clueless in carolina

I Thought We Were On A Break

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Fri, 25 Jul 2014 02:47:00 +0000

I'm back.

Today I am 53

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 22:24:00 +0000

And I'm just going to talk about some things.

First of all--does anybody want to help me migrate back to Blogspot? I cannot stand Wordpress. I do not have the technical knowledge to work with it nor can I afford hosting fees with GoToHeckDaddy.

I will pay you!!

Secondly.....We are remodeling our house and it is like living in an episode of "Hoarders". Our kitchen cabinets have been emptied and I have found tiramisu mix that dates back to 2005. New cabinets are being installed every day.

Black mold was found under our house.

We are going to have the head of Russell and Jeffcoat, local realtors, come out and do a "Show and Tell." Basically, thanks to black mold, improper and not up to code wiring, etc. our house was a firetrap waiting to go up.

I have been buying a few pieces of Wedgwood on ebay and some twit just shipped a darling little box from England in an old laundry detergent box and its broken and I AM SUPPOSED TO PAY TO HAVE IT SHIPPED BACK TO ENGLAND before I get a full refund but I HAVE TO PAY FOR THE POSTAGE.

I DON'T THINK SO, EBAY!!!!!!!

I am looking to find a cheaper nursing home for my mother. I asked for a reduction in fees and the Chief Financial Officer ridiculed and humiliated me. I have spent 4 years trying to come up with the funds to pay for $7500 a month and I am sick of it. There has to be a cheaper place where she can live. At this point she needs a safe warm place where she is fed--she does not need the fancy trappings that the current nursing home offers. She deserved and needed a nice place to live when she moved in since she still had some lucidity but at this point she has the mentality of a vegetable.

The goldfish in our house swim to the front of the tank when Roger walks up but ignore me because Roger always feeds them. Our little African frog puts his foot down when we sprinkle food in the tank so the other frog can't get to the food. He is twice the size of the other one! We have to distract him while we surreptitiously funnel some food to the other frog.

My mother has less reasoning power than the goldfish and frogs.

This is not a happy thing.

I have a Social Security Disability hearing on February 23, 2012. Please say a prayer to the Deity of your choice that I get it!! I need it. I often am bedridden 20 hours a day.

Our chiropractor is getting a hyperbaric oxygen chamber! I am really excited!!! Maybe this will help!!!!

I need to go to Wedgwood Anonymous. I love that stuff!!! Thank heavens I ran out of room to put it!!!

The girls are doing great. Madeleine has been invited to join the International Baccalaureate program at high school (HIGH SCHOOL????????? DOES NOT COMPUTE) next year and Meredith is finally finishing up elementary school!! I can't wait....YEAH, I know that childhood is fleeting and all that, but next year, she can ride the bus. This year, since she is in a special magnet program for embryonic engineers, we have to provide transportation. 6th grade can't arrive fast enough!!

I went to a great church service on Sunday with my chiropractor's wife. It was a Pentecostal service, 1/2 black and 1/2 white people. It was wonderful and joyous and fun and there was nothing but joy and love in the room. It is enough to make me seriously consider joining a church like that. Great music, people dancing, worshiping God...instead of hushed hymns and a boring service.

My life sucks, but not as bad as people who are losing their jobs and houses and spouses and kids.....My job is gone but I have great kids and a healthy spouse and I am BLESSED.

How do you get a 13 year old to talk to you? Mine won't talk to me. I suppose one day she will need money or a ride somewhere. She's a great kid but....I miss talking to her. I miss photographing her. So I was just wondering if Laura Ingalls Wilder stopped talking to her parents when she was 13? Did Louisa May Alcott? Our kids are well behaved and polite and do great in school and in life, but she won't talk to me. Pondering if it is a first world luxury to be able to retreat to your room and read Breaking Dawn without engaging in conversation with your parents.

Peace out, all!!!

New Year Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 07:08:00 +0000

Happy 2012.

I've been pretty absent from this blog, and I apologize.

I never make New Year resolutions, because it just means that I feel guilty when I break them, but this year, I've decided to be different and make them.

1. I resolve to be realistic about this blog. I am going to write whatever I want, whenever I want, and not worry about making a million dollars a year from it.

2. I resolve to accept the fact that old friends who have disappeared from my life were never really friends in the first place.

3. I resolve to accept the fact that one true, good friend is worth one hundred ephemeral "friends" who have vanished from my life. I resolve to LISTEN to my friends when they talk to me.

4. I resolve to stop being in pain. I have a lot of reasons to be in pain. A painful disease, a dying mother, financial worries.....I resolve to take the medicine I need to stop the pain without feeling guilty. I resolve to deal with my mother by simply saying a short prayer for her every time I think of her and not wallowing in guilt, shame, sadness, things that can never be fixed, etc.

5. I resolve to win my disability case with Social Security.

6. I resolve to touch up my roots faithfully.

7. I resolve to be grateful for my blessings.

8. I resolve to save all of my receipts.

9. I resolve to stop eating gallons of peppermint ice cream (my particular brand of crack)

10. I resolve to forget about all the bad things that have happened. The people who caused me pain and anguish certainly aren't thinking about me. I am not wasting my time thinking about them.

So.....That's it for me. How about you?

MEN SUCK a/k/a But He Can Name The Starting Lineup For The 1969 Mets

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 00:45:00 +0000

Me: I think I've selected the ornament to add to the tree for 2011.

Husband: Huh?

Me: Y'know, this will be the twentieth year that we've added one special ornament to the tree. Remember 20 years ago we were getting serious so I suggested we both pick out one ornament to start our tree out if we got married?

Husband: Huh? (quickly faking fond reminiscing smile) Oh, yeah!! It's BEAUTIFUL!!! (quickly slinking out of the room to watch basketball game)

Why I Know Kim Kardashian's Wedding Was Faked

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 04:17:00 +0000

CAKE!!!

CAKE MURDER!!!

Okay, when I saw this picture I almost cried. Tears gathered at my lovely blue eyes. But I choked them back. Unable to speak, I pined to join a pool betting on how long the wedding would last and win so I could buy a cake like this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, in all seriousness, that zillion dollar cake could have been donated to a homeless shelter, but instead was thrown in the trash. Who does that with the top of their wedding cake?

Yes, the wedding was definitely faked. The amount of money spent on this wedding was, in today's economy, obscene.

Yet, I cared enough to write an article about it, entirely ignoring the fact that SEO engines might bring me some hits. The people who come here aren't going to stick around to hear about a fibromyalgia stricken adopted adult with a couple of surly Chinese tweens who talked their mother into going out Black Friday night and spending an obscene amount of money on clothes at Kohl's. Just because Madeleine was down to one pair of jeans that fit her. In my day we just washed the one pair of jeans we owned on rocks every night.

Hope y'all had a good Thanksgiving.

Here is what I am thankful for.

I HAVE A SOCIAL SECURITY DISABILITY HEARING DATE!!!!!! In February. Please send positive thoughts into the atmosphere for me. This would ease our financial worries so much.

Roger's surgery is over with.

Madeleine's braces will soon be off, and I'll get to start making payments on Meredith's. Hey, at least I won't get out of the habit of doing so!! And by the time Meredith's are off, we can start making payments on college tuition.

Another thing I wonder--is a 4 year liberal arts degree one of those things you have to get even though it can bankrupt you and may never prove to be of any financial worth? My friends' kids are either taking jobs that they would have sneered at when they were 16, going back to a tech college to be plumbers and nurses, or simply sitting in their room riffling through their student loan bills and sobbing hysterically, often joined by their parents.

My grandparents told me parents to get a practical degree or they wouldn't pay--so did my parents say to me. I guess I'll carry on the tradition. I got a BA in broadcast journalism. It has helped me tremendously. It helped me take pictures, learn to make movies, and helped me learn how to write.....

More on that later. Hope you had a good holiday and are ready for the Christmas/Hanukkah madness to begin.

Peace out,

Lorrie

Roger Goes To The Hospital

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 01:11:00 +0000

Smiling Through The Nerves

Go Gamecocks!

A Man And His Dog Heal Quickly While They Share Coffee And Bananas

Roger had minor wrist surgery on November 2, 2011, which explains my absence. Between donning the special nurse's uniform Roger bought for me (Are they SUPPOSED to have cutouts?) , driving the children around everywhere (Please give me a taxi meter for Christmas, bill to be presented when they earn first paycheck. Notice I optimistically say "when" not "if").....I've been very busy.

But he is doing great. Went back to work on Thursday. The doctor added extra cartilage, scraped out dozens of small bone spurs, and shored up sagging (cough-I swear that was the word used) tendons. He already felt better in the recovery room. Said the shooting pains in his arm had disappeared.

Once again, I honestly do not know how he managed to somehow stumble through 38 years without me. I looked at the insurance and decided it would be a good time to do it as our bills have been high this year. I set the appointment and informed him. He sat back casually and said, "I'm glad you did that. Y'know, I've been having awful shooting pains up my entire arm."

Dude.

If one ounce of my pain could be cured by surgery I'd be slicing myself open with a Veg-O-Matic.

So off we went, and I tried to inject levity into the proceedings. It was easy. Hey, it wasn't ME getting sliced and diced.

The nurse started to ask the ritual questions and the anesthesiologist dropped in for a chat. She turned to me and said, "Could you help out?" Sure.

"What religion is he?"

"Satanism....I'll be sacrificing a goat during the operation in the parking lot. Well, except maybe across the street since you have the no smoking signs up..."

.........

"Oh I'm just kidding!"

"You know," she laughed, "I seriously have always wondered what I would say if someone ever meant that."

The anesthesiologist got him prepped and off he went on the cart. I leaned over to kiss him and addressed the group waiting.

"Please don't worry too much. I've got lots of life insurance on him (then I broke up laughing), so it's kind of a win-win."

(yes. I swear I said all of this).

So he was carried out on a wave of laughter, which was more difficult to manage than a stretcher.

He's doing fine, and I'm so relieved to have this over with. He was told it was a'comin two years ago, but put it off. I just believe a man should have as much dexterity in his hands as possible. To do household chores and all.

Yue Yue, I'm Mourning for You

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 04:04:00 +0000

It could have been one of our girls.

It could have been one of our girls lying broken and bleeding on the street, as the world mourned.

It was the sheer luck that a security camera happened to catch the footage of a 2 year old girl gleefully riding her tricyle on a busy street while her parents shopped when she was run over twice by cars.

