You Can Go Home Again

And I have. I woke up this morning at the Jersey Shore. I walked out the front door of our beach rental, walked the 3 short blocks to the boardwalk and walked along the ocean for 45 minutes. And the past comes rushing back.

Well, it actually rushed back yesterday as we prepared to land in Newark. Now, 90% of the time when you approach Newark airport you fly over the loading docks of Port Newark, or the "factory district", or if you are lucky the Budweiser factory. But, yesterday was different, we banked right and out of the left side of the plane the NYC skyline came into view - the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty stood proud. I got a little chill as the past came racing back.

I whizzed through baggage claim and was in my rental car in 30 minutes flat.

Then, it hit me. Well actually, it cut me off.

"It" being some guido in a 1997 black camaro who drives the Garden State Parkway for sport. Weaving in and out cars as if racing a slalom course. Yeah, this I don't miss.

Now I thought the guido epidemic was one of the past - reserved for the 1980s and for some poor souls it unfortunately spilled over in the 90s as well. I am here to tell you that it is still alive and well at the Jersey Shore. Lord help us.

On that note, I discovered a really interesting blog last week - "Cajun Boy in the City" (not for the faint of heart or kids under 18). Basically the anti-Courtney. A Southern guy living in NYC. Check out his take on Guidos. http://cajunboyinthecity.blogspot.com/2008/06/affirmative-proof-that-guido-is-indeed.html

If I wasn't married, he could be my perfect match!

More to come as my adventures at the Jersey Shore play out over the week.

Walking Like a Duck

So, how does the old saying go ... if it looks like a duck and it walks like a duck it must be well, a duck.

Not in these parts. I've recently discovered that if it looks like a cockroach and it walks like a cockroach then it is indeed a ... (wait for it) ... Palmetto Bug!

Um, what?

Just a testament to the Southern culture I guess. I imagine the conversation going something like this ...

"Bless her heart, we can't call her a cockroach ... that's just not polite." A few minutes of rocking in the chair, and an iced cold sweet tea and suddenly ... "I've got it! We'll call her Palmetto Bug."

I wish the Yankees had it so easy. I'm still waiting for someone to call me a nice name.

I rock.

I sip.

And nothing.

Holy Shit I am 35 Today

“Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.” - Jennifer Yane

I am still trying to decide how I feel about this. Five years ago, I cancelled my 30th birthday celebration during a spell of denial. So my hunch is that 35 is not going to go any smoother than 30 did. We’re talking a lot of years here.

In trying to come to terms with this milestone, I did a little research on some other things that are turning twenty-fifteen this year.

The cell phone. Yes, believe it or not in 1973 Martin Cooper, leader of Motorola's cell phone team, called Joel Engel, research head of rival AT&T's Bell Labs to say, "Joel, I'm calling you from a real cellular phone."

The interchangeable head screwdriver.

The MRI.

The Sears Tower.

The Jet Ski.

In entertainment news, Elvis Presley's Aloha From Hawaii television special was seen around the world by more than 1 billion viewers. The Young & the Restless, The Bobby Darrin Show, and Concentration all made their television debuts in 1973 and George Jefferson made his first appearance on All In the Family.

Is it fair to say that most things just get better with age?

Yeah, that is my story and I am sticking to it.


Source: http://www.thepeoplehistory.com/1973.html

You Go Dad!

I have been teaching for six years now and despite the obligatory annual request from the Dean, I had never attended a graduation ceremony.

This year was different. One of my public speaking students, Reece, was selected as the student speaker for the graduation ceremonies. This was big! I suspect that Reece had the gift of public speaking long before he entered my classroom, but regardless I was extremely proud.

So last Friday, I made the trek to the Parris Island Chapel for the Technical College of the Lowcountry (TCL) Graduation. As I suspected, Reece's presentation was flawless and inspiring.

Despite the fact that I selfishly attended just to hear Reece's speech, I was actually touched by something else that I witnessed.

The graduates were of all ages, races, backgrounds and majors but one thing was consistent - the pride that their family members had.

Despite etiquette instructions on the school website that indicated that "guests should not clap, cheer, or make other excessive noise as names are called" this crowd was rowdy! (And who could blame them?)

