Girl Code: Possible Revisions

We females always seem to be involved in our friends’ relationships. It all started when we were kids… there you are, standing under the jungle gym at recess, participating in a very official meeting of your organization, “the kissy club.” You’ve just admitted the name of your crush and, suddenly, you’re off to the races! The bossy girl (naturally the President of the ‘kissy club’) has ordered one of her worker bees to run across the playground and 1) spill your secret 2) ask your crush if he likes you back 3) determine if he “likes” you or “likes likes” you and 4) negotiate whether or not the two of you can have direct interaction or not.

It has only mildly evolved by the time you are a teenager… there you are, leaning against your ’96 Camry in the Junior parking lot when your BFF approaches. She has big news. She spent all of third period writing notes back and forth with the new kid in school and he thinks you’re cute! After reading their notes, you don’t have time to be concerned with the fact that she was so involved in the development of your budding romance because the promise of a boyfriend in time for prom is so exciting! Rather than just waiting for the stud to figure out how to ask you out, you plot and plan with your friend. She becomes the middleman and, before you know it, your whole relationship is arranged.

Sure, college was slightly different. Your love affair started when the guy at the bar asked to exchange numbers (as opposed to him asking whether or not you’re on the Facebook yet during AP US History). You like him, not because he’s on the football team, but because he can quote Walt Whitman and he listens to bands you’ve never heard of. As soon as you leave the bar, it’s back to your friends. They must agree that he is attractive, they remind you not to be the one to text him first, they help you pick out an outfit for your first date, and three months later they encourage you to break up because “you deserve better” and “he’s sort of a prick.”

Now that you’re all post-grad age, something is happening… your entire friend-group has been separated. One moved for grad school, one moved for her new job, one actually moved with a boyfriend that you had always liked. They’re all in different towns, some even in different states. And things are different now. For one thing, you notice the shift from the tendency to 'hook-up and couple-up' to what is supposed to be a more mature approach: dating. 

Through dating, your friend may actually meet a guy who seems like a winner. He can talk about something other than his beer-pong skills, actively courts her, and even mentioned that he’d like to have kids some day.  You aren’t around to meet the guy immediately like you were in college so she has to describe him over the phone. She mentions all of the wonderful things! But… she may leave a few things out… because she wants you to like him. And she wants to forget the things that maybe made her question the relationship. So she doesn’t tell you about the was that sexist or was it not sexist? remark that this new guy made one time. You’ve heard only good things about the guy for months and you finally meet him when she brings him home for the holidays. But even then, you’re only around him for one dinner.

More time passes. You act thrilled for your friend when she calls you to announce that they are engaged but you wish you knew the guy better. More time passes. Now you’re sitting on a pew at their wedding; you’re not a bridesmaid because the groom wanted her to choose people they both knew well… ok. That’s fine. But now you’re listening to Old Testament scripture being read about how the bride, your life-long friend, is going to be the groom’s subordinate. “How can she agree to this?!” You wait for the minister to ask whether or not anyone objects but the moment never comes. After a few brief vows, boom, they’re husband and wife.

Your friend doesn’t have time to call any more because she’s busy working and tending to her wifely duties or whatever. You convince yourself to just try and be supportive… until… you realize that you’ve seen him share one too many articles on Twitter about things that don’t sit well with you. It’s all been piling up: the “husband rules all” theme of the wedding, the off-handed comment about your friend being a stay at home mom, the homophobic undertone of a few tweets/posts. But what can you do? This isn’t a boyfriend that she can just drop like a bad habit. This is a husband. They took vows. She has his last name. This is a whole new ballgame.

After thinking about all of this, I'm left with a bunch of questions. 

Why are we, as females, so involved in each other’s relationships? I'm not saying I'm against it! Honestly though, why do we do this? How far should we go? Do you speak up if you don't like a friend's boyfriend? Do you speak up if you don't like a friend's husband? Do things have to change when you reach a certain point in life? Does the individual change? Or does the friendship change? What does girl-code say about this? What is the appropriate response? What's the protocol?

Lomi Lomi

I have always been a night owl. Even as a little kid, I could stay up until the wee hours of the morning. I figured out at an early age that I could fight bed time if I climbed up in my parents’ four-post, sat behind my mother, and quietly rubbed her back. That was usually enough for me to make it through an episode of Alias of LaFemme Nikita without hearing the final warning, “It’s late, Caroline. Bed. Now.” It turned into a nightly routine which lasted for years and years.

I can remember even further back to the time when I was still young enough to take a bath with my mother. Then too, I would sit behind her- my legs around her hips. I would cover her back with bubbles from the bar of Dove or Irish Spring and I would trace lines from freckle to freckle. She became a canvas for finger painting. Soapy works of art appeared between her shoulder blades and down her spine. I always thought her posterior was so beautiful, even later when it was scarred from surgery.

As a graduation requirement at West High, the seniors are asked to complete a “senior project.” For my project, I studied massage therapy under a mentor. He was a wonderfully nice man and licensed massage therapist. He showed me different techniques, what they were called, and the intended effect on the body and its health. One practice is called “Lomi Lomi.” People in spas and clinics know it as Hawaiian Temple Body Work. The goal is for the person on the table, receiving Lomi Lomi, to feel as though they are being gently rocked and guided by waves- almost as if they are floating in the ocean, surrounded by a supporting and peaceful force. You wash your hands over them, never breaking contact.

I finished my project in December, right about the time the doctors decided that they were out of options and she would not get any better. I found out in January and there was only one place I wanted to be: behind her. The front of her wasn’t really the same any more. An intrusive breathing tube was interrupting her gorgeous face. When you are turned to someone, society decides that we are supposed to have words to exchange. What I wanted to tell her could not be expressed in the parting of lips. I had not yet thought of how I would tell her goodbye when I found myself, for the millionth time, in her room with my hands against her skin.

Everyone seemed so unsure, uneasy. It was like everyone was watching an invisible door and waiting for someone to walk through with a plan. The last thing a person who is missing part of her lungs needs is breath-stealing anxiety. I wanted to be near her but I knew she needed calm. My hands could fake peacefulness better than my voice could. As I touched her, she quietly inquired, “is this something you learned through your project?” “Um, yeah, this is Lomi Lomi.” “It’s nice to have my own Lomi Lomi girl.” She didn’t call me “Caroline” after that- only “Lomi Lomi girl.” I didn’t mind. Lomi Lomi girl could say “I love you” in a way that Caroline never could.

Susan Glasgow Duncan Thompson died on the evening of February 5, 2008 in the same bed that I fought sleep in so many times. Sometimes that feels like a million years ago and sometime that feels like yesterday. Her life and death have an incredibly profound effect on my life daily. There are still plenty of times and moments where I’m sad or even mad that she is not here, that we’re not sharing today. But if my eyes do start to fall, they often land on my hands and I think of what we did share. It will never be fully enough, but it is substantial and it should not be forgotten or taken for granted. I got to be there. I got to say goodbye in my own way. I got to make her feel peace and comfort. That cannot be erased- like a tattoo on my soul.

The Hawaiians describe Lomi Lomi as part of Huna philosophy which focuses on passing all good things- generosity, respect, love- through to another person. Lomi Lomi is conducted with prayer and intention. One translation or interpretation is “loving hands.”

Caroline Blogs

My name is Caroline and I am a 23-year-old living in Charlotte, NC. My boyfriend and I moved here over the summer of 2013 to be closer to my family (who just moved to Huntersville, NC from Hendersonville, NC).

I’m a born and raised North Carolinian. I love the Tar Heel state… vinegar BBQ and all! I spent my childhood in Morganton/Burke County and my teenage years in the grand metropolis of “Mills River.” For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s near Hendersonville… for those who aren’t familiar, it’s near Asheville… for those who aren’t familiar, that’s where the Biltmore Estate is.

Since graduating from high school in 2008, I have spent my time “sampling” different college experiences. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.) I spent a year at High Point University, 3 years at Appalachian State University studying Elementary Education, and then took a year off to live and work in Raleigh, NC- where I met my wonderful boyfriend, Brian. I have now returned to student life and am completing a Bachelor’s in Sociology at the UNC- Charlotte.

When I’m not on campus pushing my way through crowds of annoying 19-year-old sorority sisters whose shorts barely cover their tuttis, I’m usually at my father’s house helping to care for my new nephew, William aka Willie P… in addition to entertaining my youngest sister, Mary Katherine, with my weirdness. It’s a very glamorous life! I change stinky diapers, experiment with the crock-pot, try to keep our ancient shih tzu “Twisty” alive, and press on Mary Katherine’s nerves by making “chore charts,” etc. On Sunday mornings, we all attend Huntersville United Methodist where my Dad is actually the minister. PKs unite!

I’ve blogged before but inconsistently. I wanted to pick it up again because I do enjoy writing and because it feels like there’s a lot going on in my life, a lot of changes... A new city, a growing family, nearing the end of my rather long college career, and a progressing relationship. Sounds like amateur blog material to me…

Call me Quirky

I don’t actually think I’m funny… but the strangest things happen to me… and I tend to handle these situations with very little grace… which is sometimes humorous. #WTF #FML

Attempts at Domesticity

Learning the art of cooking, housekeeping, and child rearing. And by art, I mean, like, finger-painting. #pinspiration #nailedit

Sharing is Caring

Things I like, things that do not belong to me, things worth sharing. #checkthisout #caretoshare

Front of the Mullet
“Business in the front, party in the back.” A place for more serious subjects. #soapbox #butseriously