Seven minutes passed, while the security camera mercilessly continued to run, capturing footage that broke the heart of the entire world.

Ten years and thousands of miles separated the broken and bleeding child in China from the thirteen year old Chinese child who lay on our couch tonight, idly flipping through my iPad. If she had stayed in China instead of being adopted by a middle class family in America, she might have been resting after pulling a ten hour shift assembling that iPad.

What was the child in my house thinking about?
Did she catch the gleaming pool in the moonlight from the den as she walked through it to curl up in the mahogany Craftique bed her adopted grandmother willed to her?
Was she thinking about using her phone to text a friend? Another vibrant, well fed, joyous friend attending a good public school, taking high school courses in the eighth grade?
Was she mentally revising the English I Honors paper she is writing, the first of many that she will one day turn in to college professors at an American university?
Was she remembering the first grown up Halloween party that she and her sister attended the day before, or wondering if she would receive the iPod Touch that she asked us to give her for Christmas?
Was she anticipating getting the braces off of her teeth before school started after the New Year's Eve party she planned to throw?

An eleven year old girl adopted from China sat on the floor and laughed as she played with her puppies. She did not need to think of using them for food.
She proudly placed the paper announcing that she had been selected for Math Olympics on the refrigerator, texted one last friend, plugged in her cell, and curled up under the designer quilt I had found on ebay for pennies on the dollar.
She could be pulling a blanket over her head in a tent after spending the day working the fields, or the day working in a factory breathing poisonous air that her adopted family (grandfather, great grandfather, great aunt, grandmother) worked so hard to make illegal in America.

By now you all know the story of the peasant child nicknamed Yue Yue who was run over by two cars and left to die on the street while people casually walked by her, motorcycles swerved to avoid her, and everybody ignored her until after seven interminable minutes a woman rushed to move her out of the street and her mother rushed to her side.

I don't understand why the child was left alone for so long-SEVEN MINUTES???? And who knows how long she had been riding her tricycle before she was run over? But never mind that minor detail. Her parents will have to live with that the rest of their lives. But hey, she was only a girl. She has a big brother. He's the prince of the family. Lord knows, if they had to lose one, at least it was the girl.

By now we all know that China has discouraged potential Good Samaritans by stupidly ruling that they could be fined and punished for helping a hurting stranger, and that new laws are already being drafted to protect the next person wondering whether to help or avert their eyes when they are confronted with a desperate situation.

And the little girl immortalized forever in the merciless video has died. Tears have been shed. Breast beating articles have been written. China has been exposed for what it is..a country that places very little value on poor people, especially baby girls.

We, along with thousands of other First World citizens, were lucky enough to adopt two children from orphanages ten years ago. Our girls, along with many of their sisters and brothers (perhaps biological, or cousins, or half siblings), are growing up in first world homes. Many of their parents have different racial identities, most Caucasian, although every ethnicity in the world has adopted children from China.

And now I'm going to talk about the elephant that was in our nice middle class living room tonight. There were several elephants, and a couple of sacred cows. It was a pretty crowded den.

1. It's always best to be with your birth family. Vicious experts have worked very hard to demoralize the happy parents who carried home their children from foreign countries by charging them money to merrily assure them that they were only fifth best, after birth families, etc etc etc.

NO IT IS NOT.

And, as you have read so many times, at least I can speak from the pulpit labeled ADULT ADOPTEE WHO KNOWS THE PAIN OF NO BLOOD KIN.

2. China is a proud and wonderful country.

NO IT IS NOT. It is a crowded, filthy, corrupt country filled with people who are forced to bury their good qualities to survive. The babies born there are just like you and me but they are raised in a society that teaches them that human life is not real meaningful, quality of life is a luxury, and only the strongest survive and if you have to bury your good qualities to survive, you do so. Girls are not as good as boys and money is all powerful (just like the US)

Let me tell you a little story.

I hear whispers in the darkness. Whispers flying into my interested ear of well meaning First World parents of Third World adoptees who have donated millions to China hoping to save other children born in the same circumstances as their children. I hear that orphanage children do not receive an education and are turned out on the street at age 16 with no job skills. Prostitution, factory work, or death quickly follows.

I hear whispers that millions of dollars given to adoption agencies and funneled to Chinese officials have found their way into corrupt pockets instead of to the orphans they were supposed to help.

I was born cynical. Twelve years ago, our agency instructed us that we should spend a good deal of money on honorariums (gifts) to the orphanage officials and nannies that arrived and placed our children in our arms. We were not to be hurt by the fact that the gifts were not opened in front of us, nor were we thanked. That was the Chinese way. Well, I was pretty cheap when I was born, so instead of spending another hundred or two dollars I went to Goodwill and found some Disney World t-shirts that looked brand new and some silk ties for a dollar apiece and I wrapped them up in recycled gift bags and stuffed them in our suitcases. As promised, the officials gathered the items up (some professionally wrapped) and bundled them off without a thank you.

Our luggage containing our orphanage gifts arrived two days after Meredith was placed in our arms. I tried to give the gifts to the nannies who were still in town. The big gun had already left for the orphanage. THEY REFUSED THEM!! They didn't even open them, just shoved them back at us. AHA I KNEW IT I exclaimed to Roger. They don't get to keep anything, so why bother to even take it back with them? And if they opened them and kept the gifts, someone would rat them out. Whatever, he sighed, trying to give one girl a bottle and entertain the other with a can of Pringles.

Families were asked to donate $1000 American dollars for an air conditioner for the room that the babies had lived in. Playing "Dumb Tourist" (a role that came as natural as breathing) I asked one of the hotel bigwigs how much an air conditioner cost. Oh, about $400, he replied. Then his head snapped around. Why do you want to know? I was already sprinting for the elevator, announcing that our gift would be 1/2 the amount asked for. The orphanage did send us pictures of the air conditioner and a picture of a sign stating that the air conditioner was given in honor of the six babies, including my Meredith, who lived in that room. I would love to show her the room one day...

3. So you're saying America, or the other First World countries that have adopted children from Third World countries (PS What are Second World countries) is perfect?

I AM NOT EVEN GOING TO DIGNIFY THAT WITH AN ANSWER.

4. First World parents saved their children adopted from a Third World country.

YEAH WE DID. We may have saved their life. We have given them a chance to grow up in a nation richer and blessed with many material things that they could not have in China and we have given them love and parents. The only thing that needs to be added is that we did not save them because we are good people, we saved them because we ourselves were chosen by the luck of Fate to be born into a world that gave us the opportunity to have more things. And because we craved and yearned to have children.

5. Our children saved us.

YEAH THEY DID. They saved us from a life without the pitter patter of little feet in many cases. They saved us from a lonely life. They have brought us joy and happiness immeasurable by any human yardstick. And they know it, because we tell them so frequently. In my case, they saved my life, because after the fibro hit, they kept me firmly determined to live because I could never abandon them, due to vows taken as holy as those made in a cathedral.

A few years ago, I asked Madeleine if she wanted to return to China to see her birthplace.

Are you crazy? she asked. Let's go back to Hawaii!!! (We got free tickets due to a flight bounce and flew there just before she turned two) Or maybe Paris, she mused, having recently read the famous Madeline books. She has never wavered from her belief that China is a terrible place. Born a genius, I feel sure that she remembers bits and pieces of orphanage life. Of course I am working to help her change her mind. Of course I do not denigrate China in front of her. I don't think either child has read the news story, and I am not going to bring it up.

One day in the not so distant future, I may be clicking on Priceline and buying tickets to Hawaii, or I may be renewing passports and showing them the Eiffel Tower in the moonlight.

Many people believe that two thousand years ago a child named Jesus changed the world. I am not going to tackle that theological question, but I can tell you one thing that I hope with all of my heart and that is that a child named Yue Yue changes the world.

THANK YOU AND HERE IS A CUPCAKE!!!

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 01:57:00 +0000

I am so filled with gratitude to all of you who commented, emailed, sent your love.

Thank you, thank you.

I used to swear that I would never write a flounce post. You know, trainwreck. Woe is me. Poor little me. The world hates me.

I'd read others and think snottily, "Hmmm. Begging for hits. Everybody loves a good down & out story. I'll never do it. I'll keep my problems to myself, the way I was raised."

The Southern Lady way.

But I sat down and wrote that post because I wanted to. It came from the heart. I...um...I don't know how I can justify it...aren't ALL posts supposed to be from the heart?

I just want to thank you so very much for reading and caring enough about me to make your way through a mess of whining and moans.

I guess we all need to let it out once in awhile. I know I feel 100% better now. We all have problems. Some people have worse problems than others. But this I know is true. I do TRY to give back, post encouraging things, etc. And it felt SO DARN GOOD to get it back.

I promise I won't make a habit of these posts. It's the pain. The chronic physical pain. I could take on the world if I weren't for this pain.

And..the fatigue. I have not been out of the house except to go pick up Meredith from school for ten days. In order to do something fun, the planets have to align. I have to feel energetic enough. The pain level has to be fairly low. Those conditions rarely come together.

Okay!! ENOUGH.

THANKS.

"The Cool Kids Don't Want To Be Your Friends"

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 01:24:00 +0000

I'm depressed, and I have been wallowing in a pit of self pity now for several months. I put off and put off posts. I used to look forward to posting. As soon as I hit publish, I couldn't wait to write another post. I kept thinking that I could be a contender. I've tried to make friends with many bloggers, and almost every blogger that I've reached out to has been just lovely.

Then I went to Blogher 10. All by myself. And I was miserable. I approached many, many bloggers. Everybody was nice and friendly and polite and was willing to engage in conversation with me. But nobody said, "Hey, wanna join us?" They said goodbye and walked away. Every day I left to go back to my cousin's house, because I could not afford to stay on site, with tears running down my face, telling myself that the next day would be different.

But it wasn't.

I had a special group of friends on a list that I enjoyed. Every time I would mention that I had tried to socialize or be friends with a popular blogger, I was mocked mercilessly. Eventually, somebody posted private posts and I know exactly who did it. It wasn't me, it was somebody who posted under a pseudonym. For some reason she had a thing against me. It went on for years. I tried to ignore it. But she did it deliberately, and got me banned from the list.

Banned! I have never been banned before. I keep people's secrets. I would never betray anybody, for any amount of fame, prestige or money.

One of the last things I posted on this list was that I was thinking about attending the Mighty Summit. The ridicule was immediate, and sharp. One person wrote, "As your sort-of internet friend, I'm begging you not to go. Don't you understand? The cool kids group is closed. They don't want to be your friends."