As one gentlement crossed the stage and his name was called the entire row in front of me rose to their feet clapping and cheering as one called out, "Yeah! Way to go Dad!"

I was truly touched -- watching a child cheer for his father who accomplished his goal, when it is so often the other way around. And that is why I love teaching.

A little respect for her majesty please ...

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Grace Lady Courtney the Philomath of Divine Intervention Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I know, I know. This is a lame excuse for a blog post, but it is a start. My friend Patrick (Venerable Lord Patrick the Random of Dramble Buzzcock) had this on his blog and I stole the idea.

However, now that I hold this royal post of ridiculousness, I pledge to post more often. I do have a few ideas brewing so stay tuned for --

"Yeah, You Go Dad"
"A Little Humility Please"
and my personal favorite ... "Holy Shit I am 35 Years Old Today"

Later kids.

P.S. If anyone can find the definition of "philomath" let me know. The American Heritage Dictionary on my desk does not show a listing.

A 25 Chicken a Day Alligator

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Yes, Alex I know it.

"Phrases I never thought I would hear in a meeting!"

Where am I? And, what does that mean?

Apparently it is just more of my indoctrination into the South. My boss (E.T.B.) calls it my "Southern Education". He is a Southern Gentleman through and through and has been working for a few years now to soften the Yankee. Secretly, I know that he loves the 'tude sometimes. He is the good cop, I am the bad cop -- it works for us and I think it is why we work so well together.

I have copies of the Foxfire Books in my office courtesy of good ol' E.T.B, all of the issues of Garden and Gun magazine (which I love! it's the only mag I have every read cover to cover, every issue.), music selections, and random quotes, articles, movie titles, and books that I am supposed to digest in his quest to acclimate me to the South.

I think it is working.

I can't even remember the context in which "A 25 Chicken a Day Alligator" was used, but I know that next time I hear it, my jaw will not drop. I'll be able to play it cool.

Body & Soul

I recently had the opportunity to write for a new publication, Coastal Antiques & Art. My first assignment was to interview an artist (duh) about his process and body of work.

Before I could accept I had to come clean to the Editor -- telling her that I hated Art History class and really didn't consider myself an art connoissuer. I didn't tell her that up until a few years ago "art" in my house consisted of prints I bought at Michael's and framed myself -- we are doing much better now, thanks.

Lucky for me she liked my writing style (so now there are three people who do) and gave me the assignment anyway.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing painter Bruce Knecht. He got the same confession as my Editor and he was still game. Here is how it all turned out in the February issue of Coastal Antiques & Art. Click the link below and enjoy!
http://display.savannahnow.com/SS/Page.aspx?sstarg=&facing=false&secid=39108&pagenum=9

My Secret Shame

It's funny how life works and seems to always come full circle.

I walked into the market at work this morning and Christopher Cross was on the radio "getting caught between the moon and New York City" and I had to chuckle.

When I was young we used to vacation all summer. Mom was a teacher and Dad was a firefighter who would save up all of his vacation time for the summer. On the last day of school we would pack up and take off for a long adventure. To keep us company on the long drives, Dad brought along two friends. Christopher Cross and Neil Diamond would fill the silence of hours of travel.

Later in life, when I had my own car and my own radio I would be taken back in time when one of the songs of my childhood would be on the radio.

And then, in college I discovered my secret shame.

Her name was Delilah.

Delilah was a DJ on 92.7 / WOMB. There, folks could tune in each night to be serenaded by love songs. I would listen at night and enjoy the freedom to sing along to ...

"Wind Beneath My Wings"
"I Will Always Love You"
"When You Say Nothing at All"
"Everything I Do I Do It For You"
"Always"
"Right Here Waiting"
"More Than Words"

Fast forward more years than I care to admit and I am here in South Carolina driving home from teaching a night class and I hear a familiar voice.

Delilah right here in my new backyard?

Not so much. Apparently Delilah is syndicated nation-wide, which really means just one thing. My secret shame is for sure shared by millions of other hopeless romantics who may be looking for love in all the wrong places.

So as Christopher Cross serenaded me while I got my coffee this morning, I told my summer vacation story to my colleague, Jen.

Sure enough that led to talking about Delilah and guess what? Jen thought that Delilah was a local DJ on her small town South Carolina station and was shocked to learn years later that she too was sharing love songs with the whole U.S. of A.

