. (my note: LEAVE I OFF!?????? I??? Mom, um, what does I mean?)

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The middle note, in Dad's handwriting, (very precise) says NEW HOOK PUT IN------3-22-92

----LIGHT

----MICROWAVE

----TELEPHONE ANS. MACHINE

#10 LIGHT IN DRIVEWAY

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And the bottom note reads, in Mom's handwriting: PUMP UNDER BACK BEDROOM.

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Who needs diamonds and negotiable bonds when you

have such priceless heirloom notes?

And here is the kitchen. Hello, the eighties called. They want their stainless steel sink and stained "white" linoleum back. Good luck, new homeowners!!!!

Here is the most horrible family room ever created.

My parents took me house hunting in 1970 when I was 11, while my 8 year old sister was left in the care of her aunt and uncle. BOOYAH. I felt like such a big shot!!!

We walked into this house and I turned to Mom and said, No. Please. Please, please, please, please, not this house.

It is now 39 1/2 years later and I finally don't ever have to deal with this horrible room ever again. There, there. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm great. I'm a strong person.

Note the total lack of 1. windows 2. space 3. respectful husbands.

P.S. When we moved in, the right wall was wallpapered in an attractive red and blue Colonial theme and the light was a WAGON WHEEL.

Another view of the family room. Please note the attractive dark bookshelves, which used to contain my parents' college textbooks. The textbooks had intriguing and enticing titles that made you want to snatch them from the shelves and use them to light bonfires. Example (and I am, once again, not making this up) PARAMECIUM DISCOVERIES IN 1948!!!

Then there was the assortment of cookbooks from THE OLD RUGGED CROSS CHURCH AND GAS STATION IN MOOSE HILL, SC.

And the pile of 78 records from about oh, six quadrillion years ago.

I was aching, literally aching, for my husband to recover his energy and gently caress my........, I mean, for the new homeowners to paint the bookshelves white. But they like them dark. Well, each to his own. MORONS. Just kidding, you guys are great. Seriously, I really really like you guys. Thank you--and I'm being sincere--for repainting the house and just being nice people. And by the way, I just got the yearly tax bill in the mail. See you soon!!! :)

My Daddy liked to build things. Shelves. Lots and lots of shelves. Hope you enjoy lots and lots of shelves. You're welcome.

DISCLAIMER: NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR FEELINGS
OF DIZZINESS, NAUSEA, OR REVULSION. Please feast your eyes on the bathroom connecting my bedroom to my parents' bedroom.

(sigh) There must have been a contest for Ugliest Bathroom Tile somewhere. Somewhere. Somebody must have examined a diaper filled with infant diarrhea and been inspired to create this masterpiece of tile colors.

Speaking of ugly, please ogle the ugly bedroom furniture in my parents' room. My sister has taken these monstrosities and saved them for her son's first bachelor apartment. My, I can hardly wait to see the look on his face when she drags these into his swinging pad!!!!!

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David, I LOVE YOU. David. David. Call me, David. I know a couple of reliable arsonists.

This, my friends, upon first examination, may look like the most boring picture ever posted on the internet. But wait. There is a story here. See the little iron bar?
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Let's go back to 1949. The night before Mom and Dad were joined in Holy Matrimony. Mom had been complaining (her favorite hobby) about how Dad would be traveling a lot and leaving her behind.
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So her brothers wrapped this up and lovingly presented it to her. It is...and yes, ONCE AGAIN, I am not making this up---the bar to the 1928 car that the family used to own. It was the bar that the kids in the back seat hung onto unless they wanted to be thrown out onto the highway.
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They explained to her, as a joke, that she could keep this under her bed and whomp any intruder over the HAID with it.
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Earth to Mom--it was a joke. A joke. Do you know what a joke is?
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A joke?
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She kept it under her bed until the day she moved out of the house in 2008.

And I took it, and it's in the garage somewhere, and if an intruder comes in my bedroom, I'll politely ask him/her to wait while I run find it and WHOMP them upside the head with it.
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Mom would have wanted it that way.

AHA!! You are distracted with the iron bar, but now (cackle), I shall lure you into the Second Bathroom of Grotesque Tile. This is the hall bath.

Okay, take a piece of white tile. Stain it a dirty cream color. Then allow little bugs to crap on it. Then dye their crap green. Then install it in a perfectly lovely suburban home.
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Darn it. See those little aqua things sticking out? Mom used to dry her pantyhose on them. I meant to grab them. Enjoy, new homeowners!!!!

THE END. Please file quietly outside and remember to tip your servers.

Might As Well Jump

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 06:02:00 +0000

Hi everybody. Madeleine (11) and Meredith (9) reporting in from Birthday Town.

Note that Meredith has already used her skateboard and has the waaah wounds to prove it.

Now it is time to party.

I must decide if you are cool enough to party with moi.

We don't let every Tom, Dick, and Harry hang, you know.

Okay, let's party.

LYRICS: "Jump!" by Van Halen

I get up...UP! ...and nothing gets me down

You got it tough

I've seen the toughest soul around......

And I know! Baby just how you feel....

you've got to rooooollll with the punches to get to what's real

Oh can't you see me standing here I got my back against the ipod machine...

I ain't the worst that you've seen

Oh can't you see what I meeeeannn....

Might as well...

JUMP! Jump!

Might as well jump.

Aaaaoohhh Hey you! Who said that?

Baby, how have you been?

You say you don't know...you won't know until you begin.....

Well can't you see me standing there I got my back against the record machine..

I ain't the worst that you've seen

Oh can't you see what I mean?......

Might as well Jump! Jump!!! Go ahead jump!!!!!

Jump!!!!!

Mom! STOP DANCING!!!

