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Monday, August 30, 2004 Sincerely Yours, The Breakfast Club
Hollywood calls it an "ensemble-cast." We didn't call it anything - it just "was." In any other space, place or time, this group of people would have never been friends. I guess, if you had to compare it by Hollywood standards, it might be one cup "Big Chill, "two cups "St. Elmo's Fire," one and half cups "Breakfast Club," a half cup "Fatal Attraction," a half cup "Wayne's World," a dash of "Deliverance," and a huge dollop of "Twin Peaks" to add to the totally absurd flavor. All of this was then tossed into a blender and mixed on the highest setting to blur the lines of demarcation even further. I guess we were the ringleaders of it all, since everyone always ended up at our house. Was it because we were the only ones with a house, instead of an apartment, at the time? Or, was it because our fridge was always stocked, the pool table was always racked, the drinks were always cold, and the movies were always cued up and ready to go? There was always "something" going on at least three or four nights a week at our house - card games, pool tournaments, movie-fests, cookouts, volleyball play-offs - something, all the time. There was J.D. and Jennifer. Not what you might call polished or refined. They married very young and, by all standards, were your basic "white-trailer-trash." J.D. raced short-track hot rods on the weekends, and got drunk practically every night. Jennifer realized she made a mistake getting married so young when guys started paying attention to her where she worked. Before then, she thought J.D. was the best she could do. So she started seeing other guys on the side and, later on, began smoking pot every chance she got to try to escape her boring life. J.D. liked to make passes at me when he was drunk (which was most of the time), and never aspired to do more than just enough to get by. There was Wade. He was the group's nerd. He was not only funny, but also a little funny looking -- and smart, and artistic, and just an all-around great guy. He never failed to make us laugh. He did impressions that were totally amazing. One that still cracks us up is when he combined Henrietta Pussycat from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood and Floyd the Barber from the Andy Griffith Show together. It was an absolute RIOT! But, he made the mistake of letting the group know that he was also a thirty-year-old virgin -- BIG MISTAKE! Especially with this group! There was Jackson. He was un-ambitious, perpetually late, and never knew when to leave. There were nights we finally just left him, glazed over in front of television, where we would find him still sitting the next morning. He had a warped sense of humor, a caring heart, and we shared a lot of favorites - movies, music, food and drink. He and I have probably seen "Texas Chainsaw Massacre II" and "Aliens" a total of fifty times each, only because we both think they're two of the funniest movies ever made! There was Lynn. Granted, she was beautiful, but she was battling the demons of her childhood and, having no self-esteem, she was totally self-absorbed and egocentric. She wanted every guy to want her, and her actions made every girl hate her. She's my cousin so I just ignored her when she acted like a prima donna (which was most of the time)! There was David. He didn't come around as often as everyone else because his wife wouldn't "let" him. She didn't like us and didn't want him hanging around with us. He was a walking contradiction if there ever was one. To look at him, he was the vision of a strict military guy -- clean-shaven, buzz-cut, "yes, ma'am," "yes, sir," -- one of the Navy's finest. But, he loved his alternative music -- his head-banging metal -- and played it at full volume until the windows on his little truck rattled from the noise, and all you could see was that buzz-cut head banging in time with the music. There were others -- the fringe -- who came and went, but this was the basic core group. We were from all different socio-economic, educational, even (original) geographical backgrounds, but we found ourselves in a situation just like Andrew Clarke, Brian Johnson, John Bender, Claire Standish and Allison Reynolds from The Breakfast Club. We began to see the others apart from their stereotypes. Just as Andrew was the jock, Brian was the geek, John was the criminal, Claire was the prom queen, and Allison was the psycho, we each found qualities about the others that changed our own lives forever. In the "where-are-they-now" department: One Christmas morning at 4:00 a.m., Jennifer got up, and with her purse, and one small bag with make-up, underwear, and an extra pair of jeans, she walked to the end of her driveway where someone picked her up and she left J.D. for good. A few months later, she was in "the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time," and ended up in the car during a high-speed police chase. When the driver crashed the car into a ditch, they both got out and ran. Jennifer climbed a tree and eluded police capture for three days. Finally, she was arrested and, since it was her first offense, she was only going to receive a suspended sentence and two months of weekend trash pick-up. But, she slept in on the day of her hearing and the Judge issued a bench warrant for her arrest. She spent eleven months and twenty-nine days in jail for failure to appear. During this time, J.D. married the girl that he had always "forbidden" Jennifer to hang out with because she was such a "bad influence" and he supposedly "hated" her. Turns out, he had been seeing her behind Jennifer's back all the while. They're still married, with two kids, ta-boot! As for Wade, he met a girl a few years older than him with a teenage son and, after dating for a little over a year, they were married. He didn't realize that he was getting more than he bargained for with his "ready-made" family, and his stepson has cost him quite a few sleepless nights, and plenty of bail money. He not only has a drug problem, but seems to find all sorts of new and creative ways to get arrested. Although Wade's wife is a very nice person, she is definitely an enabler, and needs to cut the apron strings and make a choice between her husband and her now twenty-year-old son. Jackson drifted for a while (probably, if truth be known, he's still drifting a bit). He did meet and marry a girl a few years ago. The problem was he didn't know her as well as he thought he did (especially considering they only dated a few months). One night, during an argument, she stabbed him in the stomach. Luckily, he didn't die - but he did file for divorce the next day. He and I still keep in touch often and he's planning to ride his motorcycle up for a visit this summer. We also have plans for an all-night movie-fest with "Texas Chainsaw Massacre II," "Aliens," "Wayne's World," and who knows what else on tap. Lynn, even though she's my cousin, just isn't a very nice person. She doesn't consider other people's feelings because she is too self-centered. But, for all those years she was such a knockout, time does have a way of catching up, so to speak. She is now seventy pounds heavier on a 5'2" frame, and looks fifteen years older than she really is! Be careful whom you step on on your way up because, more than likely, you'll have to see those same people on your way back down! David has had his share of heartbreak. He, at least, did finally divorce the overbearing, domineering wife who controlled most of his life, but not before two children were born. He loves his boys dearly but those child-support payments really take a chunk-o-change out of his paycheck every week. He made a rebound mistake and married someone he met at work that gave new meaning to the word "psycho" although, compared to the rest of her family, she was the sanest of the bunch! That lasted about two years or, as he says, "two of the longest years of [his] life." During that time, he lost his mother to cancer, and his stepfather royally screwed him out of things of his mother's that David rightly deserved. His stepfather gave them to a girlfriend he had been seeing behind David's mother's back all during her long illness and the horrors of chemo and radiation. These days, he has been living with his current girlfriend and her two daughters for about a year now, but still longs for Andrea, whom he's never gotten over, even after all these years. As for us … we've traveled extensively to exciting places, we've moved several times, we've gone through different incarnations - independently and as a couple, we've met and made new friends (never forgetting the old), we've changed jobs, we've experienced life in ways we never imagined in those innocent days so long ago, and we've evolved into older -- and, hopefully, wiser -- versions of ourselves . . . I do hope, though, that we didn't lose what made us "fit" so perfectly together as a group at that special point in time all those years ago!
"Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us, as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question?" ~ Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club Originally published Tuesday April 22, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 7:03 PM | Saturday, August 28, 2004 Uncertainty (or, Life Doesn’t Come With A Rule Book)
"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable." ~ Helen Keller "Obstacles cannot crush me; every obstacle yields to stern resolve." ~ Leonardo da Vinci "When all else is lost, the future still remains." ~ Christian Bovee "Experience is the hardest kind of teacher. It gives you the test first, and the lesson afterward." ~ Anonymous "You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt "Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome." ~ Isaac Asimov To be totally honest, this is not the column I have been working on for over a week. But, due to (as they say) "circumstances-beyond-my-control," it is the one that begged to be written. I'm being totally bombarded from all sides with stressors that are seriously testing my fortitude and, at times, my sanity. To further perpetuate my sense of helplessness, here's what my horoscope had to say today:
If I'm SO ready for whatever comes next, why do I feel the need for a long primal scream, followed by major pharmaceuticals, to get me through the next several weeks/months that are looming ahead? Just three short days ago, life -- although not perfect -- was not such a bad proposition. It held some amazing prospects ahead (an upcoming move to an 1898 Victorian farmhouse with plenty of acreage, some exciting travel plans, some reconnecting with old friends, a Summer filled with new adventures that were sure to bring much writing and photography fodder, leisure activities only constrained by my choices of when/where to indulge in them, and no worries over the issues that many people do worry about -- such as steady income, financial security, health insurance, a decent retirement, investment options, etc.). Now, within the blink of an eye, my world has been turned upside-down, and I could be facing a complete change in the lifestyle to which I've grown accustomed. I (like many) do not deal well with situations-beyond-my-control, and that is EXACTLY what I currently find myself in. The situations that will ultimately affect my immediate, and long-term, existence are, in essence, basically out of my control. My personality is such that I cannot deal with others having an ability to disrupt my life and completely alter my life-path and (not-so-perfect, but reasonably enjoyable) existence with no ability on my part to stop the destruction. My life (as some who have read some of my earlier columns already know) hasn't been all Cinderella/Fairytale perfection . . . so, to have what I consider a reasonably acceptable existence threatened is NOT an acceptable option -- yet -- how do I re-gain control over a situation that is beyond my control? Some may be speculating over what these disruptions may be . . . it isn't something that can be easily explained. In fact, it isn't even something that I am at a point where I can fully understand myself at this point in time, so it would be futile to try to "put into words" some type of explanation, as it would be impossible to communicate the depth or magnitude of the situation that lies before us. It isn't divorce, or the loss of a job, or anything that "neatly" falls into that Life Stressors List but, instead, is a weird combination of things that could dramatically impact (and drastically reduce) annual household income, current employment, future employment, choice of vocation (present and future), living arrangements including city and state, and a wide variety of other factors as well. Perhaps I should read this article more closely Identifying and Reducing Stress in Your Life to see if I can find some relief by "identifying" the stress. Maybe if I can give it a name, I can better fight it??? Deep breathing isn't helping. Yoga isn't helping. Meditation isn't helping. Exercise isn't helping. Eating right and reducing sugar, junk food, etc. isn't helping. Yes, I'm praying. Yes, I've telephoned my minister father and asked him to do the same. Yes, I've telephoned my therapist and asked him to talk to my husband. Yes, I've lit candles and asked for guidance from all around me. My s.o. is asking advice from all of his friends and relatives, and "listening" for Divine Guidance from Above in any situation that he feels the Guidance is being spoken to him. In my opinion, I think he is only "muddying-the-waters" by too much conflicting input . . . but what do I know??? Please, just don't let me return to an OLD bad habit … stress-eating, because that would be the (pardon-the-pun) icing on the cake of my stressor-filled life right now - STRESSED, and a BLIMP! I am going to "attempt" to end this column on a UP note . . . "For everything there is a season, And a time for every matter under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing; A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to throw away; A time to tear, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate, A time for war, and a time for peace." ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 And, "If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies." ~ Unknown Now, if I could just possess the magic that Dorothy Gale had -- I would close my eyes, and click the heels of my ruby-red slippers together three times and say, "There's no place like home, There's no place like home, There's no place like home!" Originally published Wednesday April 16, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 6:52 PM | Thursday, August 26, 2004 What's Your Compulsion?