I didn't go. It would have been an expensive trip, and I was so worried that she was right.

I've almost given up on being "somebody." I am sick and I need to spend 20 hours sleeping some days. Then there are the things that I have to do raising kids, trying to run a home. I don't know how to be somebody. I have stopped applying for different opportunities on the WWW. I used to write funny sometimes--I thought. As Joan Rivers once said, "Jokes get me a place at the table."

Someone else said that the way to success was to put in 6 hard years. I have. I am still nobody.

I'm depressed. I'm tired, I'm sick.

I lost the career I loved.

My mom is still dying in a nursing home. I just received notice that her fees will be increased by 7% next year. Right now, I'm hoping her nursing home insurance check will post in her account. It will run out in 2 years. After that, how will I pay the $7000 and more a month? Her pension and social security check do not begin to cover the bills charged by this home.

My 13 year old hardly speaks to me and my 11 year old will shortly not be speaking to me. Adolescence. But the lovely, cheerful, sparkling daughters I used to have are temporarily disappearing into sullen, distant teens. I know this is only to be expected and things will change. And I'm lucky that they are basically healthy and normal, bright, beautiful girls. But as I wearily pour my aching body into the car for another trip to pick one up from school or violin practice or this or that, it's hard to be greeted by a child who barely acknowledges that you exist, busily texting her friends, only stopping to criticize me for something.

Two of my oldest friends don't speak to me anymore. One told me that she had "moved on." The other one hasn't spoken to me since a fibro flare caused me to miss a party.

Roger didn't get the full time job he was hoping for, and he needs surgery on his wrist which will take place November 1.

I'm depressed. Every week I say to myself that it's one week closer to my death. I can't wait. I am in horrible pain most of the time. Life seems like a slow, bitter struggle towards the end mark. Yet, I am still vain. I don't want to get old. I just want to die.

But don't worry, I will never depart voluntarily. I am afraid that if I do, I will have to come back and do it over again.

One of my lifelong friends is suing a doctor that I recommended to her and I'm on the witness list.

I've tried everything to beat the fibromyalgia. Nothing has worked. I've spend thousands of dollars on alternative medicine, and nothing has worked so far. The only alternative medicine that is supposed to work is guaifenisen, but you're in pain while it's working. I need more pain? No. I don't want to take pills for 10 more years and still be in pain, and it seems that so many people are doing just that. I guess I need to get back on it, though, because eventually it is supposed to make you feel better. But we're talking years.

I am still waiting for my Social Security Disability hearing. My Long Term Disability will stop in March, 2012. I will still get state retirement disability. I'm constantly fending off letters from the agency representing me for Social Security Disability and letters from my Long Term Disability people. Are you better? Have things changed?

My old job? Almost everyone there has forgotten me. I am so depressed that I am unable to even muster up the cheerfulness or desire to try to see old friends or make new ones. I often have to cancel social engagements because I'm in another fibromyalgia flare.

Five years ago I couldn't zip up my jeans and made an appointment with my doctor for surgery to remove possible ovarian cancer. That surgery triggered the fibromyalgia that has ruined my entire life. Life was perfect 5 years ago. If I had only known, I would have passed up the surgery and either been healthy or died from ovarian cancer.

I just want to die. I want to go to sleep and wake up in a different world. I hate my life. Every single bit of it. I've tried for five years to get well, have a job, have friends, be a well known blogger. I've failed in every endeavor.

I want to die. Really, really, really want to die. Yet I have horrible feeling that I won't die, and eventually I will be all alone. My one and only prayer these days is that I die before my darling husband does. Our 19th anniversary is tomorrow. He is my rock. He is the most wonderful person. How blessed I am to have him.

All I hope for at this point is to somehow struggle through the rest of my life with as little pain as possible and see my girls become beautiful, happy, accomplished women. Then I want to leave this world. And never come back.

I'm hitting publish right now or I will lose my nerve. If you read this, thank you very much, and I am fine. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm going to go back to my bed and watch a funny movie. Maybe things will look brighter in the morning.

MEN SUCK (The Home Decorating Edition)

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 00:43:00 +0000

I know, I know, my lesbian friends complain about their wives too. But my lack of recent posts has to do with the fact that we are redecorating because the insurance adjuster was nice enough to realize that it would be unpleasant to have the bathroom floor cave in. So we are fixing things up a little bit. Our contractor, who is a lovely man and if you want his name write me because I will be glad to give it to you but I don't want y'all calling him and tying him up when I'm trying to hire him so just remember that I have first dibs and we'll get along fine.

So the bathroom gets fixed up (pics as soon as it's all together) and of course the adjoining master bedroom suddenly looks like a room in a tastefully decorated, but dirty and shambling brothel, so I asked him to please paint the walls and cover over the ceiling popcorn, which I loathe with a seething passion. (I'm not gonna repeat that any more but just imagine that every word of this post is inspired by SEETHING! PASSION!!!). There you go.

He said "Will you marry me?" and I thought it over for about 15 seconds and said yes. 19th anniversary coming up October 10! I love Roger so much!! He's the sweetest, most wonderful man, good looking, a great daddy, a good cook, and I forget what else.

But I apparently need to have someone take me out and repeatedly bang my head against a wall until I realize that ONE MAY POSSESS STERLING CHARACTER AND STILL HAVE ATROCIOUS TASTE IN HOME DECORATING. I know!! It shocked me too.

Because 19 years ago, with stars in my eyes (and they're a pain, worse than contacts to take out and put on) I invited my betrothed to....

........

........GO WITH ME TO REGISTER FOR CHINA.

I found a wonderful pattern right away, of course, but Roger disliked it BECAUSE MEN HAVE NO TASTE EXCEPT IN THEIR MOUTH. At least THIS man does. Phooey on you.

So today we are still eating from this:

This is "Garden Harvest" by Mikasa. The "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" family used it on their show. It looks much prettier in this picture. It isn't horrible. The colors are muted and...eh, I like bright colors.

So I went online and after two minutes of shopping, I had selected the bedspread I wanted from Anthropologie. (The link does not seem to be working. It's http://www.anthropologie.com).

This is the most wonderful store in the world. They sell amazingly beautiful items marked up 1500% or so, I'd guess. They lure you in with their beauty.

I selected this bedspread even though I knew it was completely impractical with two dogs, two kids, and two adults and would look like an old undershirt in about 6 months. But ooooohhhhhhh pretty WANT:

"Have you selected a matching nightie and some lacy undergarments from Victoria's Secret for me?" he inquired snarkily.

50 more "Come see this!" later....He'd wander to the computer, stare at a picture, and shake his head sadly...I had determined the Rules Of Buying Bedding for Manly Manly Men.

"Your rules," I sighed. "Let me see if I get this straight.

1. No ruffles. I might as well stir my estrogen pills in your morning coffee."

I snuck this one in as a shower curtain, however.

2. No quilts. "They look too busy," he told me sadly.

Then it happened! I found one we both liked!!

Three days later, the phone rang. It had been discontinued. OF COURSE IT HAD.

I was spending 5 hours a day on the computer looking for bedding. I am not exaggerating. I believe that I have looked at almost every king size quilt online.

3. No flowers. "I am not sleeping with flowers," he stated.

He cried like a girl when I suggested this one. We had one exactly like it on our bed for years. I still have it, but I didn't drag it out for proof as that would have led down a lonely road of me suggesting that his male menopause might be threatening his manhood or something and him rushing to a stripper bar to prove he still had the Right Stuff. Eh, why tempt fate? Or picky, finicky crabby older men?

Finally I found one on ebay and ordered it.

And now I can start blogging again. I can eat, sleep, take a bath, ignore my childrens' attempts to ignore me, and generally get back in the game.

Let's rejoice.

P. S. Now I can start searching for curtains.

P. P. S. My baby girl turned ELEVEN today!!! More on that later.

A Letter To My Brand New Teenager

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 06:22:00 +0000

Dear Madeleine (or Maddie)

Happy 13th birthday!

I always knew that I would have a daughter. I saved all my Scholastic Books for you. My copy of Gone With The Wind. My copy of Little Women. A closet full of sentimental clothing.

You were like the very last, delicious Christmas present under the tree. You were hidden far back, 3000 miles away, and I waited patiently while my friends reproduced, enjoying being childfree, until one day it wasn't fun anymore and I reached back and selected the little present, glowing with all the colors of the universe, and untied it and found the daughter I had always known was there.

I've said it before a million times but you and I are so much alike that we must have planned it in that other world people claim exists, the world we come from and go back to when our time here has passed. We have the same teeth, the same eye prescription, the same back problems, the same clumsiness, the same love of reading and computers, the same interest in BOYZ, the same sarcastic sense of humor, the same unstoppable drive when we want something. We both love to stay up late, chocolate, music, picking on our little sister, jewelry, long hair, "thin" clothes, the water...I could go on.

As you slowly become the woman I already know I will be proud of, a few hard won words of advice. You listen avidly to every word that falls from my lips, as every 13 year old does. /hahahahahahahahahahaha Sometimes, though, you can't help yourself and actually ask my advice about something.

Well, here are a few suggestions. Not the Ten Commandments. Just Ten Suggestions. Take it and run into womanhood and I will be cheering you on every step of the way.

1. You will fail if you step out of the box and try stuff. Auditioning. Applying for scholarships, jobs, clubs, teams. Asking to friend someone on whatever social network you will be using, maybe FBoogle when they combine. Applying to be a friend and or/lover in real life. The only alternative is to not try.

2. If you fail, ask why. I once got a job that opened up a lifetime of other opportunities because I had read in a magazine article in the Reader's Digest that you should do that. It was an internship at the South Carolina State House. I parleyed that into a p/t job, then a p/t job in the law office of one of my bosses, then into a resume enhancing opportunity. I sent an old IRL friend THREE Facebook requests and didn't get a reply. Heartbroken, I wrote and asked why. She hadn't received any of them. If you don't get hired for a job you think you should have been offered, call up and ask why. I learned something on my last interview when I did that. I was too hyped up, too talkative, too presumptive. (I asked to meet the Vice President, a friend of a friend, and the hiring officials were horrified, thinking I was trying to...WHAT? She had nothing to do with hiring or firing. I obviously wanted to meet her and have her say, "My, that LCW was certainly a wonderful young lady," to the hiring committee. Didn't work. But at the next job interview or disability hearing I will not chatter like a magpie.