October 10, 1992

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 22:09:00 +0000

1992

2009

True Companion - Marc Cohn

our wedding song

Baby I've been searching like everybody else

Can't say nothing different about myself

Sometimes I'm an angel

And sometimes i'm cruel

And when it comes to love

I'm just another fool

Yes, I'll climb a mountain

I'm gonna swim the sea

There ain't no act of god girl

Could keep you safe from me

My arms are reaching out

Out across this canyon

I'm asking you to be my true companion

True companion

So don't you dare and try to walk away

I've got my heart set on our wedding day

I've got this vision of a girl in white

Made my decision that it's you allright

And when I take your hand

I'll watch my heart set sail

I'll take my trembling fingers

And I'll lift up your veil

Then I'll take you home

And with wild abandon

Make love to you just like a true companion

You are my true companion

When the years have done irreparable harm

I can see us walking slowly arm in arm

Just like the couple on the corner do

'cause girl I will always be in love with you

And when I look in your eyes

I'll still see that spark

Until the shadows fall

Until the room grows dark

Then when I leave this earth

I'll be with the angels standin'

I'll be out there waiting for my true companion

Just for my true companion

True companion

I Got Your Polanski Right Here

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 20:35:00 +0000

So much hate, so little time...But let's review the facts.

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A 13 year old girl?

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And Hollywood embraces him?

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Quote from this article:

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On March 10, 1977, then 44, he had taken Samantha Gailey, a 13-year-old child model, to the home of Jack Nicholson in Mulholland, California, where he said he was going to take photographs of her for the French edition of Vogue. After taking the photos, he gave Gailey champagne and a sedative and performed oral sex, intercourse and sodomy on her while she said: "No, I don't want to do this." The original charges against Polanski were "rape by use of drugs, sodomy, and a lewd and lascivious act with a child under the age of 14". As part of a plea bargain Polanski got it reduced to "sexual intercourse with a minor".

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I could write a long treatise, but if you want to read reasoned and logical arguments I suggest you pop over to the Huffington Post.

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Um...what...red haze appears in front of my eyes...unable to write....All I can say is that if you did that to my girls I would advise you to get your affairs in order.

This Used To Be My Playground

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 18:40:00 +0000

We sold our family home this week. Yes, it's a miracle. Yes, if you want a realtor who can work miracles, you should try ours. No, our house isn't on the listings. It sold before it was even listed. Just one of those wonderful, amazing strokes of luck.

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream

I'd post a picture of it, but I forgot to take one. it's a brick four bedroom suburban ranch house. I think you get the idea. About 1900 sq ft. A blazing garden of azaleas in the front, which lasts a whole 2 weeks in the springtime. Rest of the year, a bunch of shrubs. Okay, I did find a "prom photo" from 2006 when I made Roger take me to the prom because I had never attended one. He was coaching at a high school back in those days. I mean, nothing special, just a photograph of an arrangement of furniture that is now in the wind, taken by a lady who sits in a chair all day and has her diapers changed. A quick look back into a past that exists only in a picture.

This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need
Of a friend
Why did it have to end

Now I feel like an idiot for feeling anything but transcendent joy that this house, which needs massive renovations unless you really feel attached to 1980 decor and cost money to keep up, is gone.

Especially since I hated the place from the minute my eleven year old foot hit the floor in 1970, the year my parents bought it. And the last year has been filled with the joy of disposing of a cumulation of 150 years of STUFF. I wish I was talking about GOOD stuff, but I'm talking about broken ceiling fans, tires so old they aren't steel band radials, or whatever, I don't know anything about tires except that my dad had about a dozen stored in a rotting storage house. Oh! He also had a file cabinet made of wood that was so eaten up by termites that it crumbled when you touched it. Now that was wild!

But I see I'm skipping over an important topic: WHY did I hate that house? Well, it's like this. It was 1970 and Columbia was just a lil ol stop in the middle of nowhere. There were like, twelve houses for sale in my parents' price range in the entire town. (I'm making faces here like I'm being force fed brussel sprouts). The house was designed by a man, I'm sure.

Our old house, in Blacksburg, Virginia, had a kitchen and dining room window that overlooked the Appalachian mountains and there was a deck where you could sit and watch the mountains and think long thoughts. This house had a kitchen window that overlooked THE GARAGE and the dining room window overlooked the driveway. Since I often dried dishes, I had a lot of time to formulate vile thoughts about THAT HOUSE.

And why do they always say
Don't look back
Keep your head held high
Don't ask them why
Because life is short

And before you know
You're feeling old
And your heart is breaking

Don't hold on to the past
Well that's too much to ask

But no matter. I said goodbye to the corner of the room where I wrote in my diary the night before 7th grade started. The corner where I was studying the night I heard that John Lennon had died. The corner where I wrote all those gooney poems that all "sensitive" teenage writers-t0-be are required by law to crank out.

I said goodbye to the room where I faced my mother and aunt the night my father died. To the kitchen where my sister (8) and I (11) broke into a chorus of "Jeremiah was a bullfrog! He was a good friend of mine! He never understood a single word he said, but I helped him to drink his wine! And he always had some mighty fine wine!".....when we were asked to sing "Joy To The World" right before Christmas dinner.

I remember the bathroom where my boyfriend tried to sneak a cigarette. I never smoked a cigarette in the house. Okay, one of the owners is dead and the other wouldn't know if I lit a stick of dynamite in front of her and is stashed in a home 20 miles away (mom has Alzheimer's) but I...couldn't. I thought about smoking a cigarette just for the um..heck of it and I. Could. Not. Do. It.

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I remember the day I opened the letter about my college scholarship and Daddy jumping up and smothering me with kisses and the day I got the Phi Beta letter and I ran into the backyard where Mom was hanging clothes and the dog jumped on me in joy as I screamed and cried and I didn't care that I got my good work clothes dirty..

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I remember the wedding day and the babies playing on the floor and the millions of holiday dinners and the fights and the hilarious jokes and the laughter and corny corny corny corny corny....