And, we've come full circle again.

I Spooned a Black Lab Last Night

I couldn't help it. It is cold!

And, with those words it is possible that I have finally and fully acclimated to my new surroundings. I'm a flip-flop-loving girl destined for monthly pedicures and my tootsies aren't toasty.

The South is in the midst of a cold snap and I can't stand it anymore. A little chill in the air was nice around Thanksgiving and Christmas -- made me think of holidays past, but once the tree is down I am ready for the temperature to go up.

I remember going to my cousin's wedding in Florida fifteen Decembers ago and prancing around in shorts and a t-shirt while the FLA residents shivered in the (mere) 70 degree temperatures. I couldn't figure them out.

And now I have to wonder, did I just turn into Grandma Noon?

So, on nights where I typically whine that Darby is taking up too much space in the bed, last night I welcomed him to curl right up there with me - under the covers and all.

I slept through the night and woke up refreshed and covered in dog hair, but it was worth it.

I spooned a black lab last night and I loved every minute of it.

Rednecks and Yankees

Like cowboys and angels ... we can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Check out this great column by the Island Packet's David Lauderdale.

http://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/story/127969.html

My Husband the Candidate

Yep, you heard right. Joe is vying to make me the first lady of Bluffton. This morning he officially filed to run for Bluffton Town Council.

Joe just got his blog (Yes! Joe has a blog.) up today. Check it out for all the details - http://joenaughton.blogspot.com

Now, you've gone and pissed me off ...

Why are people late?

Always late. On purpose late.

I understand getting stuck in traffic late, a last minute emergency late, wearing two different shoes and having to go back home to change late.

But to show up late um, just to be late. I don't get it.

(Note: If you tell me that you will be late, we have no problem.)

When my students are late I try to ignore their disruption, I flash them the evil eye and then at the end of class remind everyone that my pet peeve is late arrivals. This usually results in said late student writing an apology on their thought card (submitted each class as a way to communicate with me) and sliding it to the bottom of the pile as they skulk out of the room. Mission accomplished.

But in theory, I can do that with my students.

The question is how do you broach this subject with friends?

I've come up with a few options:

1. Force them to stand on the porch peering in the windows to see all of the fun that they are missing. (the rest of us will point and laugh)

2. Make them clean up when the party ends - dirty dishes, floors, the whole package - whilst I lay on the couch eating bon bons.

3. Put all of the empty beer and wine bottles in their car on a warm day and let them bake in the South Carolina sun.

4. Pull them from the invite list.

My list of tortures goes on, but it is just that - a list. (I talk a big game)

To all friends reading this blog who are coincidentally often late - I am of course not writing about you.

And, to "Margarita Gill" - who I know is reading -- thank goodness you and "Wyoming" showed up on time last night!

On a Serious Note...

It isn't all fun and games, although I like to pretend that it is.

And, it is not everyday that one is featured in the newspaper.

This morning I woke up to read the story of my life. Island Packet writer Maureen Simpson captured the essence of our struggle and deserves kudos for telling the story just like it is.

The Realities of Infertility
For couples who can't conceive on their own,

the road to pregnancy can be hard to travel
By MAUREEN SIMPSON

Melissa Schoenstra said some women know, even as children, they want to be mothers. She was one of them. So when she was told she would not be able to get pregnant due to a variety of complications, the news didn't just shatter her dreams. It broke her spirit.

"I had planned my whole life around having kids," Schoenstra, 37, said. "I even got a teaching degree because I wanted to be around kids and have a work schedule that allowed me to be a mom. It was hard."

Though her desire to start a family was difficult to push aside, Schoenstra said she and her husband, Tom, still got married under the assumption they would not be having any children. But after a couple of years, news of hope for couples struggling with infertility started popping up more and more in the media. And while she and her husband both took notice, he was the first to suggest checking out their options.

At the time, the couple was living in Lexington, Ky., and started their journey toward potential parenthood at the Kentucky Center for Reproductive Medicine. They moved to Bluffton three years ago.

"We did everything under the sun," Schoenstra said of the long, emotional and expensive process. Though they began with the medical options covered by their health insurance -- fertility drugs and artificial insemination -- the couple eventually turned to in vitro fertilization.