3. Don't believe anybody who tells you if you tell them a secret they will remain silent even if bamboo slivers were rammed in their nails. They are already texting it to another dear friend while you're on the phone with them or together and one of you leaves to visit the facilities. Think: Would I like to see this information displayed on a highway billboard? Then okay!!

Sometimes you can use this for your benefit. Let it get out that you are thinking of dropping your boyfriend if you want him to propose. Let it get out that you are interviewing for new jobs if ....watch it, you're playing with fire here. You could end up with a huge raise and promotion or you could end up being escorted out of your workplace with a box of family pictures and a security guard.

4. Expect the best, plan for the worst. I had no idea that I had a silent time bomb in my body called fibromyalgia that would strip me of my health, my ability to sleep on schedule, my career, time with my children, painless days, countless "friends." My parents always said to get a secure state job. They were right. I lost my job but was able to get state retirement disability.

5. Don't do ANYTHING just because everybody else is doing it. In case you were wondering that includes drinking, smoking, having carnal relations, driving without a seatbelt, failing to study for that test, marrying, having kids, going to USC, getting a Mike Tyson tattoo on your face, wearing clothes that resemble washcloths, chasing boys, texting while drunk or driving or both, allowing someone else's opinion of you to influence you either positively or negatively, skydiving, parasailing, spreading cruel gossip, taunting people you think are losers, laughing at racist/sexist/both jokes, hooking up with a guy, ANY guy, just so you have someone, and, well, everything else that's fun.

It does not include making good grades in school, telling your mom that you worship the very ground she walks on, driving safely, and being a good person.

6. Don't let anyone photograph you naked. Don't photograph anyone while you're naked. People get arrested for that.

7. Men. Choose a man who reminds you of a labrador retriever puppy. Friendly, hairy, not too bright, jumps for joy when he sees you, is honest, has a good sense of humor, and is potty trained. Never date a man who hates his mother. Never date a man who adores his mother. Unless you WANT her all up in yo bidness 24/7.

8. The color of their skin has nothing to do with the content of their character.

9. Try not to hate anybody. Just forget them. You can bet they aren't thinking about YOU. You will run across people without a conscience. They broke your heart and moved on. Why? Because they literally do not have the capacity to feel anything except their own needs and desires.

10.

Words to say:

I love you.
If you like it then put a ring on it.
Mom? Dad? I need help.
I'm sorry.
I'm listening.
Can I help?
Thank you.
No that dress does not make you look fat, but I saw a cuter one when we came in the store. Why doncha try that one on.

Words NOT to say:

I hate you.
I wish I were dead.
Gimme me ^&*^(*&^*(*^ car keys, I'm not funk, I mean punk, ah, um, drunk.
Are you pregnant?
Well, if you just ran out of them, I guess it's okay this one time.
Honey, what do you think of this bedding? (BITTER RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH HUSBAND WHO HATES QUILTS)
Honey, why don't we pick our our china together? (GARDEN HARVEST. HATE!!!)
I think I'll get some lip collagen!
It just isn't FAIR!!!! *unless you can figure out a solution
Nobody around here. Think I'll bump up the speedometer.
I will never get over him.

Good luck, Godspeed, Bon Voyage, Best Wishes, And A Million Hugs and Kisses,

mom

That Heart Sinking Moment When You Fear Your Child Has Been Kidnapped

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 00:16:00 +0000

I knew it was coming.

She's not even 13 yet-one more week.

I was going to be so calm, so cool....so reasonable, so stoic....unlike my mother, who was prone to hysteria at the slightest provocation, wildly, inappropriately overprotective. (Imagine living at home at 21, a second year LAW STUDENT, and having to get permission to drive with your boyfriend to Atlanta to see the Talking Heads perform.) LAW STUDENT.

A LAW STUDENT.

Oh, naturally I was going to do it all differently. And, as 13 quietly tippytoes up and taps me on the shoulder on September 14, nothing was going to change.

License? Ask any parent with a disability. You cannot wait to shove those keys in your kids' hands and assign them the task of picking up your drugs, juice, snacks, fruit, yogurt, Atkins bars. That is all I eat these days. The only way to maintain my weight. I cut out all food except a shot of protein and a huge fruit smoothie with yogurt. I am NOT going to be a fat, disabled woman!! Oh..wait...am I digressing? I SAID I'd give up food if I had to maintain the weight that sometimes still makes guys heads swivel......look! A butterfly!!!

Okay...anyway.

The phone rings today. Madeleine. The phone says Irmo Middle School. "Mom, I needed some English tutoring. Come pick me up."

Okay, remember, a 10 minute drive takes as much effort as a 3 hour drive used to. But I cheerfully agreed. English tutoring? Well, turns out she made an 81 on a test and the teacher suggested that anyone who didn't make an A needed after school tutoring. Neither the teacher, nor the school, nor Madeleine had bothered to notify me about this until a surprise phone call.

Three calls. "When are you coming to get me?"" "I'm on the way, I can't FLY!"

I arrive. I text: out front come get me love you mom

Nothing. The school is locked up. It's 4:45. Locks go on at 4:30. Lights are off. Huge iron gates locked everywhere.

I call her phone. No answer. (She forgot it. Kids are allowed to take them to school.)

I call "Irmo Middle School." Answering machine.

I drive to the 8th grade dropoff. Locked and dark.

I drive around to the 7th grade dropoff. A door unlocked. I leave the car running with: 1. One soon to be 11` year old 2. Two hyperactive puppies and I run instead screaming, "MADELEINE!" I'm SCREAMING, y'all. SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. A staff member happens to be walking down the hall, I run to her (She must have been deaf!)

"Please help me find my child."

"Oh, she's probably in the lunch room."

No, she isn't. There are some kids there but not Madeleine. I'm still screaming, I can't stop. "MADDIE!!! MADDDIE!!!! MADELEINE!!!!!!!!"

A sheriff deputy, assigned to the school, comes up.

"She can't find her child," says the rattled staff member.

I am escorted to the principal's office, warmly greeted, and an all-points bulletin issued. Plus, all teachers are buzzed.

"Who is her teacher?"

"I....I......don't....know...she's...in...the....8th...grade....Honors....English I.....class........"

Five minutes later she appears.

"Give her a hug," the principal warmly suggests.

I give her a hug. "Honey! I was so worried!" I say.

"I AM SO MAD AT YOU JUST WAIT NO BIRTHDAY PARTY AND THE NEXT GIFT WILL BE A BOTTLE OF RUM WHEN YOU ARE 21 DON'T YOU EVER DO THIS TO ME AGAIN OH MY GOD I AM IN A FIBRO FLARE I CANNOT BREATHE," I say to myself.

We leave.

We go to the 8th grade pickup.

"MADDIE! THE CAR IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BUILDING!!! RUN TELL YOUR SISTER YOU ARE OKAY!! RUN!!!"

She runs. I hear an iron gate slam behind her. Going around it would mean a long, long walk.

"MADDIE!!!!! COME BACK AND OPEN THE GATE!" I can't stop screaming. I may scream for the rest of my life.

We find the car still there, all is okay.

After I calmed down, I realized that the school has some grave problems with security. If there is a child in the building, ACCESS NEEDS TO BE PROVIDED FOR PICKUP. Madeleine forgot to tell me that she was going to stay in her English teacher's classroom until pickup, but then she assumed that the front door would be unlocked. It's not her fault. A small misstep in communication, but it's not her fault.

I......can't even begin to deal with this.

But give me 48 hours.

Why I Want To Punch Ann Coulter In The Face

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 01:57:00 +0000

I'm in a bad mood right now. Things are not going well around here. Everybody is getting back to school bugs, we're all adjusting to the school shuffle, and I checked out Ann Coulter's latest book from the library.

It had some interesting chapters on the French Revolution, and I came away from the book sickened at the madness that swept France and led to many aristocrats getting "razored" or, in otherwords, having their head separated from their body by a guillotine.

I went over to read her latest columns, and I casually clicked on a column about Casey Anthony, and found that it led to a diatribe against single mothers, who I was led to believe were the sole cause for the violence and unrest in the world. I started nodding my head in a kind of trance like way until I remembered that some of my best friends are single mothers...who adopted kids from China. Their checkbooks and faces resemble Ann closely, so perhaps they were not included in her diatribe. However, she did not make any distinctions. No, all single mothers were little more than people raising the next generation of criminals.

Then I sunk into a bad mood because I once believed that Ann, although obviously playing to the right wing loonies, often had something interesting and thoughtful to say. Then I began wondering how she would think of me at this point.

Five years ago I was a working, tax paying, Republican. I intended to work until I was, oh, eighty or so.

Then I got sick from a disease, maybe triggered by pollution approved by her cohorts. And don't talk to me about pollution and why it's not the fault of the Republicans. Simply spend a few days in China, where you discharge black dust when you blow your nose, and thank the Democrat tree huggers for trying to make and enforce pollution laws.

I wasn't going to quit-oh no no no no. I was finally gently ushered out the door and asked to retire on disability, and by that time I had developed a case of PTSD from begging to keep working. My bosses let go of many people-I'd say there are about 1/2 of my former colleagues popping antiacids and praying to whatever deity they worship that they will not be the next on the proverbial chopping block, so to speak. I do not blame my bosses-REPUBLICANS cut funding so dramatically that they had no choice but to let go of dozens of talented, decent people.

So now I"m one of those worthless parasites on disability. There are no jobs. It would actually cost money for me to work with young children. So here I sit, a worthless leech sucking money from hard working taxpayers. Never mind that I fought like crazy to STAY one of those hard working taxpayers.

And if the Republicans had their way, I would be penniless. They're doing a darn good job working to make it happen by demolishing the funds they asked me to put away to pay for our retirement.

Which explains why I have been sulking around the house chanting peaceful mantras and trying to exorcise my animonsity to all the mean people in the world

But it isn't working. I still want to punch Ann Coulter in the face.

Ann, I'm a woman with a husband, kids, a good education and I come from a "nice" family........why you dissin' me girl? Aren't we supposed to be on the same side?

Sorry, I got carried away there for a minute. I forgot. I'm unemployed, worthless, and would do the world a favor if I hustled away before I start collecting social security and forcing my grandchildren into Dickensinian poverty.

I forgot my place, Mistress Ann. You go on acting all superior & all. I hope you don't get fibromyalgia. I guess I hope that, because I am also even an EPISCOPALIAN. And Christians aren't supposed to wish harm to others.

