The Women of The Kendrick Phyla

I have two sisters, Karol and Kathy who are lovely, kind, generous women…both as spiritual and good as the day is long.

They are also pains in my ass.

Kathy and Karol have been bugging me to include not only more of them in these posts, but more things about our insanity addled family. It goes without saying, this would be a huge mistake.

What you are about to read are almost completely fake, made-up transcripts of several e-mails sent back and forth from my home in Houston to a small berg in the Texas Hill Country where my MUCH, MUCH, MUCH OLDER sisters were together over the recent holidays.

(The part about my sisters being MUCH, MUCH older? That’s COMPLETELY true!)

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Laurie,

We think that your readers want more stories that focus on the oddness of our family. Your life experiences alone make great fodder. For example, your hilarious story from the summer of 2007,  “The Hamper” was based on a true story. We know for a fact that was one of your most read posts, so in these days of supply and demand, Kathy and I think you should supply your readers with what they don’t even know they want.

Real demand will come later.

And write more about us, your loving sisters, you Bitch!

Hugz,

Kathy and Karol

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Dear Kathy and Karol,

You must have mistaken me for someone else.

I don’t have any sisters. I’m an only child. My mother’s uterus only had womb for one and I hand-printed the “occupado” sign on that “door” more than 48 years ago.

Please refrain from sending further correspondence because frankly, I don’t like the way your names look on my computer.

Regards,

Laurie Kendrick

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Well Laurie,

Is that so? Not related you say? If we weren’t related to you, then how would we know about the fact that you used to take movie soundtrack albums and sing and dance to them in our foyer? And furthermore, Butch, you even sang the Christopher Plummer parts in “The Sound of Music”.

Why is it then that we know that for three months in 1964, you thought you were a dog and would bark once for yes, twice for no and demanded that you eat dinner from a china bowl on the floor? Ring any bells there, Nutcake?

It’s true. We know even more stuff too. More revealing comments will be left on this blog and they will spill other sordid details about your very sordidly strange life IF you don’t write more stories that feature us!

Don’t be stupid, Laurie–give in to our demands or pay the price. Don’t look at this as extortion…we prefer to call it blackmail.

By the way, since you’re the youngest, we’ve never really liked you.

Kathy & Karol

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To Whom It May Concern;

Once again, you are mistaken.

Yes it is true—I am Laurie Kendrick, but obviously NOT the Laurie Kendrick you have in mind. We’re not related.

You see, I had a rather unorthodox upbringing . It was, I’m sure far, far different than what you two experienced. You grew up in relative normalcy—my storied childhood was one of mythic proportions!

Initially, I was the daughter of Brandy, an unmarried bar maid, who lived in a harbor town where she worked, laying whiskey down. When my mother learned she was with child, she begged my sea-faring father to marry her, but he told her no.

He made it clear he couldn’t stay…no harbor was his home

The sailor said, “Brandy, you’re a fine girl. What a good wife you would be. But my love, my life and my lady, is the sea. Dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee”.

Ashamed to be unwed and pregnant, she left her small coastal hometown and moved into the sparsely populated Highlands to wait out her pregnancy and ultimately, give birth.

Nine months later, all alone on a dark and stormy night in a small, thatch roofed, dirt floored lean-to in the forest, she delivered a fine, seven-pound-five-ounce baby girl…..

Me.

But she had no way to support me, so ever the artistic, dexterous and enterprising woman, she fashioned a basket out of leaves and twigs, placed me inside and sent the basket adrift on a nearby stream with the hopes someone would find me and like Moses, take me into their bosom.

Or in my case…their teat.

You see, I was found two days later by a mother wolf, out on her daily constitutional. As luck would have it, this wolf mother was particularly fond of hominids and had been raising three young boys whom she found in similar circumstances. They would become my brothers. You might have heard of two of them…Romulus and Remus?

romrem.jpg

They were wonderful boys. Momma Wolf suckled them for the first four years of their lives. She was a wonderful mother. She instilled in them values and ethics. So much so that Romulus went on to discover Rome. The city was named after him actually.