Well the years they flew

And we never knew

But I wish that you

Were here with me

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Well then there's hope yet

I can see your face

In our secret place

You're not just a memory

Say goodbye to yesterday

Those are words I'll never say

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Wishing you were here with me, Mom and Dad

A Tribute To Christopher Quackenbush

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:56:00 +0000

I wasn't going to republish this again, because it still hurts so much. But then I thought that I once wrote "Never forget" and decided that I would be doing Christopher and all the other victims a disservice if I did not honor that promise.

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I'm not going to pretend that I am some sort of special snowflake; I lost nobody that I knew on 9/11/01--I have since become friends with a very special woman named Sue Mladenik who lost her one and only on the first flight, the Rev. Jeff Mladenik. They had four children and Sue was "paper pregnant" with the adoption application in China asking to adopt their fifth child. Sue has bravely picked up the pieces of her life and gone on to enjoy wonderful family moments with three beautiful daughters from China and her three children born to her and Jeff, and recently became a grandmother for the first time. (although I can assure you that she is as far from the "grandmother" stereotype as one can possibly get!).

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Nevertheless, she must live all the days of her life devoid of the love of her life, and yes, while republishing this isn't going to mean much in the grand scheme of things, nevertheless my little blog can do its little part to honor the victims of cruelty so big that it's still, 8 years later, impossible to wrap my head around it.

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By the way, thank you Michael for tipping me off to a website devoted to Christopher. One day I hope to meet his wife and kids and hear about him from those who loved him best, and still mourn his loss most fervently.

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And so we on earth go on, and the sun comes up, and we brew another pot of coffee and tea, and complain about rush hour traffic, and take the kids to school and violin practice, and share a good laugh with a friend, work, pay bills, enjoy the sunset and fix the brakes in our car, and we think back to that day when everything changed, and we mourn afresh.

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No, I am not entitled to grieve for a personal friend, child, spouse, lover, or parent. But I did walk the streets where the victims walked; I took the subways they used, I visited the building they went to every day. It was personal, man. Every life is precious, but I am only human and I grieve harder for the people who died because so many of them remind me of...myself.

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On September 11, 2001, Christopher Quackenbush, 44, was working at Sandler O'Neill & Partners in the World Trade Center. He had forty years of life stolen from him by madmen with box cutters.

Christopher was trapped in the North Tower above the gash created by the plane that struck the tower, Flight 11. Another successful businessman, Jeff Mladenik, was on that flight. Jeff was happily anticipating the adoption of his second daughter (and fifth child), Hannah, from China. His wife, Sue, is a good friend of mine.

Chris never had a chance. Did he jump? Did he die of smoke inhalation? Did he feel the ground shifting under his feet as the "safe" skyscraper crumbled to the ground?

Did he, five years earlier, watch Titanic with his wife and think ruefully of all the structures made by mortal hands that were, allegedly, "unsinkable"?

I do not know.
This I know for sure.
Christopher was a truly good guy.
Christopher's wife and children mourn him daily.
Christopher should have died in his bed sometime in the middle of the 21st century with his wife, children and grandchildren by his side.
And this much more I know for sure.

We must never forget.

Christopher Quackenbush: 'Christmas Carol' All Year
Most people think of "A Christmas Carol," the Charles Dickens classic, only during the holidays. But the tale of greed and redemption was on Christopher Quackenbush's mind his entire life. As a founding principal at Sandler O'Neill & Partners, Mr. Quackenbush, 44, thrived on sharing his wealth.

He created the Jacob Marley Foundation, which provides scholarships and programs for poor children on Long Island, including annual trips to Shea Stadium for Mets games. The Mets themselves once played Tiny Tim to Mr. Quackenbush's Scrooge: he flew some team members to Washington on his company jet last June to meet President Bush.

In keeping with the story that haunted him, Mr. Quackenbush's generosity peaked at Christmas. "He would give us all a trip somewhere," his sister, Gail, said. "A ticket to whatever we really wanted to do."

Not only that, but Mr. Quackenbush took his wife, Traci, their three children and a throng of relatives to see "A Christmas Carol" at Madison Square Garden every December, reminding them not only of the importance of spreading good fortune, but of having fun doing it. They have resolved to go without him this year. "We're not going to have a good time," Gail Quackenbush said, "but we're trying."

Profile published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on December 8, 2001.

QUACKENBUSH - Christopher. The entire NYU Law School family mourns the loss of our trustee and friend, Chris Quackenbush, a victim of the World Trade Center tragedy. Chris was a special person who combined high values with the ability to inspire others to act for the good. He was a wise businessman and counselor to the great; but still more, he was an example of the finest qualities a person can possess. Even as we use him as a model for our students, we mourn his loss and dedicate ourselves to keeping his spirit alive. Our thoughts, prayers and love are with his wife (Traci), his children (Whitney, C.J., Kelsey) and his entire family. Lester Pollack, Chair; John Sexton, Dean, New York University School of Law.

Paid Notice published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on September 20, 2001.

Over 3,000 bloggers took part in a tribute project in 2006. I was assigned the name of Christopher Quackenbush.

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Thank you Miss Cellania for letting me know about this tribute opportunity.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin,

let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever:
I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.
-- W.H. Auden
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Death Be Not Proud

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull,

for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st,

thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poore death,

nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleepe,
which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure,then from thee,
much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more;

death, thou shalt die. -John Donne

A touching picture that gets me in the gut every time I look at it--imagining the towers themselves crying and holding hands, anticipating their downfall, when they should have been around for us to show our great great great grandchildren.

Ground Zero-Spring, 2004

Much better writers than myself attempted to make sense out of a senseless act of violence.