...sometimes means leaving

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 02:52:00 +0000

Love yourself enough to leave people who don't.

....as the Queen Of England Might Say. Or a Boarding School Headmistress.

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 06:35:00 +0000

Yeah, so it's one of those weeks where Jupiter ain't even CLOSE to aligning with mars, peace ain't ruling the planets, and I'm eating WAY too many ice cream bars. So I sincerely hope that you'll allow me a mulligan, and maybe I can come up with something lamer than the season premiere of Two And A Half Men. My mind is wandering..care to join me? It's a convoluted path.

Do you think Two And A Half Men has a chance in HAIL of making it past thirteen episodes? All due respect to the talented cast and I think Ashton Kutcher has mad talent, but it's like I Love Lucy without Lucy. "The Episode where Ricky Ricardo marries Lucy's sister after Lucy drowned in a vat of grapes." Nah, doesn't do anything for me.

Incidentally in honor of the 100th birthday of Loooocy, let's enjoy the theme song to the show sung by Desi Arnaz.

And did anyone think that the sign in Hollywood was kind of..well....considering it supposed to be father and son up there.....KINKY?

And Blogher came and went and I staycationed, all I ever wanted.....

I do not think that my first thought, upon seeing a black and white unicorn fighting, would have anything to do with racism. Of course I'm like Allie Brosh's little self when I see a CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE.

Picture by Allie Brosh, prettier, younger, sweeter, and 150% more talented but I still love her so at least I haven't become a horrible, jealous psycho.

But seriously, people? A CAKE? Now if it said HAPPY 150 YEARS OF DESTROYING INNOCENT LIVES AND HUMILIATING PEOPLE BECUZ THE CONFDERACY DUN GOT THEIR BUTTS WHIPPED and was prepared for the Ku Klux Klan, okay yeah.

If you have no idea what I am talking about, MamaPop had a cake at their annual Sparklecorn party this year with two unicorns, one white and one black, fighting. Go to www.twitter.com and google "racist cake" if you want to know more. Someone thought it had bad racial juju.

I don't have much to say about that except that my family has been discriminated against and it certainly didn't have to do with a cake. Roger(cancer) cannot give blood and I (fibromyalgia) have lost jobs because of our illnesses (Our premiums! We cannot afford to hire you.) We've lost promotions, jobs, party invitations, fiances (that's just me, Roger wants me to say that he has never had a fiance. Duly noted.) I can name 50 people off the top of my head (if it's buried in my Friends list on Facebook) who have lost jobs or lost career jobs due to ageism. I know a fat woman who was up for a job with a thin, sexy woman and the TS one was hired. Our girls often experience backwards racism. "You Asians! So good at math). I didn't want to see Madeleine take up the violin, I confess, because CLICHE much? Silly but I thought about it.

IT'S A CAKE. With mythical beasts on it. Who said they were fighting anyway? Maybe they were playfully head butting.

Okay, Friday night Roger purchased gas and went into a station to buy a snack at one of those Walmart and was either pickpocketed or left his wallet and so we have been bombarded with problems trying to get it reported, action taken, etc. He had his social security card in there. My blood pressure skyrocketed after I gently asked him that and he hesitantly replied, yeah, he thought so.

Our coffee machine broke down. I KNOW! I KNOW! THINK OF THE PEOPLE IN BANGLADESH WHO WOULD LOVE A CUP OF COFFEE.

Rebecca Black is being teased because of her song Friday, if you can believe it. THINK OF THE WOMEN IN BANGLADESH WHO NEVER WILL MAKE IT IN HOLLYWOOD....

We're all depressed the way you are after a good vacation, but I am spending it in an extremely NOT constructive way by spending hours surfing million dollar beach homes and eating three sugarless ice cream Krunch bars to console myself.

We're all restless and bored. Meredith was overheard giggling madly and saying, "I can't WAIT for school to start."

Madeleine's laptop is broken and I cannot even say hello to my Ipad with both it and Madeleine sneering at me. Please get fixed soon laptop.

And it's been so hot that nobody even wants to swim and then at dusk the summer thunderstorms arrive.

We have begun to register-fill out triplicate copy of each form sign here sign there what was your mother's great aunt's maiden name and bring a copy of your house tax bill or a rental contract and three light bills--the girls in school. Tomorrow I hear that a clothing trip to Kohl's is being planned, where Meredith will beg for more Tommy Hawk gear and Madeleine will want something with a skull on it. My eyes linger briefly on the adorable toddler dresses (DANGER: STUPID ANALOGY COMING RIGHT UP) which remind me of seeing past boyfriends. You know you wouldn't want to go back there, but sweet memories linger.

The 50 (no. not kidding Probably more) mosquito bites I received while traipsing frantically around Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston trying to visit my ancestors itch so bad that 10 Benadryl won't touch it at times.

I wish I could joyfully dance in the kitchen while preparing succulent homemade meals for my family but my tile floors make my legs hurt aggravate my fibromyalgia.

Two of my sweet inlaws are down with some ailments and in a lot of pain.

That's all that's new with me. What's up with you? At least nobody can accuse me of not trying desperately to improve your mood, for perhaps you are now shaking your head and saying, and I thought my week sucked.

And now, like Jesus, I will leave you with a parable that sums up the Terrible Horrible No Good Thing I experienced this week. I know you've heard it. A man was being stoned with heavy rocks by his enemies and was bearing up bravely. Finally a tiny pebble struck him and he cried out loud. A friend approached him afterwards and whispered, "Why, my friend did you not cry when heavy stones were thrown at you but cried when a pebble hit you? He replied, "The pebble was thrown by a ~~friend~~ people I thought respected me enough not to jump to the wrong conclusion."

.....ate, drank, and was merry

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 20:19:00 +0000

What I Did On My Summer Vacation
By Lorrie Callison

On my summer vacation, I did not post to my blog. I am only posting a place holder right now as I am still unpacking and attempting to locate such things as the iphone plug in, the dorky Clark Griswold-ish stick figures I bought for the van, & deal constructively with my horror that school is starting on AUGUST 18, 2011.

INSERT HERE:

OBLIGATORY RANT ABOUT HOW IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS WE ALL STARTED SCHOOL THE DAY AFTER LABOR DAY AND T'AINT FITTIN' TO START SCHOOL IN THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER WHEN THE CLASSROOMS ARE BROILING HOT ALTHOUGH DOWN HEAH WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING THANK YOU JESUS...

BUT SUMMA THEM DARNYANKEES HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH WEEKS OF HEAT WITHOUT AIR CONDITIONING AND ONE TEACHER WAS TOLD BY HER PRINCIPAL TO "BUY A FAN" (IMPLYING VERY STRONGLY THAT SHE WAS NOT #winning AND DID NOT HAVE #tigerblood and by the way #you-have-to-pay-for-it BUT THAT'S OKAY BECAUSE TEACHERS ARE OVERPAID LEECHES ON BURDENED TAXPAYERS AND DESERVE A CUT TO THEIR ENORMOUS SALARIES #liar-liar-pants-on-fire).

We went to Folly Beach and stayed in the same condo as last year. I was thinking about going elsewhere, but once again Madeleine unwittingly tipped the scales. She got to go to China with us to pick up Meredith against ALL advice because my mom was babysitting her a month before our trip and M went into the dirty clothes hamper and smelled Roger's t-shirt saying I miss mommy and daddy so much.

This time she wrote an assigned school essay on "The Most Wonderful Thing That Ever Happened To You" or something like that and did and wrote a beautiful poem that made me get on www.vrbo.com (Vacation Rentals By Owner-awesome--if you want to rent property to others or rent a vacation for yourself that cannot be beaten for prices and no I am not being compensated in any way for recommending them)

More later. Soon I hope to read Dorethea Benton Frank's new book called simply Folly Beach. Dorethea and I are good friends, which means that I am a pathological liar and I've commented a few times on her facebook page. Snort.

Bye y'all. Enjoy those last few precious weeks of blisteringly hot heat before the grind of school, homework, ballet, violin, soccer, football, school clubs, etc. begins.

....that his family could not attend

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 22:28:00 +0000

He's my brother in law, but I love him like a brother. He lost his partner of 17 years in 2006.

My youngest brother in law is gay. And he fell in love. And the person that he fell in love with fell just as hard.

And they got engaged.

And they got legally married on Friday, July 22, 2011 in Washington, DC.

And we were not with them. Because, y'see, we live in South Carolina, and the chance that South Carolina will ever approve gay marriage is about 20%. That's the percentage of people who voted Yes to a proposed constitutional amendment allowing same sex marriage in our fair (unfair) state.

And, well, I just don't like the fact that they had to travel to Washington, D.C. to legally wed. They will have a ceremony when they return for family and friends, but we were not able to watch them when it became official. And that makes me sad.

I have not asked permission to put any photographs up, so I can't but I hope they will allow me to photograph the local ceremony....I'm just filled with joy for them, and sadness that I was able to waltz down the aisle in a fancy dress and pledge my vows with my nearest and dearest only a few inches away, and they were cheated out of that joy.

I hope that by the time my children reach marryin' age, things will change, and I think they will.

The United States Supreme Court ruled in Loving v. Virginia that NO state could forbid interracial marriage. In 1967. Forty-four years ago. Federal law always trumps state law, so the provision in South Carolina's constitution forbidding interracial marriage, passed after the Woah* in 1865, was automatically null and void as soon as that ruling was handed down. One day, the United States Supreme Court will rule that both the federal government and ALL STATES must honor valid marriages performed in other states. It won't be long.

On that day, every state will be forced to recognize marriages performed in other states. It won't mean that South Carolina will have to pass an amendment allowing for gay people to marry in our state. They will just have to recognize and treat as valid marriages performed in other areas.

Wanna guess how long it took for South Carolina to allow interracial marriages?

February, 1999.

If either one of our kids are gay, I hope they like destination weddings. Lessee, the War Between The States ended in 1865, and interracial marriage was allowed in SC in 1999.....It only took 134 years. We'll see...I'll be dead as the proverbial doornail before it happens here.

T'aint right. Oh well. Blessings and joy to the newlyweds!!!! Roger's parents just celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. And now all of their 7 children are married!!!

*That's Southern for war.

....to quote a man who had his brains blown out while serving our country

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 01:49:00 +0000

I got to thinking about this the other day. I have a list of "Blog Inspiration Topics" to turn to when I'm feeling dry. But while I am feeling dry, I am going to solve the entire mystery of life on this planet and leave you a wiser, more enlightened person who is prepared to take on the universe and grow spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. OK?

