The Heather Chronicles

DAY 1 - SUNDAY

The Island Crew has been transported to their trailer in High Point, NC. All are blindfolded and exhausted from their trip from California. Footsteps approach the trailer and the door swings open.

Voice: Yeeeeee-Hahhhhhh! Y'all can take off your blindfolds now.

The group removes their blindfolds and gasp! There before them stands Kenny Rogers.

Kenny: Hey Isle crew. I'm Kenny Rogers, and I'm going to be your host for The Real Surreal Survivor: High Point!

Mary Ann: Oh goody! This is more my style! Maybe I can ride a tractor again?

Thurston: Egads! Where, may I ask, is this "High Point"?

Skipper: (Scoffing) Well Mr. Howell, it happens to be the furniture capital of the world! Amongst the many poor people are many rich people! I'd think YOU would know that.

Professor: And if I might add in my two cents Skipper, it also neighbors Greensboro, which was ranked the worst place to live if you have allergies.

Lovey: Aaaaaa-choo! Oh Thurston....you know this won't be good for my hayfever.

Thurston: There. There. You'll be just fine Lovey. We'll pay some hillbilly to find you some Claritin.

Kenny: Actually, you're not allowed to have any outside contact unless we bring them to you.

Thurston: (Pointing to the cameraman) Well then you, fine sir! I'll pay you $1,000 to buy my dear wife some Claritin.

Kenny: (Glaring at Thurston) You're not allowed to talk to the cameraman. And you're money's no good here, just like on the island! And if you try, you'll be gambling your chances here. (Chuckles) Get it? Gambling?

Gilligan: Gee Mr. Rogers....

Kenny: That's Kenny. I don't like being called "Mr. Rogers."

Gilligan: Gee Kenny, why won't your eyes shut all the way?

Ginger: That...usually happens...when you....have...too much...plastic surgery on your eyes. Ooooooooo...

Kenny: Okay! Enough damn it! We need to get on with the show. This is a paying gig and I've got lots of alimony on my shoulders. We need to get on with this.

The group quiets down.

Kenny: As you will see, you all will be living in this trailer.

Lovey: Oh Thurston! This is the size of my closet! I can't do this! Do you SMELL that? It smells like...what is that smell?

Skipper: It's nature Mrs. Howell.

Thurston: NATURE? But Lovey is allergic to nature! (Grabs a tissue and hands it to Lovey.)

Lovey: Aaaaaa-choo!

Kenny: ANYWAYS....y'all will be living in this trailer for the next week. Starting tomorrow, you will have a challenge each day. The winner of that challenge will have immunity from the evening's tribal council. Each night at tribal council, you will vote off the member that you think deserves to go home. At the end of the week, one will remain and you will win great treasures beyond your wildest dreams!

Mary Ann: Oh goody! I could use that money to start my own farm!

Ginger: I could...PAY someone...to put me in their movie...rather than sleeping...my way to the top again! Ooooooo.

Professor: Wow! I could start my own lab!

Thurston: (Rubbing his hands together) I could have more money!

Lovey: WE could have more money!

Skipper: (Doing a little jig) I could buy a new boat!

Gilligan: I could buy all the coconuts in the world!!!

Everyone stares at Gilligan.

Gilligan: (Looking glum) I miss coconuts.

Kenny: You never know! You'll have to compete and see for yourselves. Now take a look around your new home!

The group gets up and finds they are quite cramped in the living area. Crammed together they explore the trailer. The kitchen table at the far end of the trailer also folds out into a double bed. Ginger and Mary Ann agree to sleep here since they are the smallest. The group then passes through the kitchen area, complaining about what appears to be 3/4 of a refrigerator. They proceed to the living area where a beat-up couch sits. The Professor says he'll sleep there and hops down on it only to have a cloud of dust fly up.

Lovey: Aaaaaa-choo!

Thurston: There. There. We'll find you some Claritin if I have to go AWOL and get you some.

The group finds the single bathroom and all protest to the cramped bathroom with a miniature tub/shower.

Kenny: Actually, not only is that the bathroom, but it's the Confessional Room! If you need to bitch, that's where you have to go. There's a camera right across from the toilet, so you can just cop a squat and vent....literally. Don't worry though. If you're poopin' we will just fast forward through that part (winks at the camera).

Skipper: (Turning red) It's so small! How the hell am I supposed to shower in there? And that toilet? I can't sit on that toilet!

Kenny: Well, you know what they say..."You gotta know when to hold em'...."

The Skipper takes off his cap and smacks Kenny Rogers.

Kenny: My eyes! Watch out for my eyes! The skin's so tight and sensitive!

