A family story

Isn't that a beautiful picture of my daughters and my parents? It was taken 2 Easters ago. Why they are all crammed on that little velvet love seat, I'll never know. But, here is the point.

My Dad has Alzheimer's. Not only is it really, really sad...it just totally sucks. My kids don't know the intelligent man who helped raise me. (I say "helped" raise me, because, let's face it...I raised myself.) Over the past few months his decline has gained incredible momentum. I find that he can't even complete a sentence anymore. Well, he can...but it is always something like, "Your mom is in the trees," or "I was going in the bag." (Actually, now that I think about it, the second sentence does make sense. He has a colostomy and so if he is "going" so to speak, he is doing it in a bag!)

Anyway...I do the Alzheimer's walk every year in Chicago. It is to raise money for the Alzheimer's association. But, you all know me well enough to know that I don't do it for completely altruistic reasons. I do it for the t-shirt.

No, I do it because I am surrounded by people who all have loved ones who are dying of this terrible disease. They have t-shirts with pictures of their loved ones emblazoned on their chests. They gather in groups to talk about their mom, dad, gramma, aunt.... Everywhere you look someone is looking at your shirt to see if you are walking "In Honor of" someone or (sadly) "In Memory of". We are all the same in our longing to do something to help because we can't fix our loved one. Honestly, the whole experience gives me a whole new appreciation of AA. It must be comforting for a drunk to be surrounded by others who are struggling too. Plus, afterward you've got a whole group of people who really, really want to go out for a cocktail.

Here is the link to my donation page:

http://chicagomemorywalk.kintera.org/faf/r.asp?t=4&i=224903&u=224903-47598405&e=1224718198

Feel free to visit and just read the story I wrote. Even better; pony up some cash and support me. Better yet, pray for me and my family. (But pony up some cash too.) Last year I surpassed my lofty goal...and the best part was, no less than three of my ex-boyfriends pledged more than my husband did, which made him look like a total chump. But, he did get the girl so I guess he got the last laugh, didn't he? In any case, my husband is far from a total chump, as you can see from the picture. Last year he and the girls came on the 5K with me and he had to carry Bronte on his shoulders the whole way. Tony rocks!

I wish this picture was bigger so you could really see how freakin' great my hair looked. My shirt says "Supporting my Dad, Bob Geddis" which my oldest, dearest friend had made for me the year I did the walk the first time. Plus, look at how cute my damn kids are! We are like the All American Family, except for Tony's tie-died shirt which makes him look like a stoned Dead fan who wandered on the beach and scored a photo op with some normal people.

So, go to my Donation Page. Please.

Cut my damn hair, woman!!

Is it just me, or does Kate Hudson's kid, Ryder, look miserable? And, why the hell is he in a stroller? He's three and a half years old...he's got legs, right? When my kids hit a year and a half, they walked everywhere. I didn't care if it took me twice as long to get through the mall, I wasn't going to push those kids around in a stupid stroller. Did you ever notice how OBNOXIOUS stroller moms are in the mall? They throw a bunch of Goldfish on the stroller tray and then push their stroller into people's shins and try to fit between clothing racks they have no business trying to get their Peg Perego Deluxe Pram through in the first place. Meanwhile, their kid is whipping soggy half-eaten Goldfish at anyone stupid enough to get within 4 feet of them. Stroller moms are one of the biggest reasons I don't go to the mall anymore.

In any case, back to Kate Hudson...why does she feel like she needs to date men who don't bathe everyday. C'mon, Kate! You deserve better! He last husband...that guy from The Black Crows must've been great in bed because (as Tony says) he really out-kicked his coverage. Either that or she was SERIOUSLY wasted when he asked her to marry him. Or maybe she just feels so bad that she doesn't have any boobs and she doesn't think she deserves any better than the "unwashed". ( Honestly, the girl is almost completely devoid of breasts. I really don't see the big deal with boobs, but I've always been lucky in the "breast arena" so I can't really relate to how the lack of them might feel.)

The fact remains...that child is too old to be in a damn stroller. Plus, he needs a haircut. The fact that his hair is still so long and he looks completely ridiculous is bordering on child abuse. Good thing Britney and KFed are around to deflect the attention from poor Ryder who is obviously a legless sissy-boy.