Remus grew up to become an old black man and a fictional literary figure in the Old South, “Uncle Remus, His Songs and His Sayings: The Folk-Lore of the Old Plantation”

My other brother while successful in his own right, is lesser known. His name is Trent and he was an odd child. Different. Soft-spoken, kind of shy. Impeccable dresser. Fastidious, loved clothing, interior design, watching reruns of “Golden Girls” and reading “Crate and Barrel” catalogs. For some reason, he just clicked–I mean, really “connected” with my confirmed bachelor wolf uncle, Bruce who allowed Trent to “suckle” him for the first 36 years of Trent’s life.

Long story short, Trent went on to discover San Francisco.

Good luck in your journey to find your sister, but I assure you, I am not her!

LK

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Those “Seven Things”

(This post is being republished.  It was written before “the break up”, but I still mean every word)

I think about all the men I’ve had in my life, not that I’ve got Madonna’s Sealy-Posturepedic track record by any means (my bedpost has far less notches….and teeth marks) but I’ve had other relationships and the very best thing I can say about them is that they are over.

But that ‘s not the case with us.

What we have is alive and enduring and sustained in part, by the fact that I love you and apparently, you love you too.

A lot.

Even so, you are an enlightening presence in my life. That is undeniable and I’m learning a great deal from you about who I am. What concerns me though, is my current emergence. You might not like the woman who’s bounding forth from this tightly wound cocoon which at one time, encapsulated me and so much lingering self-doubt. Then again, I might now be exactly who and what you want me to be. What you’ve always wanted. But I feel it’s within my right to express that I’m a bit worried about this. You see, I just hope this renewed appreciation doesn’t come too late.

In the meantime, as we endeavor to keep our relationship within the bounds of propriety, I have decided to change my tack. I’ve been the one who’s fueled the emotional fire between us, but as per your request and that which stems from my boredom with feeling rather alone in the face of our being together, I’m quashing that one-sided behavior like Judge Lance Ito and suppressed evidence in the Simpson trial.

I will do this by committing ONLY to what I can and that includes trying to tolerate some of the insane things you say and do and posses corporally and let me tell ya something, Joy Pecs…I’m trying DAMN hard.

These things are listed as follows:

1. You call the grocery store “the market”. ,Cute for a while. Now? Not so much. You also verb it out. You go “marketing”. For some reason, hearing this is like fingernails on a chalk board. I know of NO other human, much less a man who says this. So I gotta ask–when you buy meat, do you go “butchering”? Is it also bakerying in your world? Dry cleanering?

2. When we’re together and classical music is on the stereo, you play the “air cello”.

3. You pronounce my name wrong. It is Laurie. The prefix is pronounced as one would say “law”. I’m not “Lorry”–that’s what the Brits call a truck. I know you could make a joke here, but I would think it wise if you refrained. Because I could make a joke, too…this one would be a witty analogy about this one man’s inability to “park” a certain “compact lorry” in a certain well constructed “garage”.

4. Your toenails. Sweetie, they’re talons. And that thing you call your big toe? It’s so odd looking, misshapen and discolored. For the first three months we were together, I thought that orange-ish growth was a misplaced Cheeto with a foot fetish.

You always slather it with anti-fungal creme. All things considered, I would think that you’d accomplish more by using French Onion dip.

5. You prefer my Midol over aspirin. I know they both contain the same ingredients and are essentially one in the same, but it’s….it’s…it’s Midol!!

6. You drive with both feet. One is poised above the brake pedal while the other steps on the gas and vice-versa. This metatarsaled ambidexterity is just so damn freaky!! It looks weird and I know you continue to do this because you know it makes me nuts and you enjoy that. So, by all means, continue AND WHATEVER YOU DO, don’t stop there. PLEASE learn to change radio stations with your knee. God only knows what you could do with the cruise control!!!!!

7. Lastly and perhaps the most serious of this compendium, you don’t always fight fair and if that’s not bad enough, you know which buttons of mine to push and you push them intentionally. Why do you do that? You’re like this manic woman in that regard.

On second thought, keep taking the damn Midol!!

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Must close now, but I’ll leave with you with this, my darling: make no mistake–I love you, but right now, I don’t like you. What’s happening between us now isn’t fair. I’ve accommodated you; I’ve tweaked what I can and yes, I’ve made the effort.

I’ve done my part.

Now, the ball is in your court. Seriously–change your ways. “We” need you to do this because if you don’t–and this is indeed a threat–I won’t need need to use my phone’s caller ID to know it’s you ringing me.

I’ll simply recognize the precursory smell of gin and regret.

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Tootles!!!!

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