The group exits the bathroom grumbling and proceeds to the tiny bedroom off to the right. Inside is a bunk bed and a single dresser. Gilligan and Skipper claim this room since it's equivalent to their sleeping arrangements back on the island. The group then exits and goes to the room at the end of the hall where the Master bedroom is located. The room contains a double bed, a closet and a wall full of porn.

Thurston: Egads, Lovey! Look at this filth!

Lovey: (Reaching under the pillow and pulling out a vibrator) Look Thurston! Somebody left their electric toothbrush here!

Lovey turns on the vibrator and everyone starts looking for the "toothbrush" head. All except Ginger and the Professor. Ginger winks at him and the Professor clasps his hands together, letting them hang conveniently over his crotch.

Kenny: (Walking up behind them) I see you found some things leftover by the previous tenants. Heh-heh-heh. Perfect room for an old couple looking for some spice.

Lovey: (Looking confused) But the spice is in the Kitchen!

Thurston: (Wrapping his arm around her) Indeed it is, Lovey. Indeed it is.

Kenny: (Motioning for all to follow him) I'm heading back to the Ramada for the night while you all get acquainted with your new surroundings. There's a pantry next to the fridge full of food and booze. Have a party! Celebrate! Y'all are about to embark on an exciting new adventure. I'm sure everyone will do just fine though. I mean Hell, y'all survived on a deserted island for years...how hard can this be?

Professor: Well, I know I'm already finding it hard.


Stay tuned for the remainder of Day 1 of Gilligan's Trailer - The Party

My friend Rachael emailed me the other night and was asking how I was doing? I responded, "Surviving. They should make a Survivor: High Point." And then the idea flowed like cocaine up Lindsay Lohan's nose. So with that I present to you The Real Surreal Survivor: High Point...Gilligan Style.

COMPETITORS
The Skipper
Gilligan
Ginger
Mary Ann
The Professor
Thurston Howell III
Lovey

THE PLOT
The seven survivors have been rescued from Gilligan's Isle and are celebrities in and of themselves. VH1, MTV and Mark Burnett have conspired a new reality show bringing together The Surreal Life and The Real World, but with the challenges of Survivor. Who will they cast? Who else, but the survivors of Gilligan Isle?

The seven castaways are jetted off to High Point, North Carolina. There the seven celebrities in their own right, are made to live in a trailer and face daily challenges for immunity. Each night the castaways will gather for tribal council in the confession room (aka the bathroom) to vote off one of their own. Will they survive? Who will go first? Who will last the week? Find out what happens when seven isle mates stop drinking coconuts, start eating Cheetos and start getting real.

The Real Surreal Survivor....High Point!

(Cue theme song)

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of survivors from a shipwreck.
To High Point, North Caro-Li-I-NA,
Where they'll be thinking, "What the heck?"

The seven celebrities in the make,
Will leave their new lives behind.
And settle in their trailer home,
To live off of BBQ and pork rinds.

The week ahead will get quite rough.
Six people will get tossed,
From challenges they lose each day.
And one just might get lost, in the woods they could get lost.

The seven made home in this strange Southern furniture town,
With Gilligan,
The Skipper too,
The millionaire and his wife,
The movie star,
The Professor and Mary Ann,
Here in Gilligan's Trailer!

Stay tuned for the adventure to begin.

As I sit here a week and a few hours from my 35th birthday, there is a bit to contemplate. It started a few months ago when I started experiencing what I can only describe as a physical void. Yes, my friends, the biological clock is real!

I always thought this to be a myth, an urban legend. Unfortunately it's true. Something kicks in at some point that makes your body feel empty, and fills you with an overwhelming want and sadness. Some people claim to have this much younger than my age, but I never experienced it until recently. I mean, sure I've always wanted kids, though I've tried to tell myself I didn't after my divorce, but I always knew in my heart I did. I LOVE kids! Sometimes I think they get me more than adults do, but still I never felt that pang, that void until recently. It's not something that is always with me, or controls me, but there are definitely moments that last longer than others. And for some reason, there have been WAY too many magazine articles and such lately, talking about statistics of getting pregnant at my age and up. They lay out all these factors about age, how long you've been on the pill, how much sex you've had. Basically, I've learned I'm like an overplayed Beatles record that is now just playing static with intermittent lyrics. I screwed too much, got too old, took too many birth control pills, and now my junk is apparently equivalent to Death Valley.

I remember my ex-husband once telling me about how his mom bought a Happy Meal from McDonalds and put it in the trunk for some reason. Three months later she opened the trunk and the Happy Meal still sat in its final resting place...or so she thought. She opened up the bag in curiousty, and found that....duh, duh, duhhhhhhhh...the Happy Meal looked exactly the same three months later as it would have upon purchase. That is my junk. It looks fine on the outside, but upon closer inspection it's not what it seems. The the uterus is cloudy, my ovaries explode, and I've got a hoo-hah that seems to only intake things and never releases. My burger has gone bad.