"...big friendly flying buses.."-Dave Barry's column

"...But you're about to learn."-Leonard Pitt's column

"I Just Called To Say I Love You"-Peggy Noonan's column

"Hallowed Ground"-Dave Barry on Flight 93

originally published September 11, 2006

Don't Worry, Be Happy

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 05:24:00 +0000

So, I read Amalah's post today about how her son Noah got off the bus wearing a backpack after years of screaming refusal and it made me want to write about worry.

Worry. You've heard the old cliche about after having a child your heart is walking around detached from your body, and it's true. If you're reading this, and you have no children but beloved pets, you might be shaking your head and saying, well, I feel that way about Bruno and Felicia and Snuffy too, SO DON'T START PUTTING ON AIRS JUST BECAUSE SMALL HUMANS BELONG TO YOU, MISSY. And you know what? I'm throwing you a bone. (BWAHAHAHA). I felt the same way about my dogs, especially my two dogs who were special needs children. I worried about them and loved them just as much as my kids, but I managed to get over the worst of my grief and loss in four years after their death. Daddy's death took me two years (I had 20 years to prepare for it, as we expected it any day after the then new quadruple bypass surgery he had). I don't want to even write any speculations about how long it would take me...

In fact, our new daughter Callie-the-poodle is NOT special needs, and it's weird. It took me months to "bond" with her. I was so used to dealing with infirm, psychologically scarred dogs that a happy, healthy dog sort of freaked me out.

But anyway, I digress, as I am so often wont to do. I want to talk about worry, and the small creatures that make you worry.

Oh! And it was a total stranger who put Noah's backpack on. And THAT reminded me of a wonderful daycare person who used to be able to feed Madeleine baby food. Why she'd devour it at daycare like a cavebaby who just got fed after the big week long hunt. For us? Fuggettaboutit. I used to say with complete sincerity that I would prefer to change a virulent diaper than try to feed Madeleine baby food. The little booger would allow me to spoon it in her mouth and then slowly, ever-so-slowly, allow the food to oooooooze out of her mouth. Oh! It was maddening.

Now here is the thing that is interesting. Apparently the young lady had something called "oral aversion" which is common among young babies from China. They used to be bottle fed only in China and so many young Chinese babies would refuse to take anything solid in their mouths. So she had a Problem, and I didn't even know about it. So I didn't worry about it. And it went away. Poof!

And then I remember putting myself into a frenzy over private v. public school? I spent about 4,746 hours of my life fretting over that. She's now in public school and tearing the place up. If she does well this year, she will start HIGH SCHOOL CREDIT Algebra and English next year in the 7th grade. She will be 11 when school starts.

Oh, and let's not forget about...

THAT kid, who has spent most of her life being compared to her Sister The Genius Prodigy Harvard Bound, and that kid has never been complimented on anything but her stellar personality. She's coming home with straight As so far in 3rd grade, the first year that she has received grades, and reporting that she heard people saying that she is the smartest kid in the class. She was the only one in the class who got an "A" on some test she took last week. Is she glowing! I knew she needed to be at a different school from Big Sis but I did not expect any immediate payoff, which goes to show you that sometimes life does toss you a bone, and it's all good.

Worry. You can spend your life worrying. Or you can just sit back and enjoy life and your wonderful family. Hey, when you figure out how to do that, can you drop me a line?

I'm working on it.

Backwards, Turn Backwards, O Time In Thy Flight....

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 01:00:00 +0000

Goodbye Summer 2009

(click to enlarge)

Number Nineteen

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 03:57:00 +0000

Yes, the Duggars are expecting a 19th bundle of joy.

This one is for you, Julie, one of the funniest bloggers on the net. Need another laugh from a lady whose name starts with J? Be sure to catch Jane's last post and I'll give you a dollar if you can read it without laughing. Of course there is also Miss Cellania, who also makes me snicker uncontrollably at times.

Seriously, after the disgusting antics of Octomom (I was delighted when her TV show flopped) and Jon minus Kate plus Eight I...um...sorta...kinda....in a weird way.... approve of the Duggars. After all the birthrate is dropping in the US and SOMEONE is going to have to foot the bill for my Social Security checks.

PS Can you please follow me on Twitter so I can have a free washing machine and a pony and a Easy Bake Oven? Please?

Ya Think This Might Help?

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 08:33:00 +0000

(click to enlarge)

Send me your success stories!!!!

sarcasma
sarcasm
cure for sarcasm

I Blinked You Grew

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 22:44:00 +0000

OH MY GAWD Y'ALL.

Tomorrow is the first day of school in this steaming swampland we fondly call South Carolina.

Meredith is starting 3rd grade. She's all like, you know, like, whatever. Been there, done that (twice), bought the T-shirt. MANY T-shirts, for that matter.

Meredith got dragged into a store this morning so her sister could buy her jammin' new back to school clothes. She has a new T-shirt, a new bling necklace, some tennis shoes, and some worn denim shorts. Couple that with zillions of dollars of school supplies (baby wipes, hand sanitizers, Kleenex, glue sticks, notebooks, Post-It notes, binders, dry erase markers, highlighters, rulers, crayons, colored pencils, pens, pencils, and a partridge in a pear tree) and she's good to go.

I can't get blogger to move my pictures around so I'm going to have to break this up into two posts.

Anyway, there's Meredith. She's 8. She'll be 9 on September 28. She's my little girl. At least I have one left. (sob, sniff).

back + to + school
growing + up
school

Yay Me! Tweenager Alert!!!!!

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 22:06:00 +0000

So then there is Madeleine.

Madeleine is starting a big, brand new school just for 6th graders this year.

She brought home her first SCHEDULE on Monday. That kind of startled me. I mean, it looked like the schedules she'll bring home for the rest of her academic career. You know, like middle school, high school, college, grad school, whatever.

No more elementary school with the same old classroom all day long.

She was assigned her very first locker.

She has a pile of schoolbooks that look like the pile I had my first semester in college.

They are huge.