POWER TO PERSEVERE
The procedure, called IVF, involves surgically removing numerous eggs from the ovary and mixing them with sperm in a petri dish. Some of the eggs that are fertilized and grow into embryos are implanted into the womb. One cycle of IVF can cost $12,000 or more and often is not covered by health plans. To pay, the Schoenstras refinanced their home.

IVF comes with about a 50-50 chance of success that typically declines as the age of the patient increases. Schoenstra, who was 32 when she first tried the procedure, was successful after one cycle. Though she was pregnant with triplets, only two girls survived.

Multiple pregnancies are not uncommon with IVF. According to the S.C.-based Southeastern Fertility Center, twins occur in 20 to 30 percent of cycles, while triplets occur in less than 5 percent.

Beyond the statistics, Schoenstra said her biggest fears and frustrations during the process came from what couldn't be communicated -- to her doctor, her family, her friends or even her spouse. "Nobody has really done anything in depth on how emotional it really is," she said of the complicated quest to get pregnant. "People will say, 'Oh, it's hard,' but we were pretty much at the breaking point when we finally got pregnant that first time. It consumes your life. It's everything you do. You're on the doctor's schedule, so nothing is spontaneous. It sends you over the edge."

When Dr. Grant Patton, founder and director of Southeastern Fertility Center, spoke at a fertility seminar the clinic hosted on Hilton Head Island last month, he told a room of nearly 25 couples inquiring about available fertility treatments that no matter how hard it is, maintaining a positive and game day-like mentality when going through the process is vital.

"It's kind of like detective work," said Patton, who was responsible for South Carolina's first IVF pregnancy in 1984. "We're trying to put together a diagnosis to see which treatment will be most effective and simplest for you. Try to make it a good experience, and remember you are not alone."

When her now 4-year-old twins, Anna and Emma, were about 18 months old, Schoenstra and her husband tried IVF again through the Georgia Center for Reproductive Medicine. She got pregnant after one cycle, and gave birth to Olivia, who now is 18 months old.

STILL A CHALLENGE
According to the Center for Reproductive Medicine, infertility affects one in every six couples of childbearing age. There is a female problem in 35 percent of the cases, a male problem in 35 percent of the cases, and a combined problem in 20 percent of cases. Of the 28 million couples in the United States affected by infertility, 50 percent seek treatment. Of those, approximately
85 percent conceive.

The numbers have not been on Courtney Naughton's side.

Now 34, Naughton has lost both of her fallopian tubes due to complications from ectopic pregnancies, and can only become pregnant through IVF.

During an ectopic pregnancy, a fertilized egg has been implanted outside the uterus without the mother being aware. As the fetus grows, it eventually bursts the organ that contains it, endangering the expectant mother's life.

The first time this happened to Naughton, she lost the child and nearly lost her life. Doctors told her that her chances of becoming pregnant again were slim.

The pain of the experience created a rift in her marriage, she said, and eventually led to a divorce.

"We just didn't communicate about it at all," she said. "Nobody did. No one knew what to say."

At the time, Naughton was attending Monmouth University in New Jersey for a master's degree in corporate and public communication. To make sense of her own experience, she chose to write her thesis on the communication breakdown between spouses following pregnancy loss. For her research, she turned to an online support group she had joined for women who had
ectopic pregnancies.

"I asked them to tell me their stories. It was part of my healing process," Naughton said. "When I presented my thesis, it was the first time I really shared my experience and felt like people were finally listening and wanting to talk about it."

HARD CHOICES
In 2001, Naughton remarried, but she lost her second fallopian tube after suffering from another ectopic pregnancy while on vacation in Florida. So far, she and her husband, Joe, have gone through three IVF cycles with no success. Because New Jersey is one of seven states that has laws mandating IVF coverage, the procedures were covered by the couple's health plan. But South Carolina does not have laws requiring IVF coverage, and a move to Bluffton in 2005 has left them in both an emotional and financial quandary.

"It's this constant battle in your head of, 'Do we take everything out of our savings account for something that's not guaranteed to work?' " Naughton said. "I'm probably better prepared to handle it now because I'm older and more mature, but it's like, 'Can I do this one more time?' "

Though she is undecided about whether she and Joe will pursue another cycle of IVF, Naughton said she has made it her mission to push for more conversation regarding infertility. "I'd love to get some legislation going so that 20 years from now, someone in my same position doesn't have to go through all the isolation and hurdles that I did," she said.