Tonight, my friend Isaac emailed me about my birthday and the following conversation ensued. And I'm sure he thinks himself an expert since his mom is, as he quotes, "a pussy doctor."

Isaac: dude i am a bad friend! when is your birthday?

Me: Like you're expected to know? No worries. It's on the 5th. I'm going to be OLD!!! I'm turning 35. I got five years of eggs left. It totally sucks.

Isaac: hahaha Heather don't think of it like that. First off 35 is not old. Second, plenty of people have kids in their late 30's and early 40's now. So don't sweat it man. october 5th. Well that is brilliant! I feel things brewing, my brain is ticking like a funny little mad bomb.

Heather: Isaac, trust me! We're talking day old eggs and a camping skillet. A woman's chance of conceiving drops 87% by age 40. I'm currently at like 45% or something at my impending age. You throw in a repetitively exploding ovary and a tipped uterus, and I will be lucky to poop out a mouse. And most women from 40 and up do the invitro, which unless I fuck Bill Gates on the side, is not affordable.

Brewing? Ticking? I'm scared! Unless you send me a baby, that is! Yes, ship me a Black Market baby. That is what I'd like for my birthday.

As I had this conversation, I realized something. While my biological clock ticks away, I know that life is still full not matter what lies ahead. I have the most amazing people in my life who make me smile every day, and a pretty good life in general. If a kid could fit in there, that would just be the sprinkles on the dessert. If it doesn't happen, I still got the cupcake.

And who knows? I'm walking around with an internal Happy Meal inside of me, and the one thing I forgot about is the surprise inside each Happy Meal. Who knows? It could be a kid in five years, or at the very least, a baby purchased off the Black Market.

Public transportation is not a strong point of High Point. I think there are two buses in town that you never see running after dark. Everything shuts down early except the few bars in town. The humid nights seem to swallow everything in its path that dares to venture to one of the many fast food restaurants that invade this tiny city.

In fact, it is my belief that the town is not welcome to people in general. Most of the buildings in "downtown" sit empty less the two times a year that International Furniture Market takes over High Point and gives the impression that there is indeed life here. It's like driving your car through Universal Studios with its mock storefronts and an occasional oddball running across the street barefoot. There are times I'm tempted to go tear out the few flowers you might see planted along Main Street, just to prove that they're not plastic.

There are few sidewalks encouraging pedestrian traffic. Crosswalks are more rare. I believe this is ploy by the City to off "unwelcomes". I can see them sitting in their city council meetings saying, "Well if we minimize the number of sidewalks and only put in four crosswalks, the likelihood of pedestrians being hit increases. And who walks? Anyone worth having in our mock town should be driving a car!" This comment is then followed by the evil, twanged laughter as they rub their buttery hands together.

But little did they anticipate the backlash they would encounter by removing modes of pedestrian traffic. When the City apparently didn't act, the folk of High Point got creative.

There was the man driving to the convenience store on his ride-on lawn mower that I previously wrote about. He drove this on the road, and I laughed as I flashed back to my first drive with my ex-husband through Sun City where golf carts are street legal. I will never forget pulling up to a stoplight and looking to my husband's left and seeing the shiny, red golf cart waiting in the neighboring lane. I remember thinking how insane that was, but it didn't hold an ounce of craziness next to a ride-on lawn mower, which I'm sure is not street legal, but according to my sister, is not that rare around these parts.

This was odd enough in itself, but then came my first encounter with a motorized wheelchair. It was many months ago and I was making my evening drive home from work down Main Street. Everything as normal as normal can be, when a SUV two vehicles in front of me swerved erratically into the left-hand lane. What the? Then the car in front of me repeated the same maneuver. As that car swerved I saw the problem. Not that far in front of me was a man in a motorized wheelchair driving in my lane against traffic!

"Shiiiitttttt!" I screamed as I quickly glanced over my left shoulder and swerved into the other lane. The man didn't flinch at all. He seemed to be in a haze of alcohol, medication, or sadness. He just continued to drive his wheelchair in the road against traffic. I watched in my rearview mirror as the cars behind me repeated the same dance of "Avoid vehicular manslaughter." I grew angry as I continued my drive home, not with the man, but with this town because there were no sidewalks in that area for him to drive on. Unless the man wanted to go braffing in the grass, he had miles without a sidewalk to access.