But that's not all! What else do we have for the contestants? After you read this post you will automatically wake up the next morning looking EXACTLY THE WAY YOU HAVE ALWAYS DREAMED OF LOOKING. After you do, please consider sending me a love offering via paypal. OH EM GEE!! I figured out how to install a real paypal button!! (see right hand column)

Okay, enough joking. But you know what I was just wondering? Remember all that hideous furniture that game shows used to give away? I wonder if anyone still owns theirs?

Life is not fair. And the first thing I need to say is that being able to type this on a computer, while my college & law school & Phi Beta diplomas are proudly displayed in my garage, means that I am one of the richest people on the planet.

And having my wonderful kids makes me one of the richest people....Oh COME ON. My kids spend their idle summer days dreaming up ways to divest me from my money. And every K-12 parent knows what August brings. The School Supply lists go up and your child reminds you that you need ONE GREEN ONE INCH BINDER WITH 8 MULTICOLORED TABS and ONE TWO INCH YELLOW BINDER and ONE THREE INCH ORANGE BINDER with a 3 punch pencil holder and SIX YELLOW HIGHLIGHTS and FIVE BOXES OF KLEENEX and THREE BOTTLES OF HAND SANITIZER and a JOURNAL (I've sent in 11 journals so far. None have ever been seen again) and, if you're pathologically cheap like me, you fight off the temptation to just gather up all the leftover crap from last year, spray the binders with Windex, and toss the whole seething mess in a box to take in on the first day.

I'm not getting very far with my theme am I?

I guess I just don't want to face it. Because it's not fair that life isn't fair. Every book, every movie, every porn video* I've watched on the internet has happy endings.

*Kidding, but I know of a guy who has porn running on one computer while doing business at home on another and the other day his boss asked him what was that moaning sound in the background (he had forgotten to mute the porn) and I forgot what excuse he gave his boss, but that's probably a good thing, because the first part of this is a true story.

Face it, I'm not going to solve a problem that has baffled the brightest minds through the ages except what about this?

What if reincarnation is real? (I believe).

What if you are allowed to choose how many challenges you take on while alive in order to face them and grow spiritually? (I believe).

Here's a weird story. I used to have a psychic that would do email past life readings. And I asked her to do one for a friend of mine. Now this friend had two kids, and adored them. He spoke of them constantly, spent every spare minute with them, and I would have voted him as Father of the Year without a second thought.

The psychic said that he had been a doctor in a past life around 1890, and his beloved sister died of a disease. He spend every minute at the lab trying to figure out how to cure the disease that took his beloved sister and neglected his own wife and children. He asked for a new life to correct this and learn to be a good husband and father. Soon after I sent him this (which he never mentioned to me ever and I didn't bring it up) he took a job which required him to be at work 100 hours a week. Soon he was divorced and took a position at an office in another country. Computers. Japan. His kids barely know what he looks like.

True story.

If you think all psychics are frauds, you're wrong. Only 99% of them are.

I believe that reincarnation is real and that you choose your challenge and try to meet it. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't.

Well, okay, now that I've solved the problem that has baffled the greatest minds, I have a complaint/query/bitch/whinnne.

How come, when someone does you wrong, are you considered "whiny" "unprofessional" and "boring and pathetic" and "mildly annoying" if you want to talk about it?

(the above adjectives have been applied to me recently and it smarts. It stings.)

There are people who attempt to deal with hard things by talking them out on their blogs and they are constantly being criticized and mocked. I've done some of it myself. Privately. The only blogger I've ever called out in public is Dooce and that's because she insulted my kids. Oh, and Violent Acres kindly stated that I should have been aborted instead of adopted because I whined so much and also called my kid's teeth gruesome or hideous or something like that. Did it affect me? Do I remember it? I had them put braces on my kid's teeth when we could not pay our car & home insurance bill.

Oh go away, people who feast on other's stupidity, faults, and misfortune like hungry wolves after a kill. Go away. Shut up.

I am. I don't care how trippy and zen and hippie and wacko and gooney it sounds (and it sounds that way to ME). I'm tired of putting negative thoughts into the world.

I'm going to try to stop.

...and by the way, Headmistress, eat it

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 11:59:00 +0000

This video describes the story behind Ricky Nelson's song "Garden Party"...where the title of my post originated...

Well, I got up and drank my Diet V-8 Splash and then I checked my Tarot Card Of The Day. It was the Devil. O-kay.....

Your Tarot Card
THE DEVIL - CARD 15
Like Death, the Devil at first appears to be a scary character but look again, he's really more of a caricature than anything else.
When the Devil turns up it may be time to face our inner fears, the ones that come up from our past/childhood, confront them and then break free from them.
Fears are only so scary when they're buried inside of us.
Once we can face our fears then we can see that our own personal Devil is not so scary after all and that's when we can break free from him and move forwards in our lives.
This card can also show temptation, as in the temptation for another person, to have an affair on the part of one or both of the parties.
It can mean you being very negative about your future prospects.
You might even be depressed or at the start of a psychological illness due to stress and worry.

Maybe you need to take a step back and see the situation more clearly.

Two things happened recently which struck deep at my childhood fears. Maybe you'd like to hear about them. First of all, I looked at my "No Longer Friend" page on Facebook and noted that I had lost a couple of friends. I could understand. One of Dooce's closest friends deleted me. That's okay. Then the Ipad post resulted in another friend being dropped. I probably don't have to explain that one.

Then somebody called me a fangirl. Why? Because I mentioned that I admired a popular blogger. They said I was boring and pathetic.

I was so sad. I couldn't get out of bed. I cancelled a lunch date. I simply had nothing to do yesterday but sit around and stew in a puddle of my own angst. And I did it, oh SO well. Oh yes indeed.

But I decided that I needed to take a step back and see the situation more clearly, as the Tarot card indicated.

Hey, maybe you think I'm unchristian to play around with the Tarot. Maybe your finger is hovering over the Delete button and will be taking me off of your friends list. I don't take the Tarot seriously. Cracker Barrel sells Magic 8 balls. I always play with one. I don't take that seriously either.

Here's the face of a 6th grade girl that nobody liked. The new kid at school. Trying to break into cliques that had formed in kindergarten. My parents moved us to Columbia just before I started 6th grade and I had no friends. In 5th grade, I was the member of a close bunch of girlfriends in Blacksburg, Virginia. We had sleepovers..We wrote letters to David Cassidy and Donny Osmond...We discussed boys and female functions and giggled and compared our tans. Suddenly I had nothing but a few letters to sustain me.

I finally went to the guidance counselor. "Well, Lorrie," she drawled, removing her reading glasses, "You need to be nice and friendly and then people will like you." So I did, and I met a girl in 7th grade who was a bridesmaid in my wedding and when I walked the aisle to collect my diploma, I knew had a group of friends to squee and hug waiting for me after the ceremony. Ever since that moment in the guidance counselor's office, I labored under the impression that if I was just nice and friendly everybody would like me.

My worst fear.....Will you like me? Do you like me? Is there something you don't like? Maybe I can fix it. But if I fix it, maybe someone else will stop liking me!! Oh, it's the same old story...As I marched down the aisle at my wedding, I mentally recited to myself the fact that 50% of marriages end in divorce. I sure was a cheerful bride. As we listened to the wedding service I was hyperventilating so badly that Roger had to hold me up.

"I couldn't believe it," Roger mused that night as I eagerly ripped open gift after gift while he videotaped me. "You could speak to ten thousand people without breaking a sweat. What on earth got into you, and how long are you planning to unwrap gifts, anyway?" Till I can prove to myself that people really like me, hon, I whispered to myself.

"I've never seen anything like it," Roger mused twenty years later. "You're still friends with people who remember when you had braces. And how many of your old boyfriends do you chat with on Facebook? Ten? Twenty?" I WAS 33 WHEN I GOT MARRIED OKAY AND I HAD A LOT OF OLD BOYFRIENDS. And the answer is THREE.

Okay, you get the point. And though there's pain in my chest, I still wish you the best, but

Take me as I am or leave me be

If you can't give me all, give me nothing.
And nothing's what you'll get from me.

What The Heck Is Wrong With Cursing?

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 01:25:00 +0000

Cursing. Saying bad words. What do you think about them? Do you use them? Do you forbid your children, or if you had children, would you forbid them from using them? Are there limits that can be set so that this much is okay or that much is okay?

I had all sorts of things planned to write about, but I am a member of a email list formed fifteen years ago composed of adoptive parents. Most of us are liberal in politics, although not all. Most of us live up north, but not all. We have been together on the internet so long that we feel like a family. Of all of the fifty lists I've joined over the years, this list never fails to capture my attention.

Today someone posted about gay marriage passing in New York and used a common expletive to express his joy. Someone else replied....completely out of the blue...someone who had joined the list 2 years ago and who had never posted...that he would have to leave the list if this kind of language was allowed.

The list reacted with a "do WHAT?" Shock and awe might describe it best. I mean, we have been together since children weighing 10 pounds were placed in our arms and now these children are packing for college, selecting a high school to attend, taking the SAT, attending the prom....

It got me thinking about cursing in general. Why is it so "bad"?

I was given the option of using curse words or not when I signed an agreement with Blogher, my wonderful ad agency. I was warned that I would not be considered for some advertisers because they preferred no cursing.

I accepted. Now I do want to get one thing straight. Nobody made me do it. If I had a product to sell, I would select curse free blogs too. After all, some writers know how to curse. They know how to place a well timed word once in a great while for maximum impact.

Other writers throw curse words around gaily and as promiscuously as a whore working the busy shift. I wouldn't advertise cars, mops, furniture, peanut butter, or soap on their blogs either. And nobody at Blogher has time to preapprove all posts. It's a large network. So they handle it the only way they can. I'm down with that.

Another reason I chose to Just Say No is that I'm a real person with a real life living and hopefully one day working in a VERY conservative profession in a VERY conservative state. I decided when I started this blog that I would tell everybody that I knew to self censor myself. I write words on this blog that I wouldn't mind being read by anybody who happened to stop by, whether it be the retired state supreme court judge who lives down the block, my mother, my minister, or my....

Kids.