Gonna Take Your Momma Out All Night...

I wish I knew how to put pictures of myself on my blog. I love to go to my friend Jim's blog (see the link to Jim's Notes under my favorite blogs) and look at his pictures! Today he has some really fabulous ones of him mugging for the camera as only a gay man can. I have never seen anyone take advantage of a photo op like Jim. Here is what it must be like to walk down the street with Jim.

Carolyn: "So then this stupid bitch in my Bible study starts to talk about her big old King James and...

Jim: "WAIT!!! There's a huge pyramid of oranges over there! Take my camera!"

Carolyn: "WHY? I was just getting to the part when I opened my jacket to reveal my "Jesus is my Homeboy" t-shirt!"

Jim: "Whatever! If I stand in just the right way, I will totally look like Carmen Miranda!"

Anyway, Jim has all these really great pictures on his blog and I don't even know how to work my daughter's digital camera...either of my daughter's digital cameras. Yes, even my 6 year old has a digital camera. They love to taunt me about my lack of digital camera know-how. Whenever I take a photo of them with my regular camera they ask if they can see it and then they say, "Oh. That's right. We have to wait for them to be developed." That's when I launch into my "Well, when I was a kid we didn't have digital cameras. We had to wait 24 hours to get our photos back," and the kids gasp at the HORROR of having to WAIT for something.

I can, however, take photos off the Internet and post them on my blog. I have gotten really good at that. The two pictures of me from the church picnic were actually from someone else's website. I stole them. I'm not sorry. Right after I figured out how to steal them and put them in my blog I celebrated. I went up to my kitchen and blasted The Scissor Sisters CD really loud and danced in the living room. Now, every time I listen to The Scissor Sisters I dance and think, "I am such a great dancer! I could have been a professional dancer if my mother had only let me take dance instead of piano. I could have been a Solid Gold Dancer, for God's sake!" At that point I usually pull a muscle in my groin or look out the window to see the post-man laughing his ass off in my front yard. In any case, since I can't entertain you with photos of myself...

Get your fat ass to Rehab

Memo to Britney Spears:
Sweetie,
I would look better in that outfit than you do. Please, put some clothes on (and not the crap you usually wear in public).
Sincerely,
Carolyn

Honestly, I never thought I would say this (let alone CARE) but I think Kevin Federline ought to get full custody of his kids. He may not be the ideal parent, but at least he keeps his clothes on in public. Really, if Brit wanted to strip down in front of the cameras she should have done it when she was skinny. Not drunk and bloated. Why do I care so much about this? I don't really. But it's like a car accident in your front yard...of course you are going to look. Because she is imploding in front of our eyes we all feel the right to an opinion. Here is mine:

She was a no-talent from day one.
She is only as pretty as the 5th prettiest girl in my high school.
I don't care if she ever whines her way through another pathetic re-make of a song no one liked in the first place.

My daughter has a copy of "Britney Spears Greatest Hits" and she likes to dance to it. Now, I have heard that CD upwards of 5,000 times and I still can't tell what the appeal ever was. She sounds like she's "singing" (and I use that word VERY loosely) with nose plugs on. She does a duet with Madonna and, honest to God, she makes Madonna sound like a genius. (Don't get all over my case about this. Madonna's talent is marketing. She isn't the crappiest singer I've ever heard--Britney is...pay attention--but she isn't fabulous.) So, what was her appeal?? I get the whole "budding gay icon" thing, but usually the gays choose more wisely. She's pathetic. She was never that pretty, or that edgy, or that ANYTHING.
However, I do feel bad for her kids. I don't know what happens when they are with K-Fed but it can't be as bad as what happens when they are with Britney. She takes them on boat rides sans life jackets, she gives them Coke in their baby bottles, she almost drops them because she's drunk in high heels (yeah for the bodyguard!). Come on! How much of that can you chalk up to "I'm country, y'all!"???? Does "country" equal "stupid"? As far as I'm concerned, everyone in America with a southern accent ought to sue Britney for defamation of character.

