Fears for our kids--the world is a scary place!
Mothers Who Think
Kym S - 06:23 pm PST - Feb 24, 2000 - #26 of 26
I read a quote that went something like "to have a child is to forever after know what it is like to have your heart go walking around outside your body"
That about sums it up for me.
I worry about losing my children. I mean like they wander off, or are kidnapped. I see someone like the mother of that boy kidnapped at age 11 and now missing ten years - never knowing what happened to her child. Was he scared? Did he suffer? Knowing that all those happy photos, and memories, and milestones led up to that awful moment when he was snatched away. Oh God I just get so upset even thinking of it. Or how did John Walsh not just kill himself? I mean how do people survive it. I honestly think that would be the WORST - not knowing.
I realize that household and auto accidents are far more realistic to fear - but for me even the one or two times my son was "missing" for just a few seconds was enough to make me think I would never, ever survive not knowing where he was for any length of time.
I used to be able to see news stories about tragedies and harm to children and think "oh well that is sooo sad" and I did feel it, but then I moved on. Now I can almost not bear to even hear such things. They haunt me for too long. I worry about the parents, how they are doing, what they are feeling, how they could possibly survive the loss.
I have turned into this spaz that tells my husband I MUST die before he and the children. I do not in any way, shape, or form wish to outlive any of them.
I swear I am generally a laid back, calm, happy person. However, as the first message says - I feel so vulnerable when it comes to my children. I don't think I could survive harm to them. I just couldn't.
My Worst Date!
Angeline D. - 11:24 pm PST - Feb 18, 2000 - #284 of 293
So I'm 16, going to an all-girls' school, and have never been on a date. One of the girls invites me to her birthday party, and thanks to the fact that she has a boyfriend she met through church - there are some guys there as well! Its fancy dress, I'm wearing a Judy Jetson outfit and feeling completely out of my geeky comfort zone. I have the social skills of a newt, so I start drinking some spiked punch to relax and hopefully bring on an aura of coolness.
This tall lanky guy in a Fred Flintstone number comes up and starts talking to me. I'll call him Robert, which I think was his name, but I'm not quite sure. Anyway, Robert and I have the most pathetic stilted conversation for about half an hour, we dance like gawky adolescent Thunderbirds for a bit, then at the end of the night he asks for my phone number. My heart certainly doesn't thump with attraction toward him, but this is the first guy to ever ask me out, so I'm not complaining as I nervously oblige with the number.
Mid-week he rings and asks would I like to go to a movie on Friday night. I say yes, and we agree that I will pick him up at his house because a) he doesn't have access to a car, and b) I live in the boondocks and have to drive past his place to go anywhere.
The next day I excitedly tell the girls at school that I'm going on a date. One says "Is that the tall guy with the big scar on his face that you were talking to at the party?". I'm thinking "scar, what scar?", then I remember that it was dark outside in the yard where the party was, and I was drunk too, so maybe he did have a scar and I just didn't notice it. It wasn't a big deal anyway, because I was actually going on a DATE, and that was the most important thing about the situation.
Friday arrives and my mother is in hospital, so I'm going to have no moral support while getting ready that evening. In sympathy, the girls agree to cut school with me and we drive home to work out a plan of attack for clothes, hair and make-up. Clothes are a big problem because I'm more the Geeky Brain type rather than the Glamorous Socialite type (I blame it on nerdy scientist parents). We eventually settle on a skirt and matching blouse that are the closest thing to trendiness that I can scratch together (when I say close, think 80s good girl church-going outfit for some perspective *sigh*). The make-up thing is even more of a challenge because I'm a complete novice. I eventually grab some of Mum's stuff and the girls do a trial make-over on me. Unfortunately I have to take it off so I can go back to school for the afternoon. (I still can't believe I was that much of a geek!).
