january
Greenville, SC
free!
skirt!is
Here’s to 2010! To juicing the good times so your glass is always half full. To more backbone and less bitterness in the bad times.
to Wild Nights
because you never outgrow your need. To jumping out of a plane or staying put in the moment...whichever is harder. To trying new technology so you won’t become a grumpy Luddite. To making something with your hands so you won’t become a giant talking head. To taking a chance on something improbable instead of always betting on a sure thing.
To Trying on a differenT address. To sometimes being an outsider instead of always in-the-know...h o w e l s e w i l l y o u g r o w ? To setting your life on fire or being the match to ignite someone else. To turning regrets into reasons to celebrate.
H e r e ’s t o t h e Ye a r o f Yo u ! Cover art by Bonnie Dain
“Here’s looking at you, kid.” Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca
off your New Year’s Resolution List Look Younger and Better in 2010!
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Hurry! New Year offers expire January 31, 2010 and cannot be combined with any other skinkare promotion. 2
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UNIVERSAL PICTURES AND SPYGLASS ENTERTAINMENT PRESENT A BARBER/BIRNBAUMMUSICPRODUCTION A BENDERSPICOSTUME NK PRODUCTION A FILM BY ANAND TUCKER AMYEDITED ADAMS “LEAP YEAR”PRODUCTION MATTHEW GOODE ADAM SCOTTDIRECTOR AND JOHN LITHGOW BY RANDY EDELMAN DESIGNER EIMER N´I MHAOLDOMHNAIGH EXECUTIVE OF BY NICK MOORE DESIGNER MARK GERAGHTY PHOTOGRAPHY NEWTON THOMAS SIGEL ASC PRODUCERS J.C. SPINK SU ARMSTRONG PRODUCED WRITTEN BY GARY BARBER ROGER BIRNBAUM JONATHAN GLICKMAN CHRIS BENDER JAKE WEINER BY DEBORAH KAPLAN & HARRY ELFONT DIRECTED BY ANAND TUCKER A UNIVERSAL RELEASE SOUNDTRACK ON VARÈSE SARABANDE skirt.com
© 2009 UNIVERSAL STUDIOS AND SPYGLASS ENTERTAINMENT FUNDING, LLC
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january
features
about skirt! Publisher Nikki Hardin editor@skirt.com
True North Ann Clizer ................................................................................................10
Greenville Editor Sheril Bennett Turner sheril.turner@skirt.com
Facebook Friend Janine Boldrin Gwinn .........................................................................12
National Art Director Caitilin McPhillips caitilin.mcphillips@skirt.com
“I Don’t Regret…” Lisa M. Rogers ........................................................................................16
Director of Sales Angela Filler angela.filler@skirt.com
“I Don’t Regret…” Selena Henderson.................................................................................18
Sales Executive Kathryn Barmore kathryn.barmore@skirt.com
“I Don’t Regret…” Emily Clarke ............................................................................................20
Graphic Designer Shelli H. Rutland
The Other Woman
Photographers John Fowler Josh Norris Sheril Bennett Turner
Jody Mace .................................................................................................24
The F Word: Is There a Right Way? Therese Shechter ................................................................................26
Sales 864.357.3669
Still Life
FAX: 864.751.2815
Heather Philpot ....................................................................................28
sheMAIL 1708-C Augusta ST. #335 Greenville, SC 29605
ineveryissue
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From the Publisher/Editor...................................................................6
skirt!Greenville 1708-C Augusta ST. #335 Greenville, SC 29605
Letters..............................................................................................................7 Calendar.........................................................................................................9 Skirt of the Month................................................................................11 He’s So Original w/ Dave Ball........................................................22 Products.......................................................................................................23
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skirt! Alerts/Brava/It’s a Shame...................................................27
skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the greater Greenville area. skirt! Reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication. Unsolicited manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Letters to the editor are welcome, but may be edited due to space limitations. Press releases must be received by the 1st of the month for the following month’s issue. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and management thereof, is Copyright © 2009, Morris Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher. SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
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Girl Power w/ Courtney Millikin Cox.......................................30 skirt! Loves..............................................................................................31 24/7 w/ Julie Brown..............................................................................32 Browse..........................................................................................................33 Planet Nikki................................................................................................34
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[ The NO REGRETS Issue ]
at least it was in the killer shoes
M i s s i n g
o u t
t h e
r e a l
you
Missed
o n
e s t a t e
out
on
the foreclosures too
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Januaryw2010greenville
 
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from the publisher
skirt! & you Let us know what’s on your mind, respond to an article, or give us info on an upcoming event. Send letters or press releases to sheril.turner@ skirt.com, or mail to skirt! Greenville, 1708-C Augusta St. #335, Greenville, SC 29605.