Lord have mercy, the kids. I grew up in a home that forbid any curse words at all. This was awful. One time Mom said, through gritted teeth, "I can't get this.....DANG.....car started!" Said car was a touchy little French Renault that only ran well on alternate blue moons. And my dad sold it to a man who was buying it for his daughter who was just starting law school...as was I. I rode in that car to the Bar exam, and almost missed it. Back in the old days, cars broke down all the time and we didn't have no fancy cell phones either. Don't miss those days, no I don't. I miss being able to eat anything I wanted without gaining a dress size, but I like to drive cars that make it to their destination.

But I digress.

I enjoy a bit of cursing in everyday life, and I've told the kids that my personal opinion is that there is nothing wrong with a few curse words sprinkled through your personal conversation like salt. But like salt, pouring them all over your conversation makes it inedible. Good Lord, I sound like Lake Wobegon Days or something. Well, you get the drift.

I've carefully explained that you do not use curse words in front of your teacher, your boss, your grandparents, strangers, etc.....only in conversations with close personal friends. And me, if you like.

For you see, I differ a bit from my parents. Not being able to EVER say ANYTHING was as bad as not being able to EVER have a gumball. I crave both. Gimme one of those ***** gumballs.

Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I hope I'm doing the right thing.

Go The F*ck To Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 01:17:00 +0000

It's past midnight my sleepyhead,
I should be asleep, not by your bed,
The world is quiet, dark and deep,
I sure wish you'd go to sleep.

It's midnight now for goodness sake
And you're still going strong,
Why can't you go to bed like all your friends?
What am I doing wrong?

You're a night owl. So am I.
But morning will be here soon.
You've GOT to go to sleep RIGHT NOW.
We CANNOT sleep till noon.

I think I'll check the internet,
It's helped me in the past.
This midnight shift is driving me crazy
It simply cannot last.

Here's a little pill
That I'd like you to take
It tastes real good and goes right down
Happy it will you make.

O EM GEE IT KNOCKED YOU OUT
I tippytoe away
Clutching the bottle of melatonin
"Thank you God," I pray.

Yep, we gave them melatonin
Till puberty hit like a bomb
We got a lot of extra sleep
And feel we did no wrong.

It's Not My Fault And I Won't Pay. No Problem Then, Just Go Away

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 16:03:00 +0000

Greetings all! It has been a very busy month so far, but wonderful events...graduations, anniversary parties, etc.

I am sorry the picture above is blurry but trying to get an 10 & 12 year old to look pleasant for the camera is as difficult as getting tiny children to pose. Someone needs to wash their hair/put on makeup/just doesn't FEEL like it/is generally ornery.

Well, my girls finished 4th and 7th grade. Madeleine finished 7th grade by being one of 4 kids to score a perfect 100 on the Algebra I final. The top class, in a top school, and she's one of the top 4 kids. Meredith brought home an Exemplary in the Math No Child Left Untortured tests and is proudly wearing a necklace! One B for Meredith, the rest straight As.

One more year of school and then big changes. Meredith will graduate from elementary school next year and Madeleine will graduate from middle school. Then-Mere will go to the school for 6th graders only and Madeleine will be off to high school. She will be taking English I and Geometry for high school credit next year.

Yeah, so what was it about internationally adopted kids predestined for academic failure? There are some frustrated parents out there. We are lucky. And Meredith needs reading help. I just can't make myself sign up for anything right now. A day without driving a kid somewhere to take a test or go to the doctor or have a lesson......is a good day.

And the whole mad whirl will begin again in 8 weeks.

Last week we had a (cough) INCIDENT that I want to tell you about.

PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY.

INSERT OBLIGATORY RANT: Don't you think kids need to be taught to take responsibility for their mistakes?

I remember a boyfriend I had in college. He was a wonderful guy and we dated for several years. I still think very fondly of him and it wasn't his fault that his parents had spoiled him.

It wasn't his fault.

Hmmmmm....

My parents had us working at 11 to earn frivolous stuff we wanted, like stereos, contacts, a flute, etc. (My first three things I bought with money I had earned. What a thrill!)

When I was 19, I paid my Dad $60.00 to fix a car. And the wreck wasn't even my fault! (mostly?) There was a very wide lane, but it was technically one lane. A car was over at the far left side of the lane with a turn signal blinking "left" and then, all of a sudden, he turned into my car as I sped up to pass him. My parents were called-it was only 3 blocks from home--and I got a ticket for passing unlawfully.

"You know," Dad mused back at the house, "I think that driver was drinking. I smelled alcohol on his breath."

"ARE YOU KIDDING?" I screamed. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL THE COP?"

He shrugged.

Anybody want to know why my sister and I raced through law school?

I truly loved Brent, but when he mentioned that he had caused a minor accident during his junior year but wasn't required to pay for it, I saw red.

"Don't you think you should take responsibility for this?" I tactfully inquired, between bouts of making out.

"I....I....never thought about it," he answered. "Maybe I should HAVE DAD TAKE IT OUT OF MY ALLOWANCE."

I broke up with him.

And he turned out to be a perfectly responsible and wonderful adult, who has a great job and pays his bills, and maybe I might go back in time and tell my 19 year old self to be a little less judgmental.

But I am. I think you should take responsibility, age appropriate of course, for your mistakes.

Tell me what you think about this.

Okay, I just got a FREE IPAD. Okay spambots, do your thing. But here's how I got it.

First of all, I applied for a Chase Freedom credit card. Then I enrolled in the Way To Save program offered by Wells Fargo. I have $550.00 in my Way To Save account and Chase is sending me a check for $200 for buying the ipad with their card.

Yep! (Neither Chase nor Wells Fargo is paying me a dime to advertise this).

I let the kids use it, after instructing them to handle it with more care than they would a premature newborn. idk. Maybe I should have explained a little more carefully how to handle a premature newborn.

Last Friday, Meredith, Madeleine and a friend I'll call Mischief went to the chiropractor's office. Mischief was at our house, and was just along for company.

While Madeleine was getting her spine adjusted (she scored 8 on a school screening for scoliocis. Is that bad?).....

Meredith and Mischief were sitting in the waiting room. Meredith was playing with the Ipad, holding it about 2 feet over the wooden floor. Mischief wanted the Ipad and started tickling Meredith. Meredith, startled, dropped the Ipad.

Here's where things start going haywire.

Nobody told me about it. I didn't get a chance to use the Ipad until Sunday evening. All of a sudden, while caressing it lovingly (as I would a newborn), I noticed a small crack on the side. I didn't overreact. I didn't run screaming through the house, shaking the kids awake and demanding an explanation. I didn't do it, but I didn't say I didn't WANT TO DO IT.

I calmly picked up the phone and made an appointment with the Apple store in Charleston. Two days later, I handed Apple $369.00 for a replacement Ipad.

I texted Mischief's mother, explaining the circumstances, and asking that they reimburse me 1/2 of the repair costs. If it had been an accident.....I think I would have felt the same way. But it wasn't an accident. It was caused by a THIRTEEN YEAR OLD tickling a ten year old in order to get her to give up the Ipad. I will assume 1/2 of the responsibility for being careless enough to give the ipad to kids in the first place.

Mischief's mother immediately responded, accepting responsibility, and offering to pay me back for the repairs.

WAY? NO WAY.

SILENCE. Deafening, screaming, total silence.

The girls have been told that Mischief is banned-permanently-from our house. Until the Ipad repairs have been repaid. They are okay with this. They have a huge saltwater pool. They are not lacking for friends!!!

Honestly? Mischief scares me. She is a girl who seems to attract trouble. You had one when you were a kid. I had one, too. The one who always seemed to be getting in trouble and dragging you along beside them?

There have been other incidents.

I don't like Mischief and I don't want her hanging around the kids any more.

If I never hear from her again, it will be a small price to pay. Hope you are having a good summer. Sign me, DISGUSTED IN CAROLINA.

Sensitive, Caring Dooce

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 03:26:00 +0000

Once upon a time Dooce wasn't so caring and sensitive.

In fact, she insulted my children.

She made a "joke" about how she now understands why some mothers in China keep their children. I guess she was implying that bad, ugly, ill-behaved children were placed on the sidewalk by their mother who then walked away. Holy heck, that happened to MY KIDS! So they ended up in an impoverished orphanage in a third world country. AND GUESS WHAT!!!! WE DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!! WE ADOPTED THEM!!! IT COST MORE THAN MY YEARLY SALARY!!!!!!

Not that I'm looking for accolades. I did it for exactly one purely selfish reason: We wanted kids. I'm not going to pretend for one minute that any thoughts of charity crossed my mind. The group of families we traveled with did take up a collection and we used the money to buy the orphanage a washing machine and an air conditioner (honest).

But as always I do want to make myself crystal clear that we owe China a debt that can never be repaid for allowing us the privilege and honor of adopting two children.

Anyway, back to Sensitive, Caring, Crusader Dooce. Now--oh---now---you're sensitive and caring. I'm sure the women in Bangladesh appreciate it. And you've called your flying monkeys out to attack Anna. I'm not too worried about Anna. She can take care of herself. And you've had a fit and promised revenge against that lady in Merrie Old England who wrote a mild little piece on poverty tourism.
I bet that lady in England is trembling in fear that you'll get her fired!!! Maybe The Guardian will send you a washing machine and take the money out of her paycheque....

But I'm a little puzzled.

Did you do it for all the poor people that you got to see and write about while frolicking around your million dollar mansion with your assistants?
Did you do it for all the people that cruel, twisted Anna has "attacked"? Should they send a gift card?
Did you do it because of that nasty ol' woman in England and all of the gloriously crabby commenters Over There?
Does the Dooce Army need to refight the American Revolution?

You've had your little temper tantrum on Twitter. Do you feel better? Have you had your much needed margarita yet? Are you deeply moved by all the non A-listers rushing to your defense hoping they can sit with the cool girls at the next conference?

I was trying to think of a way to sum this up. But an eloquent friend gave me permission to quote her, so I won't say "Dooce Sucks" because that's childish and I do not hate Dooce. I hate people who kill other people. I hate people who have put money in their pockets that was given in good faith by people who wanted their contribution to go to the dinner plates and water glasses of people in impoverished nations. I think Dooce needs a great deal of help. I'll end with:

The grossness is that she says there's nothing significant she, in all her self-righteous glory, or we, the plebes she deigns to address, can do while simultaneously implying that she recently and personally received a large, unrelated sum of money from Yahoo to generate a Federated Media sponsorship of a post wherein Yahoo promises to donate another large undisclosed sum of money to an as-yet-undecided charity.