They are heavy.

She will catch the bus tomorrow for the first time at 6:52 AM. (gasps for breath). My night owl is in for a shock. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

She has always gone to school in a uniform. For the first few years, it was a school uniform, and for the last 2 years it's been jeans and a T-shirt. Every day. Worn? Torn? No problem.

We've been working on the new "6th grade look" for awhile. She's let her hair grow and it looks beautiful, and I suggested that she pierce her ears in June. So I wasn't totally surprised, just a little dizzy and faint when I walked through the door after work today. You know, kind of like if I had caught Roger trying on one of my ball gowns or mink stole or something.

She asked today if she could go shopping with some of her allowance money. Her Dad took her (I know he just loved it/sarcasm off) and I walked through the door today to see someone I didn't know.

London Tipton

That's the actress Brenda Song, who plays a ravishingly gorgeous and wealthy teenager named London Tipton on the Disney Channel. Her favorite saying is "Yay me!" Then she jumps up and down and claps for herself. (I like it. I've adopted it for my own personal mantra).

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"London" is always dressed in the latest SOOPER GROOVY clothes with perfectly styled hair, gorgeous bling, and makeup. Madeleine didn't have on any makeup, but she had on one of those adorable tweenager outfits and looked about fourteen. SHE LOOKED LIKE LONDON TIPTON.

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Note: I would have taken pictures, but she has to wash her hair with some megawatt conditioner after a summer in the pool. It looks kind of messy right now. She's laying out her new clothes and hopping in the shower right now.

I'll spare you the sap sap sap mah babee's growing up oh where is that tiny 14 lb bundle they handed me ten minutes ago blah blah blah and just say this...

the times, they are a'changin.

london + tipton
tweenager
6th + grade

There Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 05:45:00 +0000

Or is there?

It's the week between summer school and fall semester and court isn't demanding at the moment (even judges go on vacations) so we decided two things:

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1. We'd vacation.

2. At home.

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Thing about it is--we have a pool. We have a nice house. We love our waterbed (yeah I know, but it's so comfortable!)

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Why spend $180/night in a crowded, sandy hotel room just to watch the waves? I don't like to swim in the ocean and the pool at our favorite dive is teensy.

So! We're swimming, sleeping late, treating ourselves to fancy dinners, and having a ball.

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At the same time I decided I would do ONE hideously horrible errand every day. So far:

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MONDAY. I took an old cross stitch out of its frame, washed it, ironed it, and took it in to be reframed. Updated Blogger picture.

TUESDAY. Cleaned out email.

WEDNESDAY: Change house & auto insurance to AARP.

THURSDAY: Get roots touched up & perhaps an eye exam.

FRIDAY: Take kids to water park. Now that might be fun, or not. I'm tempted to fill an innocent looking thermos with some lethal punch just in case.

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And we will have some fun company on Saturday to look forward to.

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Well, hope everybody else is enjoying the rest of the summer, and I will cyaltr.

Ten Years Ago

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:01:00 +0000

July, 1999-Gotcha Day

Madeleine Margaret Changsheng

July, 2009

Ten years ago....

Two bumbling idiots stumbled woozily into a steaming magistrate's office in Changsha, China and were handed the most beautiful baby in the world.

We took her back to our hotel room and she fell asleep, exhausted from the 9 hour drive from her orphanage in Chen Zhou. She slept for 6 hours.

"Why, there's nothing to this motherhood bit," I thought happily.

Twelve years of freedom, (gone)

Eleven million blankets,

Ten million diapers,

Nine million toys.

Eight hours of sleep (ha)

Seven million memories,

Six extracurricular activities,

Five hundred pictures (per year)

Four happy people (with Meredith)

Three proud grandparents,

Two exhausted parents,

And one baby .

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We were living for a dream,

Loving for a moment

Taking on the world,

That was just our style

Then she looked into our eyes,

We could see forever

The search was over

China gave us the ultimate prize.

Let's Pretend!

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 02:58:00 +0000

My mother's best friend happens to live next door to us. Just a coincidence. We happened to run into each other yesterday and she waved me over for a progress report.

"How is Ruth?"

I gave her a brief update. We had a fluid-in-the-lungs scare where the doctors were just starting to hint about how far did we mean to go with this care thing and then Mom rallied and life rolls on as usual.

I started to practice saying "stop the antibiotics, just give her comfort care" and found that it was much easier to say in a theoretical sense than actually saying "all right, let's go ahead and kill her."

Then I lecture myself sternly that, of course, I'm not doing it, she wanted no extreme measures taken and made it crystal clear, I didn't give her this hellish nightmare of an Alzheimer's twilight that I fantasize will end one day with Daddy, the angels and Jesus appearing to lift her spirit out of her ailing body and take it to, you know, Up There.

And that is what I want more than anything for myself, and I have signed the appropriate legal papers. But if necessary, my loved ones can print off this blog for extra assurance. I want to follow along with my brain, wherever it may go in the future.

"I....I.....I'm sorry that I haven't been to visit her much," she began when I cut her off in mid sentence.

"Neither have I."

It's been a family joke for years that whenever a loved one dies, somehow, Lorrie always manages to be somewhere else.

Coconut.She was killed on my 21st birthday when she ran into a motorcycle which cut off half of her face. I was living with two kids for a week while their parents went on holiday.

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Daddy

He died instantly on August 1, 1997 of a massive heart attack. I was at Myrtle Beach on holiday. My mom and sister raced to the hospital when he was pronounced. "Do you want to see him?" my mother asked. "NO! I shouted! No way! Cremate away!" Never have I regretted this decision.

Nicky

I made Roger take him for his final journey to the vet's office. I knew that Nicky was just as comfortable with him as with me. But then there was

Cassie

Cassie had been rescued from an abusive home and only felt truly comfortable with me. So I womanned up and took her for her final date at the vet's office. It wasn't as hard as I expected.