There!, I said it! The "C" word. And, in recent years, it usually is always used in combination with the "O" word. No, NO!, Not those words! But, forget about the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic Medical Reference definition for the term "obsessive-compulsive," and let's just see what our good old resource Merriam-Webster has to say:
So many otherwise regular John/Jane Does on the street want to label people with the phrase "obsessive-compulsive" as if every varying degree of this behavior is automatically a bad thing. How did a mass population of regular "Johns/Janes" obtain the necessary authoritative skill to arbitrarily label their fellow human beings in such a derogatory manner? I don't need someone to point a finger in my direction. I will readily step up and say, "Hello! My name is Kitty, and I'm prone to certain compulsions in varying degrees of an obsessive nature. Furthermore, I will also admit that some are basically harmless, while others, left unchecked, can (and will) venture into a more destructive path." Probably some of my earliest recollections that might be construed as falling into this category was my passion for coloring books and crayons. Yes, I think I might have been four or five at the time. After I gained possession of the Holy Grail, better known as the Crayola Crayon 64 Count Box with the Built-In Crayon Sharpener in the back, each visit to the store meant a new coloring book. And, not just any coloring book -- the decision took time, effort and a perusal of every book for sale on the rack, much to the dismay of my parents who had to wait impatiently for me to make my perfect selection. And, when coloring, there were specific rules that had to be followed. No more than one crayon could be removed from the box at a time so that it could be returned to the exact same location from which it was taken. Color outside the lines? Me? Never! Deviate from the colors used on the fronts and backs of the coloring books? Never! Let anyone else use my crayons or color in my books? NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! Teen years were all about purses and costume jewelry. The more I had, the more I wanted. Then, in my twenties, I discovered two new Holy Grails . . . silk scarves and designer shoes! My best friend Rhonda and I would literally go on tri-state shopping sprees in a single day in search of the newest in designer shoes and scarves that no one else in town would have. It was nothing to either of us to whip out the old charge cards and drop $100 here on a designer label silk scarf, or $300 there on the newest top name shoes. Of course, we always had to toss in new outfits, jewelry, make-up, lingerie and assorted accessories to make the day complete. At this point, I will admit this overspending -- most on 22% - 24% interest credit cards -- crossed the line into dangerous behavior indeed. And, when my s.o. discovered my $18,000.00 credit card debt -- well, let's just say the proverbial **** hit the fan! My wonderful, glorious, "thrill-of-the-hunt" shopping spree days were over, AND I was in debt up to my eyeballs! And, during this time, in a less-than-amicable discussion (translate argument), my s.o. shouted, "I bet you have at least fifty pairs of shoes in your closet that you never even wear!" Not one to be challenged, I immediately went upstairs to count my shoes and prove him wrong. I had one hundred sixty-seven pairs of shoes, not counting sneakers, sandals and boots! Uh-OH! Time for a Twelve-Step Shoe-Addict Program! This led to my next destructive compulsion -- overeating. I dealt with the stressors in my life by "invisible" overeating . . . the kind that "didn't-count" because no one saw me doing it. I ate in my car, I hid food, I ate alone at home, directly out of the refrigerator -- standing up, in front of the fridge, with the door open. No dishes, no evidence, except for my ever-expanding waistline! Logically, I knew my more destructive behaviors were just that -- DESTRUCTIVE -- but, try rationalizing with a personality that has compulsive tendencies that have no basis in logic or reason. I'm the same way when I walk into a casino (which is why I usually avoid them)! I know (logically) that I have x-number of dollars to gamble with and, if I increase my winnings, I should stop. Or, in the alternative, if I lose, I should stop. Does this mean I do? Of course not! Instead, I'm already scoping out the closest ATMs and keep gambling until someone literally drags me out of the casino -- usually penniless! With so-called maturity *cough-cough* I've gained control over the more dangerous compulsions -- no more wild shopping sprees, no more compulsive overeating, no excessive gambling, no more chasing 'bad-boys' (oh, wait!, I didn't confess that one, did I?) -- but, there are still a few things I can't give up . . . I'm a total candle freak (Yankee and Trapp only), an avid bibliophile with a bulging, and ever-growing, library (now, mainly interior design books for work, forensic research books for 'lite' reading, and an array of self-help books *ha-ha*), loads of DVDs and CDs (I have wildly eclectic tastes in movies and music), and unusual police collectibles and memorabilia. (Okay!, and an "occasional" overindulgence at Victoria's Secret!) And, yes, I do check the stem on my wind-up alarm clock several times (seven, in fact, it's my "number") before falling asleep to make sure it really is pulled all the way out. Does this mean I'm textbook "OCD?" Probably not! :rolleyes: Originally published Sunday April 06, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 6:13 PM | Monday, August 23, 2004 Adventures, French-Style!