We are always looking for new writers and artists. Our guidelines for writers and artists are available online at skirt.com. Submit artwork or essays via e-mail to submissions@skirt.com. Check out our website at skirt.com for giveaways, essays, and other extras that aren’t in the print edition.
cover artist Bonnie Dain Where do you live? Rome, Italy. What medium do you use? Pen and ink and acrylics. How do you stay inspired? Art galleries, magazines, nature and sometimes just walking around and people watching. Do you work traditionally
skirt.com & you
or digitally? Usually half by hand and half digitally. What
Crowd Pleaser
color combination are you most excited about right now? Mustard, teal, and chocolate brown. If you weren’t an illustrator, what would you be? Maybe a dentist. What’s the strangest work experi-
Join the fastest growing group of creative bloggers, become a skirt!setter today! Sign up at skirt.com/skirtsetter.
ence you’ve ever had? Probably being assigned to illustrate a synapse. What’s your middle name? Dorthea. How do you stay in shape? Yoga and the gym. How don’t you
kki
got news? Send calendar events to the editor. Inclusion will be based on available space each month.
nikki
stay in shape? Cheese and gelato. Where would you
the no regrets issue There’s a web site popular in our office called “Regretsy” that features the most unfortunate products on etsy.com, and for a long time I ran a site like that in
I had an epiphany that’s helping me to
my mind, keeping a running catalogue
reframe parts of my life, like watching
of all my worst mistakes and deepest
an old movie filmed from a different
begrudgements. The book I hadn’t
angle. I still rue the times I’ve been rude
written; people I’d stopped speaking
or thoughtless or selfish, because every
to; important projects I’d screwed up;
time I’m guilty of it, I feel bruised right
words I mispronounced in public; cars
down to the bottom of my soul. But I’m
I’d run into the ground by not changing
practicing looking at my experiences
the oil; Christmas presents I didn’t get;
through a different viewfinder and
dinner parties where I’d had too much
here’s what I see: I started and managed
to drink; the times I’d been an employee
a successful business despite being
from hell; red flags I ignored; the social
unconscious throughout every math
awkwardness that often turns me into a
class I ever had; I keep struggling to
12-year-old country girl; speeches
learn how to love despite having no
I’ve fumbled; RSVPs and thank-you
example of it as a child and failing at
notes I forgot to send (by the way, Beth,
it time and again as an adult; I get in
I had a great time at your boat parade
kayaks though I can’t swim well and
party!); the Ivy League education
took a trapeze lesson though heights
I couldn’t afford; relationships I ruined
make me sick, just in order to try on
or short-circuited; the loving parents
bravery. (Even if it doesn’t quite fit me
I never had; the courage that everyone
or I don’t wear it well.) I’m so used to
but me seems to have. Recently, though,
dwelling on if-onlys that I have to work daily at reminding myself about all the what-ifs I’ve explored. Maybe all the
nikki
self-assured people I envy so much are
like to travel to next? Tokyo,
fighting that same battle, too—what if
Japan. What is your current
we could all admit it to each other?
favorite font? Helvetica. Bonnie is represented by Lilla Rogers Studio (lillarogers.com).
from the editor This month we start the New Year off with “No Regrets.” As Frank Sinatra once crooned, “Regrets, I’ve had a few/But then again, too few to mention.” I’m right there with you, Mr. Sinatra. Every once in a while I might think back and wonder what I could have learned about rocks if I had actually paid attention in my college geology class (the coveted astrology class was full). Or I might occasionally ponder what the difference would have been had I settled down and had a baby in my twenties when I had the energy (for both spouse and child), instead of in my late thirties with less pep but more patience. But look—you can’t go back and change a single thing, so why waste the time? Besides, I like to think that we’re given multiple choices in life and that weird things happen in the world for a reason, not just because the Almighty wants a chuckle. So Frankie baby…I did it my way, too. And, for the most part, without regrets.