But there there was my aunt.

Eugenia

This is a picture Daddy shot in the forties. She lived to be 92 and died in 2004.

She died on a Thursday and I had a night class, and I intended to visit her the following morning.....

So. I told her the truth.

"I just hate to go visit her. It's so much easier to pretend that she's happily living in assisted care across town, enjoying her new friends...."

She nodded understandingly.

I want to run away from 2009.

Fun With Fones

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 03:51:00 +0000

Gordon Gekko-Wall Street (1985) First cell phone I ever saw

What did we all DO before cell phones? We suffered, that's what. Yes, I tell you kids, we SUFFERED. SILENTLY. See, it was silently because we weren't talking into cell phones.....get it? Now go and ROFLOL, kthxlvyabye. lvyaspecial, Ms. Jane!

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Now I've never had any problems with my Iphone, none at all. Except if you count the fact that I feel like a bought a jet plane when a tricycle could have done just as well, given my limited intellectual abilities. I still haven't managed to make it play tunes through my aux hookup in the car. (Madeleine tried to show me but I haven't had any luck yet).

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I still want to use the GPS and have the Iphone gently guide me to a fabulous restraurant, but then again during the summer slump in our pay we can't afford them anyway. So, one day, dear Iphone, I promise to let you show me the way to someplace where you eat without using paper napkins, 'kay? OKAY WE HAVE A DEAL.

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However, a friend of mine named Carrie has had some problems with a number that previously belonged to a, um, ahem, well, um, sort of, shall I say, ahem, ACTIVE PERSON. His name will be changed to Cody to protect the innocent.

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She wrote about it recently on a list I'm on and I nearly sprayed the screen and I thought, "You know what? I bet you that I could talk her into doing my job for me." (It's flashes of genius that make me such a superb, albeit lazy blogger). And I bet my readers wouldn't mind one lil' ol' bit. So I asked, and here you go.

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Thank you Carrie! Feel free to write some more hilarious posts that I can "borrow"!!

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Y'all have to be patient with me 'cause I have a virulent bronchial infection that caused the doctor to mutter (under his breath but I still have most of my own teeh and a modicum of hearing ability left) "omigawd." The rattle coming from my lungs and my tubucular-like hacking made him lunge (AAAHAHAHA!!!) for his prescription pad and confine me to the house to 10 days. Lucky I still have my sense of humor, no?

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No?

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Hmmph. Of course I enjoy hanging around the hacienda, but now that I've been told that I HAVE to, I long to escape. That's called human nature, I guess.

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I'm going to turn the microphone over to Ms. Carrie right now. Many of you know her in the China adoption community. I only know her on the net, but I can't wait to meet her one day, and I will. She makes me look sweet and passive (adjectives that haven't been applied to me since the first time I howled for a bottle).

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Carrie begins:

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*****

I bought a new phone 2 yrs ago and got a new number (I really don't use my phone much) and TO THIS DAY I am still getting text and calls for the guy that had the number before me.

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After I bought the phone I then complained vehemently to Lousy Phone Company (LPC) because I pay by the minute and my minutes were being used up. They said they could give me a new number but by then I had already given it to the school, daycare, etc. and all the managers that work with me had it programmed in their phones so I didn't want to go through switching it AGAIN when I had just done so.
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It seems that dear Mr. Cody was *quite* the playa' and all the hoochies had his number. And all the bill collectors. You would not believe the phone calls I have received and the texts I get. And I just got a text 2 days ago that is for him. (remember, I have had this number now for 2 years). (My note: Cody, Cody, Cody! Just think of the opportunities for social intercourse with your cohorts that you are missing by not correcting your number)

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*****

Once I got a call telling me his contacts were in. I explained the situation to the girl who called and she says "Oh that's strange, he just ordered these last week." I swear to God, this was a year after I had this number - he was still giving out his old number to the contact lenses place?? What the.....??

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I told her to give him the message that all his bill collectors and various hoochies were calling me and the girl cracked up laughing and said if she was working when he came for the pick-up, she would deliver the message. I also told her to GET THE $$ FIRST!!

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*****

You see how unselfish Ms. Carrie is? In the midst of her personal telephone crisis, she still has time to think of others. I call that saintly behavior. Yep. SAINTLY.

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I have learned several valuable lessons.

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1. They obviously don't let numbers go dormant for very long in the XXX area code.

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2. Bill collectors won't believe you when you say you are not Cody and still try to collect Cody's debts from you even when you have an obviously female voice.

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3. Bill collectors will hang up really fast if you call them a really filthy name. (My note: Another friend would immediately let his voice drop to a Barry Gordonish whisper and ask them if they were wearing frilly little panties. Both men and women)

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4. Hoochies generally will not phone before 11 am. (My note: Well, their jobs do require a great deal of nighttime activity, Carrie. Have a heart, girlfriend!)

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5. Hoochies don't know how to reprogram their phones. (My note: This should be a topic covered in Hoochie Boot Camp, fer sure)

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6. Hoochies do not believe you when you state you've never met Cody and no, you don't have his new number and accuse you of stealing his phone or, gag me, 'tryin to steal my man'. (My note: Carrie is Married With Children, and these days her idea of an exciting evening is knitting a really great sweater. I feel certain that Carrie is not trolling for booty calls. May I suggest that you program Loretta Lynn's immortal song "You Ain't Woman Enough To Take My Man" into your answering message, Carrie?)

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7. Hoochies have hearing difficulties and leave messages for Cody - even when the voicemail says "Hi this is Carrie, not Cody. He doesn't have this number anymore."

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8. Drunk dialing is a great hoochie pasttime. (My note: At least you can't get a STD from it!)