"My advice to anyone going through this is to keep the communication lines open. Talk about it to whoever your partner is, because it's going to be an emotional roller coaster."

http://www.islandpacket.com/lowcountrylife/story/83810.html

Cool Beans?

Ok, this is driving me crazy.

In the last week, I have heard the phrase "cool beans" uttered on numerous occasions by numerous people (business associates - yikes!).

Did I not get the memo? Is "cool beans" making a comeback like gaucho pants and long sweaters paired with wide belts?

What did I miss? Why didn't anyone tell me? I know I am busy but geez, this is huge!

I had to do some research to get to the bottom of this new phenomenon. So, I turned to my pals at Wikipedia, which is kind of a real source and they told me --

Cool Beans is a curious phrase that uses nonsense to bring humor into a joyful exclamation. It originated in American pop culture during the late 1960s. Slang of this time is known to center around illogical phrasings of words, and "cool beans" is among the most durable lengthy late 60's era terms. It is used when referring to something with a positive connotation, for example, "That party was cool beans." Much like other hip slang words "cool beans" has faded with the times.

See, I was right, it faded and no mention of a resurgence on the horizon.

Now, how do I break the news to these pop-culture-offenders who are trying to jump start this little ditty when it should actually remain in the vault?

I am sure with a little thought I can come up with a really groovy idea.

Why I'll Never Be Southern

According to Benno Johnson "Southerness" Is …

... Surviving the sweltering summer thanks only to short sleeves and seersucker.

… A Smidgin of sweet talk, chewin’ the fat, a dollop of gossip and some powerful recollectin’ about good times not forgotten.

… Deeply felt and deeply fried.

… Raisin’ hell on Saturday night and beatin’ the devil to your family pew come Sunday morning.

… Saying “No thankee” to all things Yankee.

…The “Love y’all” legacy of Scarlett & Rhett, Pocohontas & John, Forrest & Jenny, June & Johnny, You & Me.

… A minister, a priest and a rabbi walking into a delta juke joint and nobody noticing.

… Carrying tomato aspic to the bereaved to help them carry their burden.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have no idea who ol' Benno is.

The above was found in a recent magazine article (Garden & Gun, The Atlantan -- I'm not sure) however, I can find no biographical information on him. Granted my research is limited to Google, but I am light on free time.

Regardless, I will believe that Benno is indeed Southern. And since his wisdom and wit is clearly over my head or beneath my radar, I will accept the fact that despite my geographic locale, I will remain a sucker for all things Yankee.

Because "Yankee" Is ...

... well, me.

Heathen Bound for Heaven?

Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been 20 years since my last confession. (It has been awhile, so shoot me.)

This was my planned introduction for when I finally got back in the swing of church going. I was raised Catholic. Mom dragged us to church every Sunday until we were Confirmed and then felt bold enough to put up a fight.

Surprisingly, I ended up at a Catholic College, but somehow avoided all but one religion course in 4 years. (That one was required.)

But, lets get to the heart of the matter.

NEWS ALERT: Scandal! I am divorced.

And since I am divorced and therefore a sinner, I have been banned from the Catholic Church.

When Joe and I first got married we visited the Catholic Church in Freehold, NJ (where we were living) and inquired about joining. We were told flat out that we could attend, but we could not be members because I am divorced. So, we said $crew this and we moved on. Meaning, we haven’t been to church in oh, seven years save for a few weddings and christenings.

When my sister got married I could not be her maid of honor, because I was not Catholic. Really? I’m not Catholic anymore? If I start eating Italian food does that make me not Irish anymore?

But, I digress.

When my niece was born I could not be her Godmother because I was not Catholic. Or so we thought … After new Godparents (I call them the B Team) were selected and it was discovered that the Godfather was not Catholic (more scandal) we learned that only one Godparent had to be Catholic. Now, you tell us!