sheril
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sheril.turner@skirt.com
Visit Us! 6
Januaryw2010greenville
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dearskirt! I saw the article on Domestic Violence with Denise Brown in your November issue and I wanted to make you aware of a program from Verizon
Take care and keep up the good work for women all across the Upstate. I would like to thank you so very much for working with the Alzheimer’s Association
and
featuring
Anne
Magnum in your November issue! It means so much to me as a volunteer for Alzheimer’s to have your support in our community. I LOVE skirt! even more now than I did before! Take care and keep up the good work for women all across the Upstate. Carol Lynn Vrana Mauldin, SC
Wireless that helps combat this terrible issue. HopeLine is an ongoing Verizon Wireless program that takes refurbished phones that are then sold for reuse with the proceeds going to provide wireless phones and cash grants to local shelters and non-profit organizations that focus on domestic violence prevention and awareness. During the week of October 19, 2009, Verizon had a Clothesline display at Greenville High School made up of hand-painted t-shirts by DV victims and their loved ones. The week-long educational program also included a HopeLine phone drive, Public Service-like announcements on their daily closed-circuit TV production that aired factoids about DV prevention, cyber-bullying, dangers of sexting,
The November skirt! magazine issue
etc., streaming video on TV monitors
was fantastic. Thank you! I am looking
throughout the school and BETA club
forward to seeing your December issue,
students staffing a DV information
because I know it will also be great! A
table.
little story about how you helped our family and others through skirt! My husband and I were talking a couple of months ago about what to do with all my daughter’s glasses that she had grown out of. We didn’t want to just throw them away, so we decided to wait until we knew of a place we could donate them so they could benefit other kids her age. I was thrilled to read your article on Dr. Michael Siebert and what he is doing to help others. Thank you for sharing this information. We were
Kyle A. Meleski Jeff Dezen Public Relations Greenville, SC
It means so much to me as a volunteer for Alzheimer’s to have your support in our community... I LOVE skirt!...
able to find several places in Greenville where we can take the glasses for Dr. Siebert’s organization. Thank you for spreading the word about a place to recycle glasses that will help people around the world. Bridgette M. Hayes InSource Executives/ Enterprise Launch Greenville, SC
[ed. Note: Dr. Michael Siebert is a local optometrist who donates his services
Do-Over
as a clinic team volunteer for OneSight, an organization that delivers free eye care and recycled glasses to developing countries. To donate your time, money, or eyeglasses, go to onesight.org.]
Have an opinion? Email sheril.turner@skirt.com. All letters to the editor must include the writer’s name and city/state.
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Haiku by Jenny Nicholson • Art by Karen Greenberg
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Find more events at greenville.skirt.com/event
sunday
monday
tuesday
thursday
wednesday
Ja n ua ry Challenge Get a fresh start this year by having your car deep-cleaned by professionals. Lose the coffee cups, loose change and dog hair. And while you’re at it, Febreeze your conscience. Get rid of stale grudges
and grievances.
Smoke on the Water is a saucy southern tavern that offers a Monday night happy hour featuring 1/2 price cocktails, $7 and under. saucytavern.com On Mondays,The Blockhouse Restaurant & Oyster Bar features 2 for 1 Oysters— raw or steamed! blockhouse.net
TI
P
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Auditions for the Greer Children’s Theatre performance of Oliver! Please bring a nonreturnable photograph and be prepared to sing, dance, and read from the script. Shows will be in April of 2010. greerculturalarts.com.
Did You Know? About 14 million adolescent girls become pregnant each year, with over 90% of those girls living in developing countries.
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Taste the World at Café Rivera in downtown Greer. You’ll find coupon specials and more at caferivera.net.
E N U R AY T R AV JA
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The Greenville Cultural Exchange Center contains a treasure-trove of history about Greenville’s black leaders. Open 10am to 5pm, Tuesday through Saturday. 864.232.9162.
Remember the man and the message on Martin Luther King Day! Participate in a Day of Dreams, from 9am-1pm at Greenville High School. mlkdreamweekend.com
She’s so skirt! Just Kids, by rocker Patti Smith, is about her remarkable relationship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe in the late ‘60s and ‘70s in NYC. Out this month from HarperCollins. The Upstate Roller Girl Evolution needs you! Join the Evolution today at upstaterollergirlevolution. com.