Freaky Friday

Friday was not a good day in "Carolyn World". I started out the day by taking care of my dad while my mother went and did something else. That, in and of itself, was not so bad, although I admit it is frustrating having to explain over and over that no one is going to come and pick us up and take us to work, or answer the question, "Who are you?" for the 100th time. I think that the only reason I can take care of Dad and not be really, really sad the entire time is because he and I were never especially close. I never doubted that my father loved me and I love him too, but we didn't ever really talk. I remember when I was a freshman in high school and I tried out for the softball team. I was, undoubtedly, the best short-stop in the entire freshman class but I knew I was screwed when I saw who the softball coach was. It was the band director, Mr. L. I was in the band too and Mr. L and I had a mutual dislike of each other. I thought he was a complete and utter asshole and he thought I was a disrespectful bitch. Turns out we were both right. Time has shown that I do not show respect to those who don't earn it and I don't think that even those who love me the most would hesitate to back up the "bitch" claim. Whatever. I would rather be called a "bitch" than have people say, "Oh, that Carolyn! She's so nice." Who, in their right mind, wants to be labeled nice? Boring. It just shows no imagination or passion. I would WAAAYYY rather have people call me a "bitch" than declare that I'm some simpering nice person. I think that mission has been accomplished.

Anyway, I was right about Mr. L too because he got fired when I was a sophomore. Turns out he was having a sexual affair with a senior. I remember thinking it wasn't that big of a deal to me because she was a total slut who slept with everyone. I bet the straight male faculty members were nervous the day Mr. L got busted because it easily could have been one of them getting "blown" in the band-room. In any case, I wanted to think that it was divine retribution on Mr. L for being unfair to me during the freshman softball try-outs, but it probably wasn't. So, when I tried out for the freshman softball team I was really the best short-stop in the freshman class. Everyone agreed that I was going to be the starting short-stop for the freshman team and waiting for the team list to be posted was just a formality. Well, Mr. L was probably pissed off at me because I rolled my eyes when he announced that we were going to play "Rhapsody in Blue" at the spring concert (I don't like "Rhapsody in Blue" and I loudly whispered to the second chair clarinet that I thought it was an unimaginative choice) so he put me on the "B" team.

Well, the team roster was posted first thing in the morning on a Friday and so I had to go all day in school harboring that disappointment and tolerating all the kind remarks from those who felt I should have been the starter, blah, blah, blah. I didn't want to give Mr. L the satisfaction of reacting. Needless to say, by the time I got home I was ready to burst. Unfortunately, my mother was at work and my dad was stuck with me. I walked in the house, burst into tears and told my dad that Mr. L was a jerk and I should be on the "A" team and that it wasn't fair. Keep in mind that I am hysterically crying the whole time. Of course my dad totally freaks out and has no idea what to say. He tells me to just go out there and try my hardest and show Mr. L that he made a mistake. He tells me that being on the "B" team is still very, very good. He tells me that I can always work my way up to the "A" team. I respond to all of these comments by screeching and crying harder and saying that he "just doesn't get it".

So, my dad does the one thing he knows always makes my mother feel better when she is upset. He takes me shoe shopping. By the time my mother comes home from work I am sitting in the living room surrounded by boxes of new shoes. No kidding, I think he got me 6 pairs of shoes. I specifically remember getting the same pair of Nike shoes in two different colors. She turned to my dad, who was sitting on the couch with a blank stare, shaking his head and asked, "What happened here?" My dad said something like, "Mr. L. Big jerk. Didn't make first string. Crying. Shoes," which my mom completely understood and she got down on the floor and hugged me. She then admired my new shoes, agreed that Mr. L was a complete asshole and we ate potato chips for dinner.

So, as you can see, my father was a good dad. We just didn't have those touching heart-to-heart talks that some of my friends claim to have had with their fathers.

Enough about that...back to my crappy day on Friday. I took care of my dad all morning, which didn't suck, but I couldn't leave his side because if I did he would start wandering around the house trying to get out to "find someone". So I had to sit in the family room watching the Golf Channel for 4 hours. After my mother came and got him, I decided to take the kids to the pool. That was actually fun because I have decided that even though none of the other moms go on the big water slides it doesn't mean that I can't if I want to. Despite the fact that the first person I saw at the pool was "The Disco Queen" from my Groove class (she looked satisfyingly shitty in her bathing suit, by the way) and the second person I saw was the mom that I can't stand (the one who always points out how the two of us are the oldest moms of kids in the Kindergarten class) I had fun. So much, in fact, that I decided to take the kids to Ben and Jerry's for ice cream on the way home! Yippeee!! I was even going to have real-live ice cream instead of the sorbet I usually have in a misguided attempt to save calories.