As readers, she tells us we cannot hope to personally influence change in Bangladesh or elsewhere, but instead we should 'click here' to change our browser home page to yahoo for the sheer and sole purpose of demonstrating her personal influence on the grand state of shit that doesn't fucking matter.....she's flaming out on Twitter because she's fueled with a special blend of hypocrisy accelerant.

Her flying monkeys make me want to vomit.

Juicy Kennedy Gossip From An Insider

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Tue, 24 May 2011 00:01:00 +0000

They say that no man is a hero to his valet.

I've been fascinated with the Kennedys since I can remember. Caroline Kennedy is a few years older that I am, but I remember her from my childhood. How jealous I was of Caroline! She had a PONY. His name was Macaroni. Did you know that he was allowed to roam the grounds of the White House during the week?

Joseph Patrick Kennedy and Rose Elizabeth Fitzgerald married in 1914 and produced 9 children together.
1. Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. Never married. Died in WWII.
2. John Fitzgerald Kennedy (Jack) Married Jacqueline Bouvier. Children: Caroline and John F. Kennedy, Jr. (d. 1999 in airline crash during the week we were in China adopting our first daughter Madeleine) Killed in 1963 in Dallas, Texas, while President.
3. Rosemary Kennedy. Slightly mentally challenged-there are those who say she might just have been dyslexic--Highly functioning, working as a nanny/camp counselor, living with the family, was even presented at court to the Queen Mary (Queen Elizabeth's mother) until her father ordered a lobotomy without even consulting his wife. From that moment on, she was completely disabled, back to the mentality of very small child. Died a few years ago.
4. Kathleen Kennedy Cavendish. Shocked her mother by marrying a Protestant Englishman who sadly died only 4 months after their marriage. Killed in airplane crash, 1948.
5. Eunice Kennedy Shriver. Maria Shriver's mother. Married Sargent Shriver, who recently died from Alzheimer's disease. Eunice died a few years ago.
6. Patricia Kennedy Lawford. Divorced from actor Patrick Lawford, a member of the famous "Rat Pack" (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop). Died a few years ago.
7. Robert Fitzgerald Kennedy (Bobby). Married Ethel Skakel, fathered 11 children. Killed in 1968 while Ethel was pregnant with their 11th child, during a presidental run.
8. Jean Kennedy Smith. Only surviving Kennedy child. Widow of Steve Smith. Adopted 2 daughters from Vietnam.
9. Edward Moore (Teddy) Kennedy. Served in US Senate for 40 years. First marriage to Joan Bennett; three children. Divorced and remarried Victoria Reggie. Died last year from brain tumor. Presidential aspirations cut short by Chappaquiddick incident. He drove off a bridge and climbed out while his female companion Mary Jo Kopechne drowned. Father to three children.

We all know what happened to JFK. I remember telling Daddy that I had thought about it carefully and decided that I would rather have HIM than a pony and fame. I know he was very touched. Snort.

I have a friend, "Mary", who learned a lot about the Kennedys. She saw them naked. (I understand that with certain Kennedys this club could fill a football field). She was a nurse in Boston and cared for many of the Kennedys.

We were talking about women waiting years to get revenge on chronic womanizers and she said this:

Rose Kennedy went and played 8 holes of golf when Joe had his stroke. Didn't call the MD until much later. May well have prevented his extended strokes post original stroke. But that was revenge, not ignorance.

Joe Kennedy had a debilitating stroke on December 19, 1961.

Holy smokes!!!

I read Rose Kennedy's autobiography Times To Remember.

Ann Gargan, one of Joe's nieces, played golf with him that morning. Ann wrote:

On the morning of December 19, 1961, we were on the move again. We generally played golf about 8:30 but Jack was down in Palm Beach and was leaving for Washington in the morning..We dropped him off and went directly to the Palm Beach Country Club to play nine holes. We played the back nine. We finished the sixteenth, and Joe said he felt rather faint. His balance was all off...(they went home) I persuaded him to rest...He fell fast asleep, then awoke about five minutes later, coughing and unable to to speak, or to move on the right side....

Rose wrote:

That morning I had been at Mass. Then I had a few errands to do so I was home a bit later...Perhaps it was around eleven thirty that I arrived at the house. Ann came to me and, looking rather worried but not too worried (ed note: DUH?) told me that Uncle Joe was not feeling well and she had managed to get him to take a nap.

None of it registered much on me at the time. After all, everyone feels giddy or weak from time to time, and if there is someplace to lie down, in that case one sensibly lies downs, rests, naps, waits for Nature to take the healing course it usually does. It barely occurred to me there could be anything seriously wrong with him. True enough he was seventy three......And so when Anne told me....I went on with my usual schedule at the time of the day.

So I pressed my friend for more. She revealed that Rose was very standoffish, regal, snobbish, and unfriendly. She insisted on bringing her own silk sheets when she was hospitalized and demanded that the nurses change the sheets twice daily. Mary writes:

It gave us great delight to use Rose's silk sheets for the clinic patients when she wasn't there!!

Heh.

What about Joan, long suffering alcoholic and Ted Kennedy's first wife?

Joan was the sweetest person you would ever want to meet. She would play the piano in the rehab unit and was nice to everyone, regardless of status. I felt so sorry for her, we had to withhold notice of her last baby's birth, as Teddy was off skiing with "Susie Chapstick." She didn't belong in that family, she was far too classy, but she tried. To Ted's credit, he included her in every family holiday, even after he had remarried, family was important to all the Kennedys.

Okay, what about Ethel and Bobby?

Ethel adored Bobby, even more than her kids, when he died, she went to hell in a handbasket. No interest in life at all. Really Sad. She was not pleasant when her sons were jeep riding down at the Cape and paralyzed that girl that was with them. They were all at the hospital, and most were friendly, but Ethel was like Rose in that respect, we were there to wait on them, and we were to be invisible. The older teens were pretty much rich kids, spoiled, etc, Ethel's and Pat's especially.

The boys were seriously tamped down, cops, security, etc. However, Ethel's boys were not polite. Nor was she, at least at the hospital. At least to those of us peons in the ER. I really think Jean, Jackie and Eunice raised the only decent kids, mainly because they kept them from the Kennedys more than the rest of the kids.

But wait! Not only were some of the kids rude and spoiled, but a young lady has spent her entire adult life paralyzed because of a Kennedy auto accident. Her name is Pam Kelley. Please say a prayer or send her good thoughts.

Here's a story about Pam today: http://fatboy.cc/Pam Kelley.htm

Now Mary had some interesting things to say about Joe Kennedy, patriarch:

My father was a fisherman and clammer back in the 30's, 40's and 50's, Joe had a summer house in Cohasset, south of Boston, before they had the house in Hyannis Port (where I went to nursing school). My father and uncle were out clamming and Joe happened by, and was so interested in what they were doing, they didn't realize WHO he was, as he was really an everyday guy, never used his power, back then and interested in everything.

He didn't come from money and power like Rose. It was a long time before my father found out who he was. I can remember his saying, "The boys will have to go a long way to be like the old man." Joe never went to the Catholic hospitals in Boston, he went to NE Baptist, he was not as religious as Rose, who, frankly, was a bit of a fanatic.

And he was adored at the hospital, nurses walked out with their pockets full of tips (totally against rules, but you didn't say NO to Joe Kennedy) he wanted to talk to everyone, no matter what they did, always very interested in everyone. Jack and Bobby were like that, not Joe jr, he was more like Rose. History would have been very different if he hadn't been killed in the war, and he became president. I don't see how he could have run as a democrat though, with his leanings toward Marxism, etc. He was Joe's pride and joy, and his death changed him drastically. As did Kathleen's, and what he did to Rosemary. The younger ones didn't get the best of him after that, he wasn't the same person.

Thank you, Mary, for sharing your stories with us.

Every Teacher's Nightmare

noreply@blogger.com (carolinagirl79) — Mon, 16 May 2011 10:14:00 +0000

Dear Students,

As the final grades go into the computer, we will have someone just like the kid in this video to deal with. It never fails.

Teachers have heard it all before. We know about your six dead relatives, your ex-boyfriend's sister in law's funeral, your devastating illness, your tire/engine exploding, the person who drives you exploding.

We know you are special and deserve extra time to turn in an assignment that the rest of the class turned in 6 weeks ago.

We know that such calamaties have befallen you that we weep for you at night, our tears slowly sliding down the beer can you forced us to drink in order to maintain our sanity.

We know that your parents/girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/employer/kids will KEEEL you if you don't pass the class.

We know you'll lose your scholarship if we don't "give" you a B.

Listen up!

Although you may find this difficult since it will be the first time for many of your who stared into space as if awaiting the aliens spaceship to arrive or surreptitiously texted under your desk when you thought we couldn't see you, it will get easier with practice.

The requirements for passing the class were carefully explained to you, as carefully as they were explained to me when I was 8 years old. Yes, in my day. we were passed out stone tablets on the first day of class that we were expected...

Gasp.

READ ON OUR OWN TIME. I know!!! I know!!!! It's horrifying to contemplate.

We were supposed to sit quietly and take notes from the lectures, and if we missed a class, we didn't email the instructor to ask for a copy of his notes. We asked our friends for a copy.

We can guess your final grade after the first day in class with about 90% accuracy just by looking at the expression on your face and whether or not your eyes are spinning like a pinwheel or fixed upon us eagerly awaiting our every word.

But see, here's what we did. We know that you can "take it up the ladder" and sometimes win. This is one reason why we wish that we did not have to teach students like you. We tried to cover ourselves by grading papers in 3 hours that you took 3 weeks to work on so you can't claim you didn't get feedback. We created rubrics to give you feedback. We carefully documented notes to you encouraging you to come in for tutoring at the lab. We're ready for you.

Of course, we know that saying no will come back to bite us. It is so much easier to just say yes to everything you want.

This is extremely worrisome if we know we will see you again for classes for the next couple of years since you're majoring in our subject and that you can do untold damage to us on those ridiculous Customer Service evaluation quizzes.

Just understand this...we know you. We know what kind of a employee you will make.

If we are forced to say yes to unfair and burdensome requests, we will remember when employers want an evaluation.

If we can get away with it, we are not going to "give" you a grade, we're going to type in the grade YOU EARNED.

If we can't, and are forced to give you a makeup test or a special consideration know this....

Your employer won't. And when you look at your diploma on the wall one day, you will be ashamed of yourself knowing that you didn't REALLY earn it fairly.

Up to you.