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9. Hoochies think - after calling YOU and waking you in the middle of the night and you answer the phone with WHAT!!?! - that they have the right to get all indignant. (My note: Once again, a topic that should be covered during the " Pretty Woman manners and ladylike behavior" week at Hoochie Boot Camp)

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1o. Hoochies are not amused when you say "Oh yes, Cody said you were okay enough for a booty call" and using many colorful swear words tell you what they plan to do to you and Mr. Cody the next time you cross paths. (My note: let us hope this phone does not have a GPS on it)

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11. If you want to irritate a hoochie, call her back at 8 am. She'll be sleeping. (My note: See No. 4)

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12. If you really want to irritate a hoochie, program her phone number into the fax machine at work and have it try to send her a fax at 7:30 am. Be sure to select "continue redial until successful."

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13. Hoochies believe that cursing at a fax machine will make it stop. It doesn't. (My note: How interesting! Sometimes it works with my computer, I knoweth not why)

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14. Engineers tilt their little heads just like my dog does and look confused at the sound of Hoochie cursing emanating from the fax machine. (My note: they don't curse a lot at MIT, I guess, unless they get a B+ grade)

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15. Project managers and marketing people laugh and shoot coffee from their noses. (My note: obviously, they are men and women of the world)

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Poor Carrie! Will she ever be able to stop this ceaseless intrusion into her life and cell phone minutes? Will Cody ever find Twue Love and actually notify his Hoochie Harem? Did Cody get his contacts? Inquiring minds want to know.

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Stay tuned.

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By the way, my next blog post is entitled and once again, to quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up : "I once spoke with the alleged sperm donor in the Michael Jackson case, oh and one of my efriends have her zits squeezed by the one & only Debbie Rowe. Hey, tabloids! I'll spill all for the right cash settlement!"

Going Green, Going Nuts

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 18:09:00 +0000

Dear Credit Card Companies,

Thank you for all the suggestions to "go green" and receive only email statements. I really appreciate this. While you're busy jacking interest rates through the roof, sending letters with type the size of one molecule that announce the latest exorbitant fee increase for any late payments, changing the date payments are due, reminding us that if we bank online and the payment doesn't make it to your doorstep by that special day then we'll owe you another $30.00 or so on top of the interest rates you charge, it's comforting and touching to know that you have a minute or so in your busy lives (cough) to worry about the environment.

I'll have you know, Credit Card Companies, that I'm NO SPRING CHICKEN--I'm sure you've figured that out when you see 1959 in the DOB column--yep--right after the Civil War, or was it WWII? I can't remember. Obviously, my memory is not what it used to be.

But I digress. I've been a fervent environmentalist ever since I saw this tear jerking movie in 1970 or so called "Say Goodbye" which implied that by the time I was, well, NO SPRING CHICKEN that the planet would consist of arid deserts devoid of ways to support life.

And I am doing the best I can. How about the fact that I drive a small 2006 Nissan Sentra to work WITHOUT TURNING ON THE AIR CONDITIONER? True, that has something to do with the fact that I can't afford to pay for the gas it would take to use it, and I can tolerate extremely high temperatures without swooning. Believe it or not kids, but Gram here remembers a day when middle class families had ONE tv and ONE window air conditioner in the family room. At night, windows were opened and fans turned on.

We have also stopped using the dryer this summer, put in new energy efficient windows last year, and were forced to install a new H/A unit two years ago when our old one died a horrid death on the hottest day of the year. (Be sure to read my touching obituary entitled "Requiem For An Air Conditioner") Ah, I shall remember that certain Friday night at 10:20 PM when the old unit gave a last pathetic gurgle and died forever....I am trying to go green, so that I might keep some green in my wallet.

My point? You're asking me what the point of this entry is? Well, that is an excellent question and I shall answer you. You see, I had a credit card with Citibank and patriotically agreed to get only email statements. Then we had a most unfortunate series of events with the old folks in our happy little nuclear family. Everybody got sick and I got distracted. Then I *had* to have an Iphone. So that meant changing phone companies. Then I had to get a new email. And so on and so forth, and what happened was that I forgot to notify Citibank of the change in our email address.

You did get my attention with the urgent overnight letter, and I called you, apologized for the mixup, and asked what my balance was so that I could pay it off. I then asked how much of that balance was fines. $120.00. That's right. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY DOLLARS. Citibank, I understand that the years and years that I have paid my bill on time, in full, and faithfully mean nothing to you, and that THE RULES prevent you from reducing it any further than $60.00, but I still think that SIXTY DOLLARS is a lot of money for one honest mistake. And I made a mistake. Indeed I did. I accept responsibility for it. But still--sixty dollars???

Believe it or not, I idiotically accidentally clicked on another company's fervent request to receive "handy and easy electronic statements!" I got my first email from them the other day and clicked on the link provided. It led me to another company that I had to sign up with in order to pay my bill online. NO THANK YOU. I immediately called them and requested that they switch us back to paper statements STAT.

Let's face it. While it is quite possible for snail mail to go astray, it's also even more possible that a glitch somewhere in a circuit board might result in an email not reaching you, innocent consumer. I sincerely recommend that you request paper statements from your credit card companies.

Frankly, I am sincerely concerned about the amount of paper I receive and may I make a suggestion on how to cut down on some of it?

STOP SENDING ME CREDIT CARD OFFERS EVERY FREAKING DAY URGING ME TO TAKE OUT ANOTHER CARD AND RUN UP SOME MORE DEBT.

It's just a thought.

Smooches!

Lorrie

Update 4:52 PM...I binged "citibank ceo" and found a phone number that connected me with their corporate office, and the nice person I talked to removed all fines and charges. Yowsa! Thanks, Citibank, you rock!!! But your front line staff still told me they "couldn't" remove any more than they did, and when I asked to speak to someone higher up, they "couldn't do that" either.