Sometimes I long for the naivety that youth so often afforded me. I guess it was my severely strict upbringing that sheltered me from so much of the "worldly" things that many of my peers already knew at my age, but that naïve childlike innocence made everything an adventure! And, oh, the adventures I had! Granted, I was rebelling in a major way at this point in life. My boyfriend "Doug," a police officer, was sixteen years older and married (oh, the scandal!), but we were what we both needed at that point in our lives, and "complimented" each other's insecurities and emotional absences like perfect pieces of a puzzle. Sure, I had to endure his friends hitting on me all the time (I guess they assumed if I would date one married man, why not another?) but, finally, after several months together, it became obvious to everyone who knew us that Doug and I were inseparable, and what we had was "real" for us at that point in time. When a new officer transferred into Doug's district, he made it very clear that he was interested. I thought I made it perfectly clear that I wasn't. But, "Mac" wasn't giving up so easily, it seemed. He showed up where I worked practically every day, appeared seemingly out of nowhere when I would be driving home, or shopping, or whatever. He called my house at all hours. He was nothing, if not persistent. Doug told me I should feel flattered, and just wait until he gave up. I just felt uncomfortable because we all spent a lot of time "hanging-out" in the same social circles. One day, Mac told me that he had been telling his wife Marilyn all about me, and that she was eager to meet me. I didn't know how to react. I told Doug this latest revelation. He said I shouldn't be too concerned, but if I did agree to meet her, make sure it was in a public place. Oh, Great! Is this woman going to attack me for something I haven't even done with her husband? I thought nothing more about it until I received a telephone call from Marilyn herself, inviting me to meet her for a drink. She wanted to get to know me because Mac was always talking about "what a great gal" I was. The phone call took me by such surprise that I heard myself agreeing to meet her the next evening for drinks at a local bar, even though I wasn't even of legal drinking age. Admittedly, Doug had a warped sense of humor and found all of this hilariously funny, especially my increasing anxiety over whether I was walking into a meeting that could end in . . . I didn't even want to think of the possibilities. Although I didn't know it at the time, Doug had arranged for two of his friends to be at the bar for 'back-up' for me in case anything got out of hand. I arrived at the bar a little early but, when the hostess asked if I was meeting someone, and I said yes, she asked my name and showed me to a table. A woman was already sitting there. Awkward cannot even begin to describe how I was feeling, but Marilyn seemed quite cordial, even downright friendly, from the moment I arrived. I sat down and immediately ordered a drink -- a white Russian -- and waited for her to speak. She started off with idle chitchat, as if we were two girlfriends just catching up after not seeing each other in quite a while, instead of two women who had never even met before. She "seemed" harmless enough, but there was a gnawing uneasiness in my stomach, and I downed the drink and quickly ordered another. She began by telling me how much Mac was "smitten" with me, and how she wanted to meet the girl who had caused her husband to become so infatuated. Before I could defend myself, she told me not to worry, that she could see why Mac was so attracted to me. And, that the reason for asking to meet me was that she had a "favor" to ask of me. "Oh, waitress, another drink, please - and, make this one a double!" It seems that Mac was having a birthday soon and, when she had asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he had said he wanted -- ME! So, being the loving wife she was, Marilyn decided to give him what he wanted. Her only question was whether I preferred her to only watch, or would I mind if she joined in? Once I had picked my jaw up off of the floor, and ordered yet another drink, "double, if you please," I was still speechless as to how to answer such a question. Finally, my vocal chords began to work again, and I looked this woman straight in the eye and said, "You'll have to find something else for your husband for his birthday. I'm not interested. Thanks for the drinks." Just then, the waitress arrived with my latest drink order. I snatched the glass from her tray before she could sit it down and slammed it in one gulp. I stood up, feeling stone cold sober, walked out of the bar and to my car. I drove straight home and went straight to bed. Needless to say, Doug and I did NOT attend Mac's birthday party. We did hear that there was "paid" entertainment that stayed throughout the night. Luckily, I only encountered Marilyn on two other occasions after that night and, both times, were when Doug and I were together. Okay, at nineteen I may not have been a saint - but I wasn't that much of a sinner, either! Originally published Wednesday March 26, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 5:28 PM | Thursday, August 19, 2004 Seven All Over Again
We all carry emotional baggage. How much, and to what extent, depends upon a wide variety of factors. And, we all deal with our pasts in our own ways, ways that may or may not work for us, but ways that have become our coping mechanisms nonetheless. What may seem overwhelming to some may seem trivial to others, and vice-versa. In this fast-paced, high-tech world, where success is only limited by one's quantity of desire, ambition, motivation, aggressiveness and hunger for the power, prestige, fame, recognition or the almighty dollar, it is still amazing that out there -- somewhere -- is someone who can transform even the most self-assured, successful professional into an insecure seven year old all over again. And, who is to say what someone else's trigger may be? It could be a word, a phrase, a look, or simply a careless comment that evokes a flood of emotions. Whether the original pain came from a parent, the schoolyard, or wherever, we have to take responsibility ourselves in the here and now for how we deal with the memories those current triggers evoke. I, for one, could easily use plenty of cop-outs and place blame on others for many situations in my life. Granted, many of the situations (at the time) were out of my control but, now, I have to take control of both my emotions, as well as my emotional reactions to current situations, and deal with set-backs without reverting to that insecure seven year old who couldn't face the demons that were all around her. As a child, we were poor. And, as an only child who was described as quite gifted and precocious, frail and over-protected, artistic and overly emotional, I had to deal with over-achieving at school, although not being able to do many of the extra things that my over-achieving could have garnered, because we didn't have the money for any of the "extras." The other students in school treated me differently because I not only made straight A's, but also was very artistic. Yet, I still never met my father's standards for utter perfection. Therefore, my father was overly critical of me, as well as physically abusive (which now I understand was only