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Book Your Lunch at the Lazy Goat with Faith Hunter, the author of Blood Cross, her second urban fantasy novel featuring Cherokee Skinwalker and Jane Yellowrock. fiction-addiction.com or bookyourlunch.com
Don’t miss Natalie MacMaster & Donnell at the Peace Center. nataliemacmaster.com or peacecenter.org Looking for a fresh approach to traditional southern cooking, all served up in a friendly, casually elegant setting? Try Mary’s at Falls Cottage in Greenville’s historic West End for lunch or brunch. fallscottage.com
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Join Barley’s Taproom and Pizzeria at 1pm for a New Year’s Beer Breakfast. barleystaproom.com
After partying on New Year’s Eve and enjoying football, food, and family on New Year’s Day, it’s time to get back to riding with the Greenville Spinner’s Bicycle Club and their First Fifty at Furman. greenvillespinners.org
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Trumpet superstar Chris Botti, fuses contemporary jazz with pop music style. chrisbotti. com or peacecenter.org
The Greenville Symphony Orchestra presents With Strings Attached, featuring Principal Viola Kathryn Dey and a delightful all-strings program. greenvillesymphony.org
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For more than half a century B.B. King has defined the blues for a worldwide audience; this is sure to be a sizzling evening. bbking.com or peacecenter.org
Join the fun this winter and learn to ice skate! Group lessons for youth ages four through adults begins in January at the Pavilion Recreation Complex. greenvillerec.com
Tone up with Core Conditioning with Yoga. To sign up for a foursession workshop, go to itsyogastudio.com.
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Looking for a job? Learn tips for writing, updating, and submitting a resume with positive impact at the Augusta Road (Ramsey Family) Branch of the Greenville County Library. Call 277.0161 to register.
Did You Know? In almost every country worldwide, the life expectancy for women is higher than for men.
Job seekers: Explore various websites, new library databases, and learn how to complete job applications online at the Augusta Road (Ramsey Family) Branch of the Greenville County Library. Call 277.0161 to register.
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Calling all contra dance fans! The Harvest Moon Folk Society presents a New Year’s Dance at St. Mark Church in Greenville. 12:30pm, dance 1pm-4pm. harvestmoonfolk.org
THIS MONTH!
saturday
funday
15-16
A Finalist on NBC’s “Last Comic Standing,” see Debra DiGiovanni at Asheville’s Funny Business. ashevillecomedy.com Martin Luther King Dream Weekend featuring the Diversity Banquet, the Champions of Dreams Community Day, and a Teen Dream Night. mlkdreamweekend.com
Hop over to the Columbia Metropolitan Convention Center for the World Beer Festival. allaboutbeer.com/ wbfcolumbia
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The Greenville Symphony Orchestra starts off the New Year with the musical portraits of two heroes in A Hero’s Inspiration. greenvillesymphony.org
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A representative from Protocol will present ten employment interview etiquette tips at the Augusta Road (Ramsey Family) Branch of the Greenville County Library. Call 277.0161 to register.
The Bi-Lo Center presents Jason Aldean with special guests Eric Church and Love. jasonaldean.com or bilocenter.com
The Opera Show is a mindblowing combination of opera’s greatest hits set to a dazzling visual feast. theoperashow.com or peacecenter.org
21-30 Four finalists were chosen during Centre Stage’s nationally recognized New Play Festival. Catch the Winner of New Play Festival for the full production. centrestage.org
If you want something a bit more personal than a hotel room, check out Vacation Rentals By Owner (VRBO.com). You’ll find thousands of private homes, condos and apartments to choose from.
Winter Walk at Paris Mountain State Park. 1pm-2:30pm, $5 per person. Greenville Track Club presents the Greenville News Run Downtown 5K Road Race. greenvilletrackclub.com
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Millie Lewis Fashion Show at the Peace Center. millielewisgreenville.com
Pa i r i n g W i n e & W o m e n. . . . . . . . .