Update 8:26 PM.....And...our governor Mark Sanford is a total idiot, and once again South Carolina is the laughingstock of the country thanks to his moronic behavior. Somewhere in the handbook called "Governor For Dummies" it MUST say "Don't be the only governor in the country to reject a much needed stimulus package" and it also must say somewhere "Don't disappear for days and then show back up and confess that you journeyed to Argentina for an assignation on Father's Day Weekend." I just know it!!!

Mark Sanford
Citibank
South Carolina governor
Argentina
Buenos Aires
Sanford Argentina affair

The Muse Strikes

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 18:26:00 +0000

September, 1962-Lorrie and Caroline

ADOPTION RAP

So we're adopted-ok, big deal
Lotta people tellin' us what we oughta feel
Why doncha keep your big mouth shut
And quit talkin' oucha butt
Everybody sayin' we're all messed in the head
I guess you'd rather us be dead

October, 1966-Lorrie and Caroline

Some days I'm sad, some days happy
I know this is rap but I'm gonna get sappy
Love my family so, so much
Always there with their lovin' touch
Father Knows Best, Donna Reed Show
My childhood was like that doncha know

Easter, 1985

So now we got two kids of our own

Thank you China for your generous loan
God looked down and made a match
One kid's my clone I coulda hatched

Madeleine Margaret Chen

The other one acts just like her dad
They're so sweet don't know how to be bad

Meredith Grace Li-Pei

I respect your feelings I swear it's true
Once I felt exactly like you...

but I got something I need to say
To the lady who shoots the IVF
I hope those drugs don't cause your death *
You just gotta have onna "your own"
You don't have the bling, just get a loan.

You dismiss adoption as an elective
They "need a good home" but you're scared they're defective
Different color, different eyes don't groove

Scared your family might not approve
Funny thing 'bout that perfect kid, boo
You could give birth to one with problems too

So you say why'd you go to China

You coulda adopted from South Carolina
We tried and I bet you'll never guess
Biracial? AA? We said YES!
The Man looked at us and said HECK NO
So that's why we had to go
Half the way around the world
To get our gorgeous fabulous girls...

Don't wanna be hatin' on people who employ
another path--I wish you all joy
Just remember if you have to have "your own"
One day you might be all alone.

*Gilda Radner, Liz Tilberis, me-fertility treatment, OC. In my case, fertility treatment has made me into a semi invalid due to a long and complicated serious of painful and expensive problems. A link? I believe so. copyright Lorrie, all rights reserved

adoption
adoption + international
china + adoption
infertility

As Told To....Holy Communion

carolinagirls@att.net (cluelesscarolinagirl) — Fri, 29 May 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Hi. I'm Madeleine. One more week of school, and I'll be a rising 6th grader. Nice to meet you.

This is my mom, Lorrie. She pretty much runs things around here.

Don't tell Daddy I said that.

Here she is again. Don't tell her, but she's sucking in her stomach as hard as she can, the gold jewelry cost $1.00 and her shirt cost $1.00. She got it at a consignment store. Plus she gets her hair done at Walmart. When I get big, I plan to be REALLY classy. Easy--I'll just ask mom where do stuck up people go who don't "know how to manage money and be thrifty" and then I'll go to where the stuck up people go.

ANYWAY, she made Daddy drive Meredith and me to stupid religion classes every Wednesday night for a whole YEAR so we could be baptized and receive Holy Communion as young Catholics. Then the women asked Daddy to be a substitute teacher a lot, so he got to teach 6th graders. Daddy's a real sucker. Don't tell him I said that either. He was raised Catholic, and we wanted to also 'cause all our cousins who live in Columbia are, and they're really cool. I mean like Alex, Kody, Kendall, and Logan rock.

Mom refuses to change from the Episcopal Church. She says when priests can be women and marry and when the Church blesses gay marriages, she'll reconsider her position. She says she took holy vows when she was confirmed Episcopalian, and that is that. Personally, I just think she's too lazy to go to religious school. Funny how she always picked that night to "work late."

I'd rather go swimming...note my newly pierced ears! Woot!

And Meredith would rather go swimming....

Or just chill and play with our puppy Callie....

But we have to do what adults tell us to. Totally bites.

So the first thing we had to do was get all dressed up. This is a picture from my Holy Communion in 2007.

And so is this one.

So naturally we had to go through the whole thing again with Mom screaming, "SMILE!" and Daddy screaming "We'll be LATE!"

I'm having so much fun I can hardly stand it.

Then we were off to church....

I gave Meredith some advice on how to fake looking all holy and good and stuff like that.

I think I did a good job, don't you?

Once I got Meredith all indoctrinated, I grabbed Mom's Iphone and started texting my friends. Mom is very understanding, I'll have to say. She says church is boring unless the priest has an interesting sermon or a good hymn she can sing. She sings horribly, but it's good and loud.

Finally it was over with and time for pictures.

Meredith shot this picture of Mom and Dad. Mom wore proper shoes in church, but brought her flip flops to change into afterwards.

More pictures...

Here we are with Daddy and his parents.

Meredith got some cool gifts, but nobody gave ME anything, so I ignored everybody and decided to text again.

And then we all went home and Meredith fell asleep early. It was a long day!

THE END.

holy communion
catholic

clueless in carolina

Accidental Motherhood

One Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

GONNA FLY NOW

That Was Then, This Was Now

The Plague And I

This Old Piece Of *&*&* House

Might As Well Jump

October 10, 1992

I Got Your Polanski Right Here

This Used To Be My Playground

A Tribute To Christopher Quackenbush

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Backwards, Turn Backwards, O Time In Thy Flight....

Number Nineteen

Ya Think This Might Help?

I Blinked You Grew

Yay Me! Tweenager Alert!!!!!

There Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues

Ten Years Ago

Let's Pretend!

Fun With Fones

Going Green, Going Nuts

The Muse Strikes

As Told To....Holy Communion

This Old Piece Of &&* House