Here's where my day went wrong. We ate our ice cream, got in the car, and I promptly backed into another car parked in the lot. There was damage...but not to my stupid Durango...to the car I backed into...a fucking Porsche. Needless to say, the mid-life crisis bald man to whom the car belonged came running out of Ben and Jerry's with his boob-job girlfriend, looked at his dented bumper and said, "Oh shit." I immediately burst into tears and kept saying how sorry I was. His girlfriend kept saying, "It's okay. It could be worse. No one was hurt. It's not that bad!" and I was so pathetic, I actually took comfort from that!

Okay, so I give the guy all my information and we leave. When we get home, Brenna gets her Jr. High class schedule out of the mailbox, opens it and immediately calls her friends to find out if they have the same homeroom so she can find a suitable locker partner. Of course, none of her friends have the same homeroom, so she is sad and scared and disappointed and pissed. I should have taken her shoe shopping, but instead we go out for Chinese food. Brenna is not the kind of kid who cries out her disappointment...she gets pissy and takes it out on me. That doesn't go over really well. So, at one point during dinner at The Fortune Kookie I get up from the table and go to the bathroom after announcing that "I just can't take it anymore!" By the time I calm down and head back to the table, I return to find Brenna crying and admitting she is scared. That makes me feel like a big ol' shitball. If I hadn't been so hungry at that point, I would have grabbed her and gone to Nordstrom's and bought us both 6 pairs of shoes.

Not that there's anything wrong with that....

Now I am engrossed in another children's book. Actually, it is intended for young adults, which means it is barely a step above a children's book.It is called "Twilight" and it is a love story. It's about a girl who moves to Washington State to live with her father (because she's been living with her mother) and falls in love with a boy in her new high school. He falls in love with her too, but he has a little secret....he's a vampire. It sounds really stupid, but it's been amazingly good so far. The boy she falls in love with is supposed to be beautiful (as befits a vampire) and I just keep picturing Brad Pitt in Legends of The Fall. In any case, the book is really well written and it makes me feel like I got ripped off in high school. I feel like I totally would have gone for the hot vampire when I was 17, regardless of the risks. But I didn't. I dated the same guy for both my junior and senior year. Rick. He went to a different high school than I did and I think that there was some doubt among my peers that he actually existed. I mainly dated him for his car. It was a beautiful green Mach I with a stick shift and an 8 track player.

So, he broke up with me at prom and I was pissed! I had been asked by at least 6 other guys in my class and turned them all down to go with Rick. I told him to just leave and I would get a ride home with someone else. So he did leave, sort of. He left the hotel where the prom was being held and sat in his car in the parking lot and waited for me to come out. He probably masturbated, the horny bastard. In any case, I did finally come out but I had already found another ride home (with one of the most popular guys in my class. I convinced him to ditch his date and hang out with me instead. He was, alas, not a vampire though.) and I told Rick, basically, that I didn't care how fine his car was I was not going to have sex with him. I wasn't going to have sex with anyone that night. At this point, the guy I was now with was probably really bummed. The girl he took to prom probably would have done him, and now he was stuck with me!

In any case, I did eventually have sex. (Not that night...please!) My first experience was so terrible that I started crying right afterwards, turned to my boyfriend and said, "I'm sorry I'm a lesbian." Seriously. It was just awful. Little did I know that the reason I hated it so much was entirely HIS fault. When I tried it again I went for an older man who I thought would have more experience. (I really didn't want to be a lesbian. As I once heard a female comedian say, "I can't be a lesbian. I don't even like licking stamps.") Well, it turned out that he didn't have a lot more experience, but the experience he did have he put to REALLY good use. Plus he had a lot of enthusiasm and I was young enough to not have any weird hang-ups about my body or anything. I should probably call him and thank him sometime. Not that I wouldn't have been a really good lesbian or anything, I love women in general and would rather look at a naked woman than a naked man (they're prettier) but I just don't want to kiss them.