So, my sister gets knocked up again, asks me to be Godmother and I say, “of course” and then go on to suggest that despite the fact that I do not have to be a member of a church, maybe we will re-visit joining the Catholic Church. Surely, there must be some wiggle room …

So, I draft a lovely letter to the local church – an excerpt of which is provided below…

"Dear Father:

Now, we both understand the rules of the church, but we had hoped that there would be some level of forgiveness and that we would be welcomed back – after all isn’t confession and forgiveness a key component of the church?

We realize that we were divorced and are remarried, but it is rather upsetting when we are told that we cannot be a part of our family sacraments because of circumstances that took place many years ago.

So, I am writing now to see if we would be welcomed to join the church.

I attach our completed Parish Registration Form and look forward to your reply..."

Well, we were shocked to receive a “Welcome to the Parish” letter just days later. Really? We’re accepted woo hoo! Oh, and look they even included offering envelopes in our welcome package – I guess they really want us to start “participating” immediately.

And then, the phone rang. Um yeah, they forgot to mention that in order for us to really be members I would have to track down the dead beat that I married in the Catholic Church 10 years ago and get an annulment. Oh, and I would have to pay for my sins to the tune of $1,000. Really? What a bargain!

We just received our second set of offering envelopes.

I think it is time to break the news to Father Flanagan. It’s a no go father. I paid enough in that marriage.

Red Sox Naughton: My Life with a Red Sox Fan

It all started six years ago when I went against the grain and married a Red Sox fan. As the daughter of a devout NY Yankee fan and having grown up in a Yankee household this was considered a "mixed marriage".

Six years ago though, the Red Sox still sucked and the Yankees were still in the midst of their reign.

But, I'll admit I caught the fever. I've always been a fan of the underdog. I'll always pick the losing team in the hopes of a momentous comeback. I love watching grown men rush to the middle of the field and cry. It is hard not to get caught up in the moment.

I can remember sitting in my living room in October '86 watching game 6 of the Mets / Red Sox world series. The rest of the family was asleep and I was stunned as the Sox' first baseman let the ball roll threw his legs. (I was secretly rooting for the Mets that time 'round, which is why I waited for my Dad to go to bed before I turned the game on.) Nothing like a blooper to change history.

Ironically, later learned that Joe's greatest heartbreak wasn't a result the girlfriends who came before me, but instead it was a man named Buckner who broke his heart in '86. Yes, his deepest heartbreak came from an unwavering love of the Red Sox.

When the 2004 playoffs rolled around pitting the Red Sox against the Yankees I chose the Red Sox (much to my family's dismay) -- after all they were the underdog. And, I cheered right along with Joe as they broke the 86 year curse.

This past January as Joe's 40th birthday loomed, I decided to give him the best gift of all. You see, my love had never been to Fenway to see his love.

We purchased tickets for three games opening week. We flew out of Savannah in 70 degree temperatures and landed in Boston amidst snow, sleet, and rain.

That first night, we got off the subway and started the short walk to Fenway from the station and I could sense Joe's anticipation. As we rounded the corner and the Green Monster came into view Joe stopped dead in his tracks and stared. He was brought to tears and admittedly so was I. He was finally living his dream and I was honored to have been standing by his side. I never believed that the love of the game could be this powerful.

Joe worries about his Red Sox hat rotation with the same fervor that Francona worries about the pitching rotation. Today, Joe selected the Saint Paddy's Day green hat. Hopefully, Francona's decision to start Lester will not find Joe in his old school blue wool hat tomorrow night.

Here's hoping. Go Sox!

When Grown Men Cry

Ok, they weren't crying, but it looked like they wanted to.

I speak of Joe, his best friend Joe P (we call him Pickles) and Billy Mentor, the two Joes's friend since grade school.

The highlight of our trip last week was not the air travel, as you may have guessed, but instead was witnessing the reunion of these three life-long friends.

It was moving, it was entertaining and it was downright hilarious to watch the three of them try to play touch football in the street. Just like the old days with seventy-five collective years added on ...

Grown men in their forties trying to turn back the hands of time with a little pigskin ...

Here is what I learned:

1. 40 is not the new 30 (This was actually Joe's quote.)
2. Men, in some cases, forge stronger relationships than women (a surprise to this communication scholar.)
3. The time between visits with good friends feels like minutes. It has been a year since our last visit to Pickles' & Ev's, but when we walked through the front door it seemed like it was yesterday.
4. Laughter is the best medicine.
5. No matter how much you love where you live, there is no place like home.