Book Your Lunch at the Lazy Goat with Greenville resident Ellyn Bache. Her latest novel is Daughters of the Sea. fiction-addiction. com or bookyourlunch.com
Join the Feminist Wine Club and enjoy offerings carefully selected by the Bottlenotes online wine community to showcase some phenomenal wines made or imported by women, or produced at wineries owned by women. bottlenotes.com/feminist-wine-club
The Peace Center presents Wicked, the untold story of the witches of Oz. Through Feb. 14. peacecenter.org or wickedthemusical.com
Hear the Greenville County Youth Orchestras, featuring members of the Greenville Symphony Orchestra and Dr. Gary Auguste Robinson, Conductor. gcyo.net or peacecenter.org
The Greenville Little Theatre’s Studio 444 is the place where emerging writers, directors, and actors collaborate on alternative works. Be sure to catch The Actor’s Nightmare by Christopher Durang and Stealing the Show by Wofford Jones & Jason Underwood. greenvillelittletheatre.org
Cirque du CDS is a fun and festive interactive event for adults benefiting the Center for Developmental Services. Live performances by the Florida State Flying High Circus, premier raffle packages and themed games, and festive food and beverages. cdservices.org
Join Enterprise Launch at Mary Beth’s on McBee for one of their inspirational Business Development Workshops. enterpriselaunch.com
Monster Jam at the Bi Lo Center. monsterjamonline. com or bilocenter.com
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Januaryw2010greenville
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I have no regrets at turning my life upside down and inside out.
A
Ann Clizer
fter nearly three decades of marriage, I called it quits late one March afternoon near Baja’s Sea of Cortez as a waning moon sunk low into the western sky. I had waited nearly 36 hours for my soon-tobe-ex-husband to show up and hear me out. While it was no surprise to either of us that our marriage was finished, I hadn’t expected to succumb to the critical mass of our imbalances in such an abrupt and urgent manner. In delivering the unwelcome news, I essentially marooned myself in a foreign country without money of my own or any clear route into a fresh, new life. I knew I could no longer sanely exist in the partnership, but I didn’t know much else. Supportive friends slipped cash into my hands, twenty dollars from one, a hundred from another, promising me temporary refuge in their homes should I need it. But what I really needed was a plan, some protocol to help me zero in and lock onto a new direction. When I said “no thanks” to the old life, I opted out of the financial support I’d been blessed with in that long-term marriage. Those who loved me felt certain my circumstances called for immediate employment, and for some reason, many favored my landing a receptionist position in a doctor’s office, but the truth was, I didn’t want a job. I was 55 and had spent most of my adult life raising children, making a home and performing a supporting role in the family construction business. Declaring myself single felt like a hard left turn into expansive territory constellated with opportunities for personal choice after personal choice. Convincing a prospective employer to buy the minutes and hours of this new life clashed with my goals and ideals in a big way. I had no clue how to reconcile my needs and desires, but I didn’t intend to give up before the game began. Twenty days later I caught a ride to San Diego with friends and flew home to Idaho, taking my dog, my winter coat and about $70 in cash. When I arrived, our adult daughter had opened the house; a fire crackled in the heat stove and the office window stood wide open. The smell of damp particle board permeated the air—a mishap with the water heater during re-introduction of flow to the house pipes after a winter of disuse had caused a slight flood. Stacked boxes of files and supplies stood chest-high in the sunroom, topped by bedraggled icons of the spent marriage: a framed photo of me and my husband on our 25th anniversary, embracing at a restaurant table; a glass box engraved with endearing words I once knew by heart; a receipt commemorating two nights at some Canadian hideaway where we celebrated two decades together. According to feng shui’s bagua map, that room held the love and marriage energy of the home and water damage wreaked havoc on its contents within a week of our break-up, even though neither of us was within a thousand miles. Days passed and I cast my thoughts in every direction, exploring any possibility smacking of potential income. I scribbled on sticky notes, posting them in odd spots around the house: “workshops/raw food classes,” “board