This anger was revisited a few months ago when sitting at a stop light, I watched as a motorized wheelchair had to cross the street with no crosswalk, light OR sidewalk. He waited until the light was red for his street and began, but the eager beavers in their cars tried to outrun him as they made their left onto the road he was crossing. I watched in horror as he weaved around cars unwilling to stop. The plot of the City to off the non-drivers was closer to being reality. I was waiting to see someone hit one of these wheelchairs that had no other option but to be one with the cars. I can just see the first dazed man muttering, "It's got wheels so fuck 'em!"

Yesterday came a new sight. I was once again driving home down Main Street when a car a ways ahead of me in the right lane, swerved into mine. I knew this swerve. I know what this is. Sure enough there was a motorized wheelchair. Different man, and this time he drove down the ramp from the porn store into the road. Thing is, there was a sidewalk in this part of town. Alas, it apparently didn't hold the thrills for him that the open road did. He drove in the right-hand land with traffic, as cars swerved and beeped at him. As I passed him, I saw he was smiling. Was it from the adventure and risk he was taking by driving his wheelchair? Then I remembered where he'd just come from and laughed. No. I was quite sure it was what was in his bag.

My family is famous amongst my friends that I met through my brother. I can't even count the number of times I've heard, "Those Duffins!" after another story recounted by one of them. They will recall tales of my Dad calling to my brother (in a perfect impersonation) in the basement and my brother flipping out; my sister coming after the boys with a saw; my mom saying something competely hsyterical and inappropriate; and me vomiting in the sink when Sean pulled a spaghetti noodle out of his nose.

I love my family. I really do. I have some strains with my father, but most of that is religion-based. Other than that, I wouldn't trade any of them for the world. Dinner usually involved one of us girls talking about poo or how heavy we were bleeding that day, followed by my brother slamming down his utensils and yelling, "I can't EAT with this conversation!" and storming away. My dad would lecture my sister, mom and me about our choice of topic and we'd just laugh and keep up. We're quite the reverse of the stereotype of men and women. The women in my family have a really messed up, sick sense of humor. My dad can be pretty prudish, but has lightened up over the years. My brother is awesome and fun, but would NEVER utter a word about a bowel movement or sex. I've never even heard my brother fart in his near 30 years of life! The women in my family are a bit twisted, but people love hanging out with us.

When we found out my sister was having a girl during her pregnancy, we'd all joke around about watching out because she was going to be like us. When I moved out here, Kylee was two and I felt like I finally had the opportunity to truly get to know her. However, I was warned not to influence her with poo talk or other inappropriate things. I wanted to respect that, but also knew that between my mom and my sister, it wasn't going to happen no matter how hard any of us tried.

It started simply with the book "Everybody Poops." One of my favorites. My brother saw a picture of her reading this and emailed me exclaiming, "YOU bought that for her, didn't you?" I explained they were trying to potty train her, so it was valid.

I've been very careful with not encouraging her about certain things, as to respect my sister's respect that was given from her husband, but sometimes things slip out. Kylee had to go pee a few months ago, so I took her to the potty while Heidi changed in the closet next to the bathroom. She peed, then stood up and grabbed one of the wet wipe toilet paper pieces and stuck it on her head.

"Kylee, don't put that on your head. You use it to wipe your cooter!" I explained.

"HEATHER!" shouted my sister. "Do NOT call it that!"

"What am I supposed to call it then? Her vagina?"

Heidi gasped, "NO! Call it something else. Call it her Lulu."

I started to laugh. "Lulu is better than cooter? I'm more offended by Lulu."

Heidi shook her head and left it at that.

I laugh now when I think of this incident because I realize that I can never really influence Kylee THAT much because my sister and Mom are doing it all themselves. Kylee asked my mom the other night if she had diarrhea? I've never said "diarrhea" in front of her. And I knew she got this from my sister or Mom who always seem to be running from some room shouting, "Oh Lord! I got diarrhea!" Or "Damnit ____! You gave me diarrhea!"

I was at Heidi's last night doing laundry while her and Fletcher met with an alarm systerm guy. I had to pee and went to the bathroom and shut the door. A moment later, Kylee pounded on the door. "Auntie Hethaaaaaaaa! Let me in!" I leaned forward and opened the door. She marched right in, closed the door and stood on her potty.

"Whatca doin' Auntie Hetha? Are you going poo-poo?"

"Nope. Just pee."

"Oh. Otay."

I finished my business, pulled up my pants and went to flush. Kylee was staring in the toilet. "You DID poo-poo!"

I looked in the toilet, and there dried to the side of the bowl was a piece of splatter rock. I started laughing and explained that was not my poo-poo, but that it as left over from somebody else. Kylee stuck her head in the bowl a bit and squinted.

"Yeah, that definitely looks like my Mommy's poo-poo!" And she walked out with me roaring behind her.

The girl is a Duffin, lord help her.