The four of us - Ev, my Joe, me, & Pickles.

Billy, Joe, & Pickles.

Note: My Joe is the only one with hair that isn't gray or missing!

They sure look winded to me!

Air Travel: The Threequel

Ok, I lied. I said we were done traveling for the year, but we had one more trip left in us. So, we packed the bags in preparation for a long weekend in the ol' homeland to visit with old friends and party like rock stars (well actually, old rock stars, who went to bed by 10:00 p.m. 2 of the 3 nights.)

It is no secret that I am less than thrilled with the status of air travel today. I don't know if it is the airlines or my fellow passengers that tweak me more, but I digress...

All our bags were packed, we were ready to go and then our flight from Charleston to Newark was cancelled. Yup, completely wiped from the board. Weather had backed things up pretty bad in Newark so rather than try to work out the problem, Continental started scrapping evening flights all together. This is when the stress began to mount...

"Um yes, we were booked on flight 2874 scheduled from CHS to EWR this evening and it has been cancelled."

"There isn't another flight for two days? Are you kidding me? You can't just cancel a flight and tell us it will be two days before we can get anywhere. Ok, thank you for checking."

"Fly out of Savannah tonight? That would be great! Can you change our return flight so that we arrive in Savannah as well? No, well then we would have to get sometime to pick us up in Charleston and drive us two and a half hours to get our car in Savannah, is that something you would like to do for us? No, I didn't think so. Yes, I'll hold."

elevator music -- elevator music -- elevator music

"Tomorrow morning is fine, Charleston to Newark, fine. Noooo, thank you!"

Fast forward 60 hours and we are back at Newark airport.

Rental car returned; bags checked; 60 minutes in the security line (this is when you really appreciate little ol' Savannah and Charleston airports) and we are at the gate ready to board.

"Ladies and gentlemen on flight 2322 to Charleston, we have oversold this flight and we are looking for volunteers to give up their seats ..."

Can you see the steam coming out of my ears? How do they "over sell" the flight"?

Dear Continental - 19 rows at 3 seats to a row = 57 seats. Once you hit 57 seats sold, STOP for the love of Pete, STOP!

Fast forward 60 minutes ...

With two $300 continental vouchers in hand and eight bucks a piece in airport food vouchers we are on our way back to Hertz to re-rent our car and re-drive back to Joe and Ev's to re-sleep one more night in the homeland.

This my friends, is our final trip for the year.

Reality Bites

It’s official. I am addicted.

And yes, my mental health is being affected. Thank you for asking.

But what do you expect to happen to someone who wiles away her free time (mind you, it is limited) with an unhealthy reality T.V. obsession.

My obsession is less about the shows and more about the behavior of the reality “stars”. (There is a difference right?)

Frankly I am shocked that Survivor participants (cast members?) have yet to realize that there is a really good chance that once the cameras are rolling for the first time they will be informed that the show starts now and they should drop all their luggage because they are going in with the clothes on their backs!

Are they really surprised?

Did they think that going without a bra this particular day was the right move? Yeah, nothing like running through an obstacle course with un-restrained Double-Ds.

Did anyone consider that fishnets and combat boots could slow you down a bit? Not to mention that they offer a wonderful habitat for all kinds of festering bacteria while in 90 degree temperatures with 100% humidity every day.

Did they not think that their lip, belly, nipple rings may get a little funky after 39 days with no shower?

Whew. I am feeling a little better now that I got that off my chest (which by the way is supported by a bra today).

Once I do enter treatment for this debilitating addiction and in the spirit of full disclosure I guess I should also state for the record that I am strangely intrigued by Classmates.com and Reunion.com. (See my post of March 16, 2007 for more.)

They’ve got me just where they want me – on their mailing lists!

They email me two to three times a week just to let me know which of my former classmates are looking for love, celebrating a birthday, or have visited my profile! My profile! They are looking for me? Well then, certainly sign me up for another year’s worth of gold membership privileges.

And, since I am a member it is only natural that I would take full advantage of the benefits and browse. Heck, I may even search for you who I just met today for the first time. Why not? If you have a profile, and its public, why wouldn’t I have some interest in your high school years?

Folks, this is a cry for help.