Friday night arrives and I start getting ready. All goes well until I decide to put some gel in my hair for a trendier look (its the mid 80's). I apply way too much and end up looking like I have a head smeared with salad dressing. I towel some off, then blow dry for a bit, eventually finding a compromise between cool gelled-up hair and geeky straight hair. I then do what I think is the perfect novice make-up job and decide to add a touch of perfume. I don't normally wear perfume, so have to go looking for some. Luckily I find a beauty set that my Grandma had given me for Christmas. The perfume's in a nice bottle, so I figure it has to be a winner. I spray it on, my finger slips, and I end up dousing my neck in this foul smelling yellow stuff that sits on my skin like a urine sample. I try to rub it off, but the smell gets worse and worse. By this stage I'm in a panic because I'm running late, so I decide that the best thing to do is drive to Robert's place with the car window down
I pull up at Robert's place, check myself in the rear view mirror, and find that my hair has gelled into a lovely wind-ravaged bird's nest style. I do the best that I can with a handful of saliva, then jump out of the car and head up the front path wobbling on high heels that I'm not used to. The door opens, and there he is.... The Scar! How could I have not noticed the 5 inch gash across his cheek? However, I'm a tolerant person, not one to judge someone too harshly on their looks, AND I'm more worried about my freaked-out, gelled-up, spat-down hairdo.
Robert jumps into the car and we drive to the railway station. Conversation is minimal, nervous and awkward. Robert starts coughing as soon as he smells the half a litre of perfume hangly thickly about me and the car. The only highlight of the trip is when I almost side-swipe someone (twice) and Robert looks like he wants to opt for a taxi.
The train trip to the city continues to be nervous and awkward. We start talking about school, our only common factor, and it becomes increasingly clear that we're from opposite ends of the academic spectrum. Robert talks about how he hates English and is in all the veggie classes.... how he can't wait to leave and get a job as a bank teller or something like that. I'm thinking that this is not the right person for me to be discussing my love of literature and history with, or my passion about going to Uni. I'm also consumed by the scar, which is oh-so-much in my face and continually making me think "how the hell did I not notice that?"
We go to see Prizzi's Honor, my choice, and things are still awkward. Its pretty intense and not a good option for a 16yo First Date Movie, but how was I supposed to know that? The scene at the end, where Jack and Kathleen try to kill each other, is especially not the most conducive thing toward a romantic night out. Robert keeps coughing from the perfume stench.
Afterwards we go to Pizza Hut. Silence hangs thickly in the air between us. From the few attempts at conversation we do make, its obvious that he didn't enjoy or even understand the movie. I excuse myself and go to the Ladies for a breather. I look in the mirror and see a girl in a nerdy church outfit, with mad hair and racoon eyes! My lovely novice eye make-up has managed to run in big black smudges down my face. I try to wash it off and it gets worse. Panic starts to set in.
I head back out to the booth and sit down. The pizza arrives. The waitress serves the first slice and the sauce looks just like the blood that oozed out of Kathleen's neck when Jack threw the knife at her. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a sickening sense of Robert Scar-face/perfume/Prizzi/pizza sauce/racoon-eye/First-date-from-hell nausea. I vomit everywhere and burst into tears. I wish my Mum wasn't in hospital and had been there for me that afternoon. I wish I wasn't a gawky conservative teenager on a date in a church outfit. I wish I knew how to do my hair and make-up properly like other girls. I wish I could meet a guy who could have an intelligent conversation with me. I wish I was the lucky recipient of the perfect first date like Samantha had in Sixteen Candles. I wish I was anyone but myself, and anywhere but there.
I didn't see Robert ever again, but I did grow up, thankfully.
Who Wants to Marry a Millionare
LaDeeVah - 07:13 am PST - Feb 23, 2000 - #198 of 253
"We thought it was just a lark." -- Darva Conger
If she (along with the other "contestants") really thought this was a "lark" and that she/they didn't believe they'd be the "winner" (used loosely), then they're all fools.
Was it not made clear to these women that someone would be getting married at the end of the contest? The whole point of this travesty was, someone had to "win." If you didn't want the prize, why compete for it? For crying out loud...I won't enter a contest for a free CD if I don't like the artist in question.
The annulment clause is all well and good, given the circumstances of the marriage -- but the fact is, one of those 50 women was going to be getting married at the end of the show. If you're uncomfortable with that, what are you doing there in the first place?