a legacy reaction from his own abusive childhood, and my father and I now have a very good relationship). Living in this environment would have been difficult for any child but, as a child who was expected, even by the tender age of four, to act as an adult, the stress and disappointment of missing out on so many childhood activities still carry long term effects. I was always quiet and withdrawn, even more so once I reached my teens. At the age of fourteen, I was the victim of a gang rape at school by a group of all-star athletes. Fearing my father's reaction, I went to our youth minister at church who accompanied me to school to speak with the principal. We were told, basically, that "boys-will-be-boys," and that it would be my word against all of theirs, and the school had no plans to "ruin" the chances of these boys getting sports scholarships into colleges just because of my accusations. Furthermore, these boys were from "fine-upstanding" families, so who did I think I was to cause problems? [As a side note: a brother of one of the perpetrators was arrested in Texas a few years later (also) for rape, and the subsequent murder of a police officer who caught him in the very act. He was sentenced to death and was executed in May of 1994 - nice, fine upstanding family, indeed! As a further side note: my parents knew nothing of the rape until three years ago (many years after the fact), and they shouldn't have even found out then but … things happen] My father was also a minister ("spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child") so, in addition to these traumas which were unspoken and totally internalized, I was not allowed to date, not allowed to wear make-up, not allowed to drive, and not allowed to get a job -- basically, I was a prisoner in my own house until the age of eighteen. I guess that's where my writing truly flourished on all those lonely nights locked in my bedroom, dreaming of the day when a knight in shining armor would finally carry me away from all of my pain and sadness. Just so you know - those knights do NOT exist! Childhood and adolescence alone could be the crutch I use to whine about my life -- but I refuse to let age-old circumstances beyond my control take control of my current situations. We are all responsible for our own choices in life - our choices that we make TODAY! Each day, each choice, is merely a fork in the road -- you have two choices . . . do you take the left fork, or the right? Once you've made the choice, you travel a little farther and, once again, you're faced with another fork in the road. Each choice building, one upon the other, forming and transforming your life, making you uniquely the person that you are and, ultimately, the person you will become. Good luck on your journey . . . perhaps I'll meet you somewhere along the road . . . Originally published Monday March 17, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 11:14 AM | Tuesday, August 17, 2004 Honor Among Thieves
Although this movie was released in 1992, it truly should be considered a classic by anyone with twisted standards for enjoyable cinematic entertainment. Review / Movie: Reservoir Dogs Take eight parts ensemble cast. Add in very limited resources. Stir in loads of obscenities and graphic violence. Mix with a killer 70's soundtrack and unexpected traces of dry-witted humor. Shake well and you have ... Reservoir Dogs. This debut (indie) film by the then unknown video clerk, now the well-recognized and respected actor / writer / director Quentin Tarantino, gives hope to all those who envision the bright lights of Hollywood. As the story unfolds - layer-by-layer - in a sequence of flashbacks, you meet each character in the same layer-by-layer fashion. In overview, you quickly see that this ensemble of quirky gents, with their nondescript black suits and starched white shirts, are definitely not a meeting of accountants. Long-time crime boss Joe Cabot (portrayed in gruff demeanor by Lawrence Tierney), and his less-than-ambitious protégé to the business, his son, "Nice Guy" Eddie (with the insightful casting of Christopher Penn), are planning yet another caper in their fastidious and painstakingly detailed style. In each caper organized by Joe, he "exhorts" anonymity and insists on code names for each chosen 'player.' Joe's latest jewel heist assembles Mr. White, a criminal with an ultimate conscience (portrayed in true multi-talented fashion by Harvey Keitel); Mr. Blonde, an ex-con with a maniacal streak (dead-on target by Michael Madsen); Mr. Pink, in conflict over the moniker he received (played in impeccable whining glory by the amazing Steve Buscemi); Mr. Blue, who seems to just be 'biding-his-time' (astutely played by Eddie Bunker); Mr. Brown, rivaling Mr. Pink with his off-the-wall tangents (finely nailed by Quentin Tarantino himself); and, newcomer to the Cabot capers, Mr. Orange (given depth and drama by Tim Roth). Exploring the old adage, "Honor among thieves," the jewel heist - thwarted by a police ambush (and raising questions of an informant) - finds the thieves regrouping in an abandoned warehouse to sort out the situation and decide how to proceed. The soundtrack, in its entirety, is aces ... but, the scene which utilizes Steeler's Wheel's "Stuck In The Middle With You," although not for the squeamish, should not be missed! If you haven't guessed already, I LOVED this movie! Originally published Wednesday March 12, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 11:30 AM | Thursday, August 12, 2004 Cops DO Have A Sense Of Humor!
The "thin blue line" denotes the brother/sister-hood of police officers that are on duty "to-protect-and-to-serve." Having been given an opportunity to cross that blue line and become privy to many of the things that most people never see, I have plenty of stories I could tell. But, most I never will, because that was part of the trust and honor I received when I was allowed to cross that proverbial line. But, the story I am about to tell is one that is worth telling, just for the humor of it all. Back before the latest in modern technology filtered down to the smaller municipalities, our police department was still either tethered to the 2-way radio in the patrol car, or carrying the huge 2-way walkie-talkie type radios when they exited the car. And, back-in-the-day, there was a lot of, shall-we-say, extracurricular activities among many of the officers, both on and off-duty. One officer in particular, let's call him Bert* had a favorite lady who catered to his two most desired activities - food and sex. On one occasion, Jan* called dispatch and left a message for Bert. When dispatch asked him to switch channels for a message, a couple of the other officers switched to the other channel as well. They heard dispatch give Bert a land-land number to call and they all recognized it as Jan's number. When Bert called Jan, she asked if he wanted to meet for a picnic and a little afternoon delight. Of course, Bert (a portly sort) was never one to turn down food or sex, so he was immediately up for both. He told Jan he would meet her at their special spot in half an hour. Jan packed her picnic basket and dashed off in anticipation of another sweaty rendezvous. As Bert was arriving, he called dispatch with a code seven, meaning he was taking his lunch break. He then casually tossed the microphone over into the passenger seat when he rounded the corner