animals/dogsitting,” “help seniors compile memoirs.” I registered with Job Service and sporadically checked online, scanning for unusual or temporary listings. I checked out programs for older workers, finding that a long-term commitment was required of anyone who accepted government-sponsored training. Applications gathered dust on my desk. When my husband arrived in Idaho a few weeks later, the circus of our divorce commenced, and the ensuing festivities magnetized my focus and attention. My angry spouse dedicated himself to providing lush and plentiful opportunities for me to experience the most intense and piercing levels of pain and/or degradation he was capable of inflicting. Since paychecks had come mostly in his name for our entire marriage, he believed my decision to divorce him should decrease my share of our joint assets by significant percentages. He unearthed legal loopholes to abolish any possibility of my receiving cash or cushion to ease me into the new life he didn’t want me to have. Liberating myself cost me dearly in “value,” but when I held that final divorce decree in my hand, I knew it symbolized a priceless victory for my spirit. I still haven’t taken a regular job. On my own for less than a year, I’ve scored two short-term positions that provide me with respectable amounts of non-traditional income. One of them even matched a blue sticky-note I found under the bedside table when I moved out of my house. Living there held no appeal to me, and the reliable couple who signed the lease contribute greatly to my peace of mind about meeting the mortgage payment. I’m tasting the freedom I fancied last spring when I made my leap; I’ve got money in my bank account and work lined up for months to come. Those offers of temporary haven are a much-needed blessing, and at this stage, still a pleasant novelty. I’ve turned myself loose on the world, abandoning my children, grandchildren and aged mother. They’re getting along perfectly well without me, though I call frequently to make certain that’s still the case. I don’t have what most people perceive as a legitimate plan for my future, but my comfort level and appreciation of this flexible, spontaneous lifestyle grows as time passes. For all I know, my ideas about direction, distance and trajectory will transpose themselves into an entirely new configuration without warning, and what appeared to be my own true north will suddenly seem skewed or false. Perhaps this time next year—or the year after—I’ll boomerang back, evict my tenants, empty my storage unit, refurnish my home and pursue a secure and satisfying position in my home town. Or I could be stowing supplies and sharpening knives in the galley of a research ship, off to count sea turtles or swim with dolphins in some warm, sunny place far, far away. I have no regrets at turning my life upside down and inside out. There are times when I long for the love of a sensitive man, but I didn’t have that when I was married anyway, nor did I enjoy financial security or health insurance. Yet I can’t help but notice I’ve never gone without what I needed, whether I was married or single, younger or older, encumbered or free. I don’t know what my future will bring any more than I did when I embarked on this leg of my journey, but if I can connect the dots between “marooned” and “self-directed,” I guess there’s no need to earmark any minutes or hours for worrying. Which is perfect since I’ve got plenty of other ways to spend my valuable time.
Ann Clizer carries a 2010 Road Atlas in her Subaru Outback and feels comfortable winging it without benefit of a GPS. She believes both her parents contributed to her strong sense of direction. 10
Januaryw2010greenville
skirt.com
Traci Daberko is an illustrator and graphic designer in Seattle, WA. See her work at daberkodesign.com.
Embroidered Skirt • Chelsea’s 224 Trade St., Greer • 864.879.7104
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Januaryw2010greenville
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“Who’s Stefanie?”
I
Janine Boldrin Gwinn
met Stefanie on a Facebook video. She wore cowboy boots and a pink feather boa and a blond wig with long braids. Stefanie was married to a Marine and her shirts read “FU Cancer,” “Today I Make Cancer My Bitch,” and “Cancer Warrior Babe.” Stefanie’s Facebook story ended in eight minutes and 23 seconds. My story began the week before with an anesthesiologist that looked like Michael Douglas and a surgeon with a Sharpie—a preventative mastectomy. The possibility of cancer had been haunting me for three years ever since I found out I carried the breast and ovarian cancer gene: Happy birthday! You’re 35. You don’t have cancer, but you should get your breasts removed. The doctors were foreboding; my cancer was probably coming soon. But there was soon and there was Stefanie. On St. Patrick’s Day with bright green hair and shamrock sunglasses. At a fundraiser with her husband. Finishing a race. Shopping for wigs. Halloween with her children. Blowing out candles on her birthday. At a dance. In a play. Living life right until the end. My life was on hold. For two months, I defined everything by whether it was going to happen Before Foobies (fake boobies) or After Foobies: Next time I go to the dentist, they will be gone. Next time I get my hair cut, they will be gone. Next time I take my son to school, they will be gone. Tomorrow they will be gone. Today they will be gone. They are gone. I know I am not alone. There is an online message board filled with women who have the same gene I do. They talk about the exact operation that I had done. And they discuss the decision, the procedure, the aftermath and after the aftermath. I was supposed to feel relief at not having to worry about breast cancer. I was supposed to be glad “to be on the other side.” Instead, I was in a lot of pain and wondering if I did the right thing. You can’t get cancer in silicone! was my pre-surgery mantra. “Why are you crying?” my husband asked from across the table. