I Googled it . . .

Sometimes people end up on this blog searching for something else. Here are a few noteworthy searches.

Who said, "I'm afraid of the dark" quote : Um, that would be me.

Nun and driver star : Star in what?

Jelly ball meaning : It's a Zen thing, you have to meditate for years to understand the meaning.

Video, "honeymoon sex" really good : I personally prefer the really bad honeymoon sex videos, they come with a free fight and divorce court proceedings as bonus features.

Avoid hats : I'm with you on this one.

What color is your rainbow book : It's on the shelf right next to the, "Daddy's new wife, Bob" book.

Daughter training bra : I detect a career opportunity.

Giraffe pattern carpet : Why?

My poochie : Gross.

and last but not least, the most popular search that leads to my blog is:

Great minds think alike, fools seldom differ meaning : It means you are either one or the other.

On a different note, it's the husband's birthday today. He's not one for much fanfare so a simple, "Happy Birthday to You" is in order. Happy Birthday, E.

Friday's Foto Finish Fiesta . . .

That's Vincent Van Patten on the left.

That's me standing next to him.

We're on a double date with the couple on the right.

The lucky girl standing next to me is with Christopher Connelly, another Hollywood actor.

The paparazzi wouldn't leave us alone that day.

I never even got to break a sweat or play one single set.

Nevertheless, "Love" was in the air that day.

Vincent never let go of his balls. The ones in his hand that is. I have no idea about the others.

Chris, that's what his friends (like me) called him, liked to dress up nice and fancy to play tennis. I'm sure his date was impressed. I was a little jealous, for sure. I was also a little envious of the fact that he is touching his date.

Vincent is giving me an elbow to my back and telling me to look like I know what I'm doing. Sheesh, does he think I don't do this every day of my life?

Amateurs, I tell ya! I had to teach him everything.

It's sad to say, but we lasted only as long as it took to take this picture, and then it was on to greener pastures for me.

I was a heart breaker I tell ya.

The love em' and leave em' kind.

I hear Vince cried like a baby forever and a day after I told him I would not be his future Mrs. Van Patten.

I recommended therapy.

I hope he's happy now and has gotten over me. I'm pretty sure he hasn't and still thinks of me, every moment of every day. I have that affect on men.

If anyone who knows me from, back in the day, writes in the comment section that this was nothing more than a publicity photo that ran in the newspaper for a celebrity tennis tournament our school held, they are absolutely, unequivocally, right.


Click here to see others: Candid Carrie's Friday Foto Fiesta

Camp . . .

That's me.

Top row, last kid on the left.

This is a picture of me at camp.

Student Council Leadership Camp.

From the writing on the board it looks like I belonged to the Lincoln tribe. I suppose it was a great place to be. It's ironic that I belonged to the "Honest Abe" sector at this camp because it is now my duty to inform you that I had no business being there.

I never served as a representative, a board member, or on the cabinet of any school Student Council in my life, before, or after this picture was taken.

I remember my mother waking me up on the first day of summer vacation and driving me far, far away from home, too far in fact for me to walk back home if I got the notion, and too far to remember my way back anyway. She didn't even let me finish my Pop Tart. I could have left crumbs to find my way home. I think she drove in circles just to confuse me and through some bad neighborhoods to scare me. She had three other kids that didn't drive her crazy like me. I guess Student Council Camp was the answer.

I remember this camp was at a Seminary and we all fervently hoped to see some boys. It wouldn't have done us any good as any boys we might have seen had taken a vow of celibacy and wouldn't have looked at us anyway. For the record, we didn't see one man, child, or animal other than girls, ladies and women at this camp. I'm beginning to see a theme here from my last post.

I also remember that it was my birthday while I was away at camp. I made sure everyone knew it too. I revealed this information at dinner the night before my birthday and then told all my new camp pals that the gift shop was open the next day from 8 to 1 and that I had left a wish list under my pillow in case anyone was interested. The next day I was showered with toothbrushes, toothpaste, a toothbrush holder, a shower cap and some Dial soap. I found out later that they searched the wrong bed for my list and picked up the kid next to my bed's checklist of things her mother sent from home.

My parents didn't forget my birthday. They sent a chocolate orange. I felt like Tiny Tim. I also received a card telling me to behave ( like I was someone else ?) and not to shame my family in any way. It was a shame that they sent that measly foil wrapped chocolate orange, that's what it was. I do remember telling "Abe's Babe's" that I was an orphan who had been adopted by my cruel family. I had the full sympathy of my camp troop from that moment on. They rallied around and sang "Happy Birthday" as I let each of them take a small bite or lick of my orange slice. They shared their tater tots and gave me extra dessert that night. I told them that I was probably going to be up for adoption again if any of them were interested, especially after my parents found out about my little (big) white lie.

Soon camp was over and I had to go home. I packed up my hundred toothbrushes and remaining sliver of orange and waited forlornly by the gates for someone to come get me. My mom drove up in the family car and honked the horn. I stood up and bid my pals a tearful goodbye as she loaded the trunk with my suitcases.

I got in the car and my mom asked me how camp was.

"Fine." I answered.

"Just fine," she pressed me for more information but I didn't feel like talking just then.

When we got home I jumped out of the car anxious to see everyone. I opened the door and ran through the kitchen. There on the table was pile of gifts, a birthday cake, and some party hats. I ran back the way I came and met my mother at the door and said, "If you get any calls in the next few days about an orphan for adoption, just hang up."

Why did I read that? . . .

I love to read.

Always have and always will.

When I was 13, my best friend at the time, gave me a book to read. She was a reader like me. Her taste in books was a little different than mine. One day she brought a book to school in a brown lunch bag. As she handed it to me she begged me not to show it to my parents, no matter what. If I got caught with it, I was not allowed to rat her out. I was to say, I found it on the street. The book was titled, "Going down with Janis; a raw and scathing portrait of Janis Joplin by her female lover."

My hands shook as I pulled it out of my school bag that night, while hiding in my closet, gripping a dim flashlight with my armpit.

I had no idea what I was about to open. I didn't particularly care about Janis Joplin or her music. I just knew that if I didn't read this book, or at least a part of it, my friend was going to think I was still a baby. Being a baby while all your friends were very advanced for all of their 13 years on this planet was one of the worst things that could happen to you at that age. I so desperately wanted her to think I was cool so I cracked open the book and read the opening lines of the first chapter. I read them again. And again. I was confused. I didn't understand a word I was reading. I also felt a little funny.

The book was written by Janis Joplin's lover. I had no idea at the time that lesbians existed. I didn't even know what a lesbian was. For that matter I didn't know anything about gay men either, although I did think a particular boy in our class knew more about the art of being a girl better than I did, but I had no idea that he might want to become one in his later years. The opening lines of the book confirmed that there were woman out there who indeed liked other woman, very much. I stayed up all night and finished the book at the crack of dawn, just in time to get ready for school. I crawled out of the closet after carefully placing the book back in it's brown lunch bag and hiding it in my school bag. I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and went to school like any other day, except I was exhausted, and a little freaked out by the unsolicited sex education course I had been given the night before all between the pages of this elicit work of non-fiction. At recess I returned the book to my friend and then laid down on one of the lunch benches and quickly fell asleep. The bell rang not more than 10 minutes later and I opened my bleary eyes to see Jane standing over me with a strange look on her face. She said, "Meet me back here at lunch," and ran off to class.

At lunch, Jane was waiting for me by the bench. I couldn't look her in the eye. I sat down. I didn't know anything about book clubs, at the time, but I sure didn't want this to be my first experience. We sat there for a minute. I toed the gravel with my white Keds, Jane ate her jelly sandwich. I looked around.

Jane finished her sandwich and then said, "So?"

"So what?" I answered. A favorite thing to say if you're 13.

"What did you think of the book?" she asked.

"Um," I responded trying to think of something clever and intelligent. I didn't know a lot about the subject to say the least.

"Did you read it?"

"Yes," I responded with a wide yawn.

"You did?" She looked at me wild-eyed.

"Didn't you?" I said, willing her to say, yes.

"Well, not really." She answered vaguely.

"What do you mean, not really?" I was beginning to feel a little bit on the hysterical side. After all, I had just come off a rainbow high after reading Charlotte's Web, yearning for a pig, and a spider, and everything glorious, and the next thing I know I'm hiding in my closet reading about a drug addicted singer, with a female lover who has an insatiable sexual appetite and isn't afraid to write about it in excruciatingly painful detail.

"I just wanted to see if you would read it," she said, and then, " I never said I read it."

Great, I thought, How do I get out of this one?

Jane stared at me as if I had suddenly changed into someone else in the last few moments.

Essentially I had. She had unknowingly helped me cross over to the side that was, "in the know."

"Yeah," I answered casually, trying to keep my cool and willing myself to go back to the time before I knew what I knew now. " It was dumb."

Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

I breathed my first breath in 12 hours since the first sentence in that dreaded coming of age book.

"So, where did you get that book anyway?" I asked her. Someone in her family had to have read it. I couldn't be the only one who would have the mental images burned in my memory for years to come. I wanted company in my misery.

"I found it on the street."

The end . . .

My baby . . .

This beast . . .
became this beauty.