and saw Jan's car waiting for him. Jan bounded out of her car, over to the patrol car, with her picnic basket in hand and jumped into the front passenger seat. After a quick kiss and in the midst of a brief chat, Jan began to bring out all she had prepared for lunch. She leaned over and placed a sandwich on Bert's leg, and had turned to pull out more food when the sandwich fell from Bert's leg onto the floorboard of the patrol car. Bert reached over, picked it up, and proceeded to raise it to his mouth. To which, in horror, Jan shouted, "You're not going to put that nasty thing in your mouth, are you?" As soon as the words had left her lips, Bert looked down and saw the green light on his 2-way radio was illuminated. When Jan had gotten into the car and sat on the microphone, she had inadvertently "keyed" the mike. The entire conversation had been broadcast across that channel, picked up by every other patrol car in that sector. Horror, panic and total embarrassment filled Bert down to his toes, and he immediately shouted at Jan, "Say sandwich, dammit! Say, SANDWICH!" Of course, cops are notorious for "ragging" on someone when they have something embarrassing to hang over their head. Poor Bert suffered the cruel teasing for months, with his fellow officers eager to share the story with all of their friends (which is how I came to be privy to all the details). A few months later, when Bert thought the whole ordeal had finally died down, he managed to add insult to injury that would live on in stories for years to come. Bert received a call from dispatch and, when dispatch asked him to switch channels for a message, a couple of the other officers switched to the other channel as well. Again, they heard dispatch give Bert a land-land number to call and they all recognized it as Jan's number. They had been planning this for weeks and, now, it seemed the plan was finally going to come together. Six officers were going to pull the ultimate shrek on Bert and had all their secret codes calculated far in advance, so that no one would know what they were talking about when they were keeping in contact via the police 2-way radio. The first step was to pinpoint Bert's location. So, one of the officers called for a Sector twenty report, which requires all patrol cars to call in with their car number and current location. Once they knew where Bert was, one officer was sent to keep tabs on him and keep the other officers informed of his movements by the predetermined codes. The officer found Bert at a pay phone, presumably calling Jan to arrange the rendezvous. When Bert headed out, the officer followed a safe distance behind, assuming Bert was heading to he and Jan's usual meeting place. He made a benign radio call which disclosed the information the other officers needed and they all converged on the meeting place. Remaining just out of visual range, two of the officers exited their patrol cars, and went on a reconnaissance mission. Due to Bert's girth, as well as all of the equipment and miscellaneous assortment of paraphernalia located in the front seat of a patrol car, the back seat was the only place for a little afternoon la vite. Bert and Jan opened both back doors (remember, this is a patrol car!), and shed their clothes into a pile on the floorboard. The two officers, on their bellies like a pair of infantry soldiers, moved invisibly to either side of the car. One grabbed the clothes undetected and, then, with quick eye contact between them, slammed the doors simultaneously, stood up, and double keyed their mikes twice. On cue, four patrol cars, with light flashing and sirens blaring, began circling the stranded patrol car with two startled inhabitants locked in the back seat, helpless and naked. It would be several, several minutes -- which for Bert and Jan probably seemed like hours -- before they were finally set free from the back of the car, given their clothes and left alone. FOOTNOTE: I don't know if this was the "last-straw" for Bert, or if he just knew it was time to move on before his wife discovered the existence of Jan. Shortly thereafter, he left the police department and spent years moving from job to job, never really finding his place in the world. After divorcing his first wife and remarrying a few years later, he moved north, found a good job, and was doing well (or, so he said). Sadly, he passed away, on the toilet, one Christmas morning. I guess it was the final irony to his life. But, Bert, wherever you are - we still miss you! Originally published Monday February 24, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 12:31 PM | Tuesday, August 10, 2004 The Ghosts In The Parlor
While visiting relatives who had recently moved to a new city, I had an opportunity to take a scenic drive around the outskirts of town. We were driving down a winding lane when, suddenly, up ahead on the right, I saw it! Situated on a grassy knoll, almost hidden by the stately grove of trees, was a wonderful turn-of-the-century, three-story treasure.  As we made our way closer and closer, that's when I heard them ... the guests, calling out my name. I immediately edged the car off onto the shoulder - much to the surprise of my passenger. When she inquired, I asked, "don't you hear them calling us?" Before she could answer, I grabbed my cameras and ran toward the house. I envisioned a party to which I was arriving fashionably late. As I approached the house, I was surprised to see all that had eluded me from the road. Not only was the paint chipping away from the clapboards, but the clapboards were also pulling away from the structure itself. And, how did I miss this before? The front porch was completely gone (with the exception of the support columns which were disintegrating right before my very eyes). Who could be playing such a cruel joke? I could still hear the voices calling me ... I'll just peek into the windows -- I know the guests are merely hiding. That's when the realization hit me -- when I saw the crumbling plaster and the peeling wallpaper ... when I saw the buckled floorboards and the dangling mouldings ... I knew! It wasn't the guests who were calling ... It was the ghosts in the parlor ... Originally published Wednesday February 19, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 3:41 PM | Sunday, August 08, 2004 Contemplation
Way back in the groovy Sixties -- in the days of free love, new drugs and psychedelic music -- taking "trips," and contemplating the mysteries of the universe by staring intently at your navel, was all the rage.  Has contemplation been edged out by the fast-paced, technological twenty-first century age? Granted, I'm not advocating the return to navel-gazing (that is, unless your navel actually DOES hold the grand secrets of the universe!). What I am suggesting is a variation of the tired, old cliché -- "take time to smell the roses." Whether your pause for contemplation comes from nature -- viewing a sunrise, watching a sunset, surveying the billions of stars in a night sky -- or something so simple as watching a child at play -- find your center for contemplation and visit there often. The world today, with all its digital-this and e-that, cannot sustain our need to look inward from time to time. In an age where there is no longer free love, or freedom from consequences for abuse of any kind, now -- more than ever -- we need the respite that contemplation brings. And, if inspiration is eluding you, pull out the bell-bottoms, the tie-dyes, the beads and the incense. Crank up the phonograph and toss on a Jimi Hendrix vinyl. Lean forward and take a peek. Perhaps the answers CAN BE found in your navel. Originally published Friday February 14, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 4:59 PM | Thursday, August 05, 2004 Television Skewed Our Views Of Reality
Petticoat Junction -- who wants to be getting their town's water supply from the same place three chicks and a scruffy dog are lathering up -- in a place called Hooterville, for Heaven’s sake? Jeez!, Kate Bradley ran the Shady Rest Hotel -- didn't the hotel have bathroom facilities for its guests? What did the guests who stayed there do for bathing, and other necessary bodily functions? And, what kind of mother was Kate Bradley anyway? Why did her three daughters have to strip naked and contaminate the town's water supply -- with that scruffy dog in tow, no less? Gilligan’s Island -- this was a three-hour tour -- THREE HOURS! Forget about why a millionaire and his wife would bring a trunk-load of clothes, money, jewels, golf clubs, etc. onto a tiny chartered boat for a three-hour tour. WHY would they be on a tiny, chartered boat in the first place? They're millionaires! They own everything else. Where is their yacht, fully staffed, navigationally ready, and twenty times the size of the tiny S.S. Minnow? And, this movie star (forget about where all of her clothes are coming from!) -- why wasn't she lounging on the deck of some producer's yacht, sipping martinis and doing what starlets do to make sure they're in the newest movie coming out? At least the Skipper, Gilligan and the Professor wore the same clothes, day in and day out -- although, I wonder just "what" they were wearing while the "girls" were doing the laundry? (how stereotypical and sexist was that task?) And, last but not least, after the first few times Gilligan screwed up, why didn't everyone learn to quit assigning him part of the "plan" to help get them off the island? Just sit him down under a palm tree, out of everyone’s way, and pull off all of those brilliant plans WITHOUT Gilligan’s help. I didn't think he was that much of a screw-up; everyone else was at fault to keep giving him something of major importance to do in the first place! Ahhhh, The Brady Bunch -- If Mike Brady was such a smart and successful architect, how come they lived in a sprawling main level house -- living room, dining room, kitchen, breakfast room, family room, maid's quarters, Mike’s home office – but, on the split-level pseudo-second floor, six kids were crammed into two small bedrooms and sharing one tiny bathroom with duel access entry? What kind of architect is THAT? And, if I were Jan, I would NOT have put up with Marcia being "Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes" act all of the time -- she should have just decked her! The Love Boat - Captain Stubing's short pants and knee socks aside, he sure made the rounds on the Pacific Princess, meeting and greeting. On all the cruises I've been on, I've only briefly glimpsed the captain once each cruise as he was introduced during mandatory safety instructions the first night aboard. And, what was with Isaac Washington -- was he cloned? He turned up in every bar, on every deck, at any time of the day or night. Burl "Gopher" Smith was the Gilligan of the large sea-faring vessel -- causing everyone to shake their heads in disbelief at his stupid schemes, and Captain Stubing to bellow "SMITH" at the top of his lungs several times during the voyage. Perky Julie McCoy, Cruise Director -- our cruise directors were never anywhere but in pre-determined spots, usually with some sort of barricade in between them and the guests with a microphone to make their instructions heard. And, I doubt they knew ANY of the guests by name. Adam "Doc" Bricker, the consummate ladies' man?? Did anyone buy this?? -- you'd better have your credit card and a real medical emergency if you ever wanted to see the doctor aboard any of our cruises. The Love Boat would have you believe that the ship's head crew is there, waiting to greet you as you board, and there again to bid you a fond farewell as you depart. Most of the time, you never see the same crew-person twice. Most of the time, communication is quite difficult in that most only speak a limited amount of English as they are from practically any and every country around the world (usually with the exception of the U.S.). Trust me – the list could go on, and on, and on . . . Rerun from What's Happenin’? Yeah, he's a high-school kid, sure! Jack Tripper living with two girls on Three's Company in a strictly platonic relationship? Yeah, I believe that! Well, you get the idea. Hill Street Blues brought raw, real police drama to television for the first time ever. The complexities, the underlying issues, the personal problems, everything that affected the job -- including the job -- were dealt with in layer upon layer of character exploration. It sent chills down my spine every time Sgt. Philip Freemason Esterhaus would utter those words, "Now, let’s be careful out there." Being privy to the "inside" of police work during the time of this show, this show was more than an accurate depiction of many of the "average-Joe" cops I knew. Even though Barney Miller was classified as a comedy, it had a dark gritty undertone that gave it credence as a depiction of a viable Precinct in New York City's Greenwich Village with an array of eccentrics interacting with the multi-ethnic detectives (representing Jewish, Puerto Rican, Polish, Asian, African-American), and women (Linda Lavin and June Gable). The humor usually had some sort of "edge" to it. And, even as you were laughing, you were seeing the reality underneath. I am a totally addicted Law and Order fan -- TOTALLY! From the original series, to L&O, Special Victims Unit, to probably my all-time favorite, L&O Criminal Intent, Law & Order brings the dimensions of the crime to light from both sides of the investigation, and doesn't always wrap it up into a neat little package in the end. Each of Dick Wolf's creations stands on its own, with just enough of the same glue of gritty reality to let each one play off the other if necessary. Star Trek (the original series), even for the 60's, had some of the worst set design in the history of television. And, it is no wonder that the other cast members resented Shatner -- Jeez!, his monologues were so monotonous, and his overacting was obscene! I saw a bit once by The Groundlings comedy troupe where they did "every episode of Star Trek in three minutes." It was utterly hilarious! At one point, an alien stopped Kirk in the midst of a rambling with this statement, "SHUT UP, KIRK!, You go on, and on, and on!" I could have taken a group of second-graders, given them an art-box filled with glue sticks, rolls of felt, construction paper, and a few odds-n-ends, and probably gotten the same caliber of set design as the original ST series. With that said, I absolutely LOVED the show! Cheese and all! Television -- it is an everyday part of most of our lives . . . just HOW influenced have we been, and are we still, by what we see on television? What commentary on our lives does television provide to those around us? Originally published Tuesday February 11, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 9:48 AM | Tuesday, August 03, 2004 WHAT a Reason to be Detained by Airport Security
