My Life As Written By Others part 2

Before I write about Bonnie and Laurel, please note that family is as important as friends when it comes to writing a life. I already embarrassed the hell out of my sister with one of these, back on her birthday. That, theoretically, is a "life as written by others" chapter, but it stands alone. I've not yet gotten to writing on my parents, grandparents etc. But I will. So before you go thinkin' only my friends from highschool and college matter, stand yourself corrected and give me time.

In college, one can be burdened with roommates. Other times, you are blessed with them. I have a couple of each type. The best of the bunch (I've had Bonnie, Mary, Laurel, Diane, Suzie and Helen as the names sharing my door) are by far Bonnie and Laurel.

I met both of them in 1984, Bonnie was assigned as my roommate, and Laurel lived in the dorm next door but quickly became my best friend and I would room with her at other times. Between the two of them, I was kept sane, had tons of fun, and we all got along well. We lived together in 1985-86 and had a great time. They've been a blessing in my life, in times of trouble and laughter. Sniff. Weep. Tito, hand me a tissue. Here is to Bonnie and Laurel.

Bonnie
Bonnie and her little sister Erin, circa 1985	Steve, my then boyfriend, Bonnie and I seem to think that shredded documents make nice hats.
Bonnie is the oldest of four, was my roommate for freshman and sophomore year, junior year she lived with Melissa, and we somehow ended back up together in a sweet suite in Wilson Hall for her senior year, my second junior year, before I went off to Oregon. Bonnie says of the document shredding hair picture "No wonder I couldn't get a date in college! Jeeesh, look at the outfit!" We referred to our room freshman year as "the Swamp," just like on M*A*S*H, and she was BJ, I was Hawkeye, and crazy Mary was definitely Frank Burns. She was given a hamster by a guy named Glenn, who I believe at the time was madly in love with her, even though I was starting to develop a painful crush on him. The hamster's name was "Boof" and we kept it hidden in our room, but people (including our R.A. Cheryl) knew about it and would come play with it. We were narked upon by a weaselly sniveling midget named Maureen and Boof had to find a new home. She went to Bonnie's parents' house, and lived her days in happiness and love, with Bon's brother and two sisters. In addition to all the fun we had wearing shredded paper and making fun of Mary and her teeth, her bangs and her shopping habits, and hamster smuggling, we shared with Laurel the joys of living right next to the trash storage (it was under our bedroom and stank to hell in the warm weather). Dubbed "the sin bin" due to the fact that people would sit on it and make out (which STILL to this day grosses me out) the trash container became the site of many a late night yelling match between ourselves and Kathy and Mike, who would sit and declare their undying love. They are since divorced.
The lovely and distinguished Bonnie, dahling.... yes dahling. Love the sophistimicated eybrow raising, and slightly parted lips here. Dahling...	The flippant and ridiculous Bonnie (I laughed my ass of f when I found this picture! she is so damn cute! I think we were modeling stuffed animals for Vogue magazine (see her bed, under her left arm? That was the impetus...)
Bonnie always was, and always will be the hippest chick I know. Even with a stuffed animal on her head. She's the bomb. Her brother in law noted that at her wedding in his best man toast saying something along the lines of, "she's hip, she's gorgeous, she's smart... what's she doing with my brother?" She may not have had a lot of dates in college (which really doesn't make any sense. I mean hell, a fat chicka like me got two pretty decent boyfriends in the 6 years I spent there, and she didn't get one full time one the whole time? What the hell???) she did score a wicked cool husband and baby and has a sweet and fun life. Why? Because she's a class act. With a wicked sense of humor. Combined, she's unstoppable. Simply put. Dig her Nike leather sneakers here in the picture to the right. She and Mark are doing this weird pose thing that we used to always do with hands on hips and elbows pushed foreword. I think Paul invented it. There was a funny voice you had to do with it too. I have a million pictures of Bonnie. A lot more than I do of Laurie. Not sure how that works out... There is a roll of film that I lost before I ever got it developed that I wish to hell I had... we spent a weekend down at my Grandmother's house in Falmouth, and took a winter driving tour of the Cape Cod National Seashore. I distinctly remember taking a picture of her by a beautiful lighthouse, standing by a sign that urged her not to stand there because she would plummet to imminent death. It was funny at the time... but it's a mental memory instead of a Kodak Moment for me. And last but not least, she was the creator and proud owner of "The Chicken Of Death," which I kept with me for several years, pictured here riding my moped with Tim N. Nicknames: Bubba, Bubbles, Bonnie Fitzgerbil Songs Associated: "Bad Sneakers," Steely Dan Mostly Appreciated for: Putting up with me when Steve dumped me and I stayed in bed for five days mopey and sad; pulling me out of that bed and making me live; being my maid of honor and one hot babe at my wedding, especially when I nailed her in the face with the bouquet...; yelling at people on the Sin Bin; inviting us to her parents' house for one of the best weekends ever (seen below); keeping me included in her life during and after college even though I'm a social dud and nowhere near as hip and cool as the people she knows in the city; naming "The Way Out Inn." At Casa Bonnie in perhaps 1985? back row: Mark, Paul, Bonnie, Steve couch: Laurel, Pappa Fitz, Erin, Mamma Fits, Me

Laurel
Laurel in the companion picture that goes with mine up top. I took hers, she took mine. Summer 1985.	Laurel in the woods. You can't see it but she has a small child strapped on her back from her nanny days... 1985
Laurel and I were in a gym class together Fall Semester, Freshman year, 1984. That's where we met. She lived in the dorm next to mine, and many of the people she was getting to know freshman year would become some of my better friends in the Pre-Doug Years. She was all about business -- a tough girl full of the kind of energy living "20 miles north the mason dixon line" brings. We had to do a battery of pushups, situps and pull ups, and we were paired together by the gym teacher. We, mostly Laurel, kicked ass at everything we needed to do, so much so that Jerome named us "Animal Women," and when people would see us coming, they'd call out "Hey Annnneeeeemaaaaaallllllll!" Laurel was the proud owner of the "molest me" shirt, a white linen blouse that was irresistible to men. I borrowed it on many occasions while dating Steve. She also owned some of the coolest cars -- the two most notable are the Pelton Mobile, named after a co-worker of hers who was a complete toad, and Augie, a car similar to Doug's Chevy Monza, which I learned to drive on. Augie was a lovely powder blue, and one day while we were driving up Rte 22 in Beverly a wasp flew in the car. Both of us were terrified of wasps/stinging things, so she just about treed the car up in someone's yard as both of us bailed from the vehicle. She barely got it into park and we spilled out into this guy's yard. He came out and we were screaming like ninnies. He killed the wasp. I do believe.
Nice Jacket Laurel... I wonder what ever became of that thing, purchased 2nd hand in Manchester for 2 bucks. I love this picture.	I was supposed to be her bridesmaid in her wedding, and was having my dress made for me when she was home, having graduated a year early. Like I said, she was all about business. She called me distraught to let me know the wedding was off, that her fiancee had changed his mind. A couple years later, she eloped with another guy, Christopher, and pissed me off to no end. But I got over it, and she's still one of the coolest and most inspiring people I know. She has two kids, her oldest was born the day Doug and I got married, so she wasn't able to be in the wedding party, or even be there. Sarah will be 11 on Saturday.
As I mentioned, I have a lot more pictures of Bonnie than of Laurel from back in the day. The simple truth is that Laurel was always behind the camera, and took some amazingly beautiful pictures. She was a wonderful photographer, and I have the evidence to show for it. I will always think of her when I drive down Grover Street (our favorite street!) in Beverly. Especially with the windows down. In the late spring. When the lilacs are out. Nicknames: Laurie, Animal Woman, Hoatzie, 'zapple. Songs Associated: "You can close your eyes" James Taylor; anything by Yes that you can go "fwanna fwanna fwanna na NA NA" along with Mostly Appreciated for: Constantly consoling me when Steve and I would break up; telling Steve that he needed to break up with me for good instead of just constantly allowing me to weasel my way back into relationship with him (at the time, I was pissed, but with hindsight... whew! Thank you, Laurel!); giving me the second worst hair cut of my life; how she played 6- and 12-string guitar; being left handed; the molest-me shirt and other items in her wardrobe which were at my disposal at anytime; having the same size feet as me; her ongoing smarts, beauty and strength; dedication to God and Jesus which humbles me.

Trey

Five bullets, six minutes.

That's the last line in the article on the New York Post website which details the first day of testimony in the trial of Sean Salley, 29, and Andre Smith, 31 in Manhattan. Known as the Carneige Deli Massacre in the press, on May 10, 2001 a woman's apartment was raided. Five victims were shot gangland style. Three dead, two survivors. And they are now the star witnesses in the trial.

Why does this concern me?

Well, one of the dead is a member of my extended six degrees of separation. His name was Charles Helliwell, better known to everyone Trey, and he was 36. One of the victims who survived was his girlfriend.

I last saw Trey and his girlfriend at Bonnie and Duncan's wedding. I had met him before once or twice before that memorable, but can't pinpoint the moment I met him in my mind. The wedding day has him burned into my mind.

I remember him being hip. Totally and painfully hip in a really campy and self-effacing sort of way. Too hip and he knows it, too silly, and he knows it. And everyone loved Trey. Bonnie's parents, Duncan's parents...

He provided the way too incredibly cool car for the married couple, and served as driver. He wore brown corduroy hip huggers with a two or three inch thick belt, and a pink tuxedo shirt, and wicked cool Bono style wrap around sunglasses. He had awesome hair.

I danced with him and his girlfriend at the reception. He did a wicked cool twist kind of move. She invited me to all sorts of parties they were having that summer. She was so genuinely sweet, and I could tell that as a couple they were loved by all their friends.

I looked at my own life of non-hipness, and told her that I very much would love to go to the barbecue for Trey's birthday, the concert he was organizing, the way too fun for words Boston based shindigs that were all lined up. But we never went. We never go anywhere, and we seem to never take anyone up on their offers for entertaining us.

That was June 2000. Less than a year later, he is at a friend's house in Brooklyn, and her music studio / hydroponics lab is raided by Smith and Salley, acquaintances of hers. They knew her doings, knew what she had up there, and figured that it was easy money. But too many witnesses.

The article says that the two survivors missed death when they flinched, and the bullets missed their spinal columns and brains. They were injured, but able to call 911.

The whole thing is just so horrible. A lot of people would say that drug dealing and illicit lifestyles lead to bad ends. We've seen it played out before in our own lives. Jennifer was making some nice side money growing and selling weed to "upscale" customers, the hip and the musical. But to be given a bullet in the head? Was that necessary? I'm sure she thought what she was doing was cool and safe.

It just absolutely stinks, that staying the weekend with a friend who grows weed could get you killed.

I feel badly for Bonnie and Duncan, and all the people who knew Trey well. He only touched my life a couple times, but Bon would regale me with Trey stories and crack me up. He was a trip. The life of the party. And I'm so sad that I didn't get to see him again, or go to one of those parties that he and his girlfriend threw. I'm sad I didn't get to know him better.

I never took Bonnie up on her offers to go to the Cape to one of the rock shows he organized and promoted. He was so talented with that kind of thing. I had kids and felt like I was old and out of the loop, even though everyone else involved was pretty much my age.

I will always have the memory in my mind of him opening the door to the car for Bonnie and Duncan to get into for their ride to the reception, with this huge and very joyful grin. And his smooth moves on the dance floor. That's all I've got.

Raising Chloe, Raising Arizona, Washing Machines and West Shore Road Memories

Pictured is of course the lovely new addition to my extended circle of friends, apologies to Bonnie and Duncan but she's so stinkin freakin cute that I could not resist lifting the picture from the hospital nursery page and posting it.

Meet our friend Chloe.

Man is she gorgeous or what? I love that hair, and I love how babies just always have their hands up by their mouths or cheeks... I went through most of the pictures on the hospital site and all the babies were there with hands up, ready to raise the roof. Only a couple were so deep in sleep that their hands were nowhere to be seen.

My friend Lori went through the site. She saw Chloe and swore she was the cutest baby on the page, then proceeded to rag on all the other babies! We had a good laugh making fun of names and making fun of kids that were born without the benefit of being cute like our woman up here. I feel sorry for babies when they're butt ugly. I mean, they just came down the narrowest passage of their lives, got battered, bumped and bruised, and they look like who did it and ran, and here we are picking on them. Poor things. hee hee hee. But this is one good looking kid and the respective Bonnie and Duncan clans should be right proud.

Now, I'm gushing praise and schmoopy-doos over here for this kid and one of my co-workers asked me if i wanted to have another.

Let's get one thing straight here, dear reader, unless God Himself wills it, I'm not putting myself through another labor and delivery again. The pregnancy part, okay. Those were fun. I loved feeling the babies move, each had a personality before they came to the light. Geoff always had the hiccups... on a daily basis I could count on at least a round of 20 minutes or so of him jerking like a freak. Towards the end when things got cramped in there for her, Jessica would stretch her legs, and I have a distinct memory of playing with her feet up right below my left bottom rib, and I'd push back at her, and we'd play. We'd play. I played with my kids and knew them well before I ever even laid eyes on them. Those are very special moments.

But I don't want to repeat the thing, the unspeakably painful thing, one must endure to get to the point of laying eyes on them. Shudder. Quake. Ugh. No. So for me, I'll enjoy playing with my kids now that they're on the outside and I will live vicariously through friends like Bonnie who have new ones for me to cuddle. Speaking of which, here's the segue to the next topic...

One of my favorite movies ever is 'Raising Arizona.' I love when Glen is telling H.I. that Dot wants another baby because "Thesuns is gettin' too big to cuddle." That kills me. All like 9 kids are running around wrecking stuff ("Now you take that diaper off your head and you put it back on your sister!") and writing on the walls, breaking things, and these parents are just standing around all stupid and proud of the brood and shit. And there's poor H.I., overwhelmed at what his sudden vision of parenting is. These kids can eat you alive... and Ed is suddenly overwhelmed by Dot "Hi, We got the dip.tet for him yet? We got a pediatrician???" at the responsibilities.

Having two is enough for me. But H.I. stands there with this look on his face that kills me. With his eyes huge and wide, mouth gaping open. Oh My God, what HAVE I just gotten myself into.

All parents should feel that way. Shocked. Stymied. Overwhelmed. Then you shake it off, blink a couple times, shut your gaping mouth so you don't catch any flies and get in there and do the job. Once in a while you'll feel like H.I. again, but standing around gapemawed isn't going to do any good.

---

We went out last night and bought a new washing machine so that gets delivered a week from today. I'm relieved. This weekend we're going to Maine, to see Wayne and Marcia. They have a great house, and hopefully Chris and Laurel will be there too. It's been a while since we've seen them. I feel like I need a weekend of kid related fun. Where the kids entertain themselves and have fun, and I lean back and watch. I'm sure there will be some good stories out of that.

And I wanted to make a short list of stuff I remember from the House on West Shore Road. When I was little we lived in a house in NY on West Shore Road, and I think most of my clearest memories are from there. Here are a couple:

• I had an easy bake oven. It worked.
• I had white furniture, and my room was up on the third floor, there were 2 rooms up there, the back room was mine, the front room was Linda's
• I remember a tree broke one of my windows in a storm. I think there were four windows in the room, and the one that broke was on the left side of the room as you stood in the doorway.
• A cat of ours, I think it was Smokey, my mom's FAVORITE cat, had kittens in my bedroom closet and I touched them all and she killed them (not a good memory... someone correct me if that one is fictional).
• Once my cousins came down to visit from Cape Cod and Billy and I got to sleep in the same bed. My parents pushed my bed, which had a princess canopy on it, so the foot of the bed was against the closet door and Billy slept at the foot of the bed. We got yelled at a TON of times for not going to sleep and being silly.
• I used to melt crayons on the light bulb in my bedroom. I think it was a clown lamp, and I loved the smell of the crayola crayons melting on the light. Then I'd let the light bulb cool off and I'd peel the wax off. My mom caught me and I got in trouble.
• You could see the hospital from the balcony on my parents' room, and at Christmas they put this crazy "tree" of lights up there, and I remember standing looking at it for hours.

Okay, that's enough for today. I've got more, but I need to go home to my family. I also have to schlep some clothing to the laundromat because I have NOTHING to wear and I think Geoff has no more underpants... So I'll do a quickie load and then finish everything up on Saturday morning before we trek to Maine.

baby shower

This weekend, my friend Bonnie's family threw a baby shower for her. She's expecting her first baby in about 3 weeks. It was a surprise, and Bonnie was truly surprised... her mom and sisters and other family folk put out a tasty spread of finger foods and secret recipe meatballs (frozen meatballs, 1 jar of grape jelly, 1 jar of heinz chili sauce... heat up. serve) and she opened presents.

Now, I love presents. I love watching people open presents. I love the expressions on their faces when they get something so wonderful that it breaks their heart into pieces. I love the expressions when they get something that is a little out of whack with their personal sensibilities. Bonnie didn't get anything that offended her personal inner style and outward expressions of such that will be represented on her baby. Nope. She got heaps of amazingly wonderful and useful stuff, including sensitive skin baby wash items from family members in the know (she and Duncan both have very sensitive skin... hence baby will most likely be similarly afflicted).

I went shopping the day before the shower. I wanted to go to this really nice outlet store called Mia Bambini in Lawrence, but Lo and Behold, they were closed for vacation. That's okay. When the baby is born and we know if it is a boy or girl, THAT'S when I'll go back there and get something really pretty/handsome and special. So I went to Gap Kids, and in the way back of the store they have a baby section, and 80% of the baby items are always marked down... so I got four ensembles/rompers, and 3 toys, and the toys matched the clothes. And I looked like I knew how to fucking SHOP baby! Yeah!

The clothes were so cute, that while I was shopping I actually stood there and like cried... I had to wipe tears away a couple times just so I could see what size the clothes were. Tiny baby clothes always make me schmoopy. And I wasn't the only one... there was another woman there shopping who kept doing the same thing. The sisterhood of schmoopy layette shoppers.

I'm psyched to see this baby in the cool clothes he/she got. Bonnie's brother in law's mom (got that? her sister's mother in law) knitted a beautiful sweater/bonnet set for the baby. This is a nice, tight family. Good people. Wonderful taste. Lovely friends.

I had a blast and stayed about an hour longer than I had anticipated. One of the funny things I like about being around Bonnie is she instantly gets me goofy. She gave me a tour of her parent's house, which they've been redoing (understatement) and we went upstairs to the bathroom, and were making fun of her mom's shower cap. So we started modelling it, and acting ridiculous, giggling wickedly and being... like 10 year olds. It was fun. I made her get in the bathtub, all hugely preggo, and put the shower cap on and model for me. I can't wait to post THAT picture on the internet! ha ha ha.

Seriously, I enjoy the time I get to spend with her, and regret a lot that we don't get together as often. But I am glad to know she's there... glad to know her family. Just glad. Makes me all squishy inside.

Like looking at baby clothes.

Newsflash - I'm not pregnant...no, that's not a baby in my belly, that's just my belly.

All my life I have been overweight. It's just been something I've dealt with. I've been very lucky though to be a somewhat active human, and aside from carrying about 80 pounds more than my frame should have on it, I'm a healthy person.

All that aside though, I've gotta drop some weight.

I get asked about once a month when my baby is due. I'm rather rotund right in front, right where a baby would naturally LOOK like he or she is hanging out counting down to their birth-day. I kind of smile and say "oh, I'm just fat. Not pregnant" or if it's a complete stranger, I say "What baby?" and watch them turn white with shock and shame. It's a great effect. I've always had a sick sense of humor, and love turning that on people.

A friend of mine got mad once when I told her that people ask me if I'm pregnant, or any other baby-related questions. She thinks people have "some nerve" and it disgusts her that if a woman is overweight that someone should have the gaul to ask such a question without THINKING about it first.

I told her it actually makes me feel pretty good. After all, to BE pregnant one must have sex, which means that these people have jumped to the conclusion that I "get my party on" heh, heh, heh, nudge nudge, and am not so ugly that I CAN'T find someone with whom I can play hide the salami. And it also implies they still find me YOUNG enough in appearance to actually be of child bearing years.

One of the problems is I have small boobs. I wear about a B cup in whatever diameter size I happen to be at that time, right now it's between a 38 and a 40. B cups are small... considering when I'm skinny I'm an A cup I actually give thanks for these. I think if I were proportionally balanced with a C or (gasp) a D cup, I'd look normal. Fat, but blessed.

So with the tiny boobs and the larger than normal belly area, yes, I do honestly look about 7 months pregnant. So the questions come, the glances as people pass me... and I know what the pedestrian coming the other direction thinks ("Is she or isn't she?" "Should I ask?")... People are more polite to me, they hold doors and they smile that knowing smile, as they help out a woman "in that condition." And I know they are doing that because they think there's a load in there that I'm schleping around...

My husband has jokingly suggested that I ought to take advantage of that knee-jerk human reaction to be kind to the prego lady... but I can't. Well, a large part of me can't. God is watching (grin).

When I was in college I weighed about 170lbs. It was my freshman year, and I'd give anything to weigh that again. Well not anything, I don't wish to lose weight from cancer and related treatments or anything. I'm just sayin'.

I had a roommate who wasn't quite so bright. Her name was Mary. She went to the store one day at the beginning of the school year. The college had van runs to a local mall so that resident students without cars could go shopping, and get off campus and see the "real world" once in a while. Mary came home with about 7,000 dollars worth of merchandise from a store called "Ann & Hope" which is a step down from say a Sears, and barely an inch up from "Everything for a Buck." She bought some very interesting things. And she insisted on showing our other roommate Bonnie and me EVERY item she'd acquired.

First, a bottle of "Silver Fox" shampoo. "Uh, Mary," I commented, "I've seen commercials for that, and I think that's old lady shampoo." Sure enough, I read the label and discovered that it was custom designed for hair that had seen many moons, many summers... grey hair, which needs extra assistance in gaining that youthful sheen and glow. "Why'd you buy shampoo for hair over 50?" I asked, trying not to laugh in her face.

"I like the bottle," was young, naive Mary's reply. Whatever makes ya happy, Mare.

She went on to show us more stuff, and was especially psyched (inordinately psyched) to show us her new underwear. Purchased in a packet of 6, the panties were folded together around a sheet of cardboard, wrapped in plastic shrink-wrap. Mary gleefully tore into the package. I see her clear as day in front of me as this happens...

She unfolds one side of the underpants, and that one side extends about 10 inches off her lap. There is dead silence in the room, I hear Bonnie's stomach hit the soles of her feet. Mary then painstakingly, slowly, slowly, opens the OTHER side of the underpants, and holds one large tent-like ass covering piece of cloth and elastic pair up in front of her face. They seemed incredibly large, frighteningly large, like the mylar dome over the hockey rink large.

We were silent for a minute as she gape-mouth stared at the underwear, which was large enough to host a small family of mexicans as they hid out in the desert trying to cross into the United States.

"Holy Crap, Mary, what the hell size underwear did you BUY!" I stammered.

"Size 10. I got size 10 underpants."

Now, I'm not a woman of the world, I'm not a fashion connoisseur, but I do have a clue. Bonnie starts laughing herself sick as her stomach has now bounced back and hit her esophagus. She's falling out of her chair onto the floor, and incredulously I ask Mary, still staring at her under pant tent thing, "What were you thinking? I mean, I am a fat lard ass and I wear size 7 underwear. What would make you buy size 10 underpants. I mean, you MAYBE wear a size 5."

The answer made perfect sense.

"It's the same size I wear in pants." Size 10. She wore size 10 pants, and presumed that lingere and pants/skirts/shirts ran on the same sizing scheme.

Oh, to be young, 18 and completely naive again. At the time, I looked at those underpants unfolding across her lap like the cloth Betsey Ross used to make our nations first multi-colored banner. I said to myself, "Damn, them's big panties."

And now I look at my own and say "Damn, these is big panties."

Nearly 20 years ago I never dreamed I'd be wearing size 8 or 9 underpants, but suffice it to say, it's only one step away from size 10. And I'm not going to ever wear those. At least I didn't buy size 18 underpants, the same size I wear in pants.

I know Sir Mix-a-lot would love me. I hear he likes big butts and can't deny it. But the big butt is overshadowed by the big gut... and that's all gotta change. Hopefully I can see to that before my next trip out for Hanes-Her-Ways.