I admit it. I’m a bit anal-retentive when it comes to packing a carry-on bag for traveling. I worry that the airlines will lose my luggage (after many travels *knock on wood* my bags have only been delayed by hours or days, never forever lost – Thank Heavens!). But, I always worry that I will be without some critical item when I reach my destination. So, the task of packing my carry-on has been perfected down to a very fine art. In mid-December, we were heading to Boston, MA for the weekend, and a very special Christmas party. Flying out of BWI (Baltimore/Washington International), I checked my large bag and headed toward the security gate with my carry-on in tow. Granted, the airport was bustling with early holiday travelers, as well as added security. Needless to say, there were lots of people in the airport that day. Perhaps I should explain the usual contents of my carry-on . . . my Franklin Planner (I never leave home without it!), a digital camera, a 35mm camera, a notebook and pen (I’m a writer and photographer, you never know where inspiration will strike), extra lingerie (in case my luggage is lost), my cosmetic bag, my medication, hot rollers, styling products, a toothbrush and toothpaste, assorted toiletry items, and a few miscellaneous things in the event my luggage is delayed. When I arrived at the checkpoint, I passed through the scanner, but my carry-on bag was being sent through the x-ray machine over, and over, and over again. They kept calling more security over to view the screen. I heard someone say, "It looks like a flashlight." That's when I realized what they were probably viewing was the long, thin, cylindrical Vidal Sassoon can of hairspray in the front zippered pocket. I said, "That's just a can of hairspray." To which one of the security guards pulled my bag down to the end of the conveyor and asked, "Ma'am, do you mind if we search your bag?" Well, knowing I wasn't carrying anything illegal, I immediately granted permission for a search. Of course, airport security searches are not known for their consideration of your belongings - they just pull and toss with total disregard. I kept "suggesting" to the man that he should check the front zippered pocket, as that was where the can of hairspray was stored. He continued to concentrate on the large main compartment. By this time, my planner, my cameras, my notebook, my cosmetic bag, and my lingerie were scattered all around on the conveyer belt outside of my carry-on. Suddenly, from inside the bag, came a low, steady humming noise. The security guard's eyes widened, he stepped back quickly, and he turned to look at me. He stood there, motionless, as if unable to move. I looked at him and said, "That's just my electric toothbrush." He began immediately shoving everything back into my bag, with no care or concern. Once again, I said, "That’s just my electric toothbrush. Do you mind if I turn it off? You must have accidentally bumped the 'on' button." He zipped the bag, shoved it toward me, and said, "You're free to go. Have a good flight." So, here I am, walking through the airport toward our gate, with my carry-on bag vibrating against my leg, still making a distinct humming noise. I wanted to stop and turn off my toothbrush, but my s.o. said, "Just keep walking!" So, on that day in mid-December, I guess airport security, and everyone in line behind me, thought that "flashlight" object that showed up on the x-ray machine was some giant dildo I was transporting across State lines. I hate to disappoint everyone - but, honestly, it was it just my electric toothbrush! Since that incident, I've found a new toothbrush for traveling - I bought the battery operated one, and always remember to remove my batteries before packing. Originally published Friday February 07, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 10:31 AM | Sunday, August 01, 2004 House-Hunting in the Middle of Winter
Okay, go ahead and ask - "what were we thinking?" But, we found an utterly amazing 1898 Victorian farmhouse that just SCREAMED our name so, after our Realtor fleshed out the other listing agent and found that four offers had already been made, and the Seller rejected all of them because he refuses to take a "contingency" contract, we took the plunge and listed our house for sale. In this whole convoluted scheme of things, we have to orchestrate the sale of our house before we can make the offer on the other house, and all within a time frame that occurs before someone else makes an offer on the other house without any contingencies. Talk about SCARY! And, in the midst of all of that, we have to have our house in perfect condition for showing at a moment's notice. Do you just how difficult that is with six cats and two dogs in the mix? So, now I'm in the process of packing – not only packing, but also downsizing. Downsizing, as in weeding out so that we can transfer the contents of an approximate 3,700+ s/f house with a full basement and garage to an approximate 2,100+ s/f house with no basement and no garage. Okay, go ahead, you can ask again - "what were we thinking?" But, this house truly spoke to me . . . perhaps it was the ghosts from days gone by . . . all I know is that the moment the front door creaked open and I stepped in, I knew I was home. Can you imagine what that house has seen in 105 years? Granted, I probably won't be finding any hidden treasures, or historical artifacts worthy of HGTV's "If Walls Could Talk," but - the beauty, the character, the charm, and every creak of the floorboards just seem to say "home" to us already. I should say that there is a so-called guest-house/studio behind the main house that is approximately 1,000-s/f. But, the renovations it will take to bring it to inhabitable condition will have to be pushed to the back burner while a few renovations take place in the main house first. But, the acreage is vast and rolling, the setting is quiet and peaceful, the barn and silo are situated far enough away across the field that when my s.o.'s woodworking projects begin, my teeth won't be rattling from all the noise. And, oh-what-fun my dogs will have running through the pasture! So, daily, I light a few candles (what can it hurt?), I say a few prayers (my Baptist minister father will be happy to hear that!), and hope upon hope that the stars will align, that the forces of nature will smile down on me, that the perfect buyers for my home will arrive soon (pre-approved for a loan!), and that no one will have made an offer on my dream home when everything else falls into place! Originally published Thursday February 06, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 5:02 PM
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About Me
"a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma" --- Miss Kitty, an Irish lass, a true Southern Belle; writer, photographer, artist, interior designer, animal-lover, dreamer, stargazer, cop-groupie, 70's junkie, cbc, slightly obsessive iNFp with stories to tell! ... (fascinated by forensics, human behavior, pushing all the right buttons of men she finds interesting, and seeking utterly-sweet revenge without any repercussions. ) --- "Darlin', don't ever take a Southern woman for granted!" [tm] Feeling the uncontrollable urge to shower me with gifts?!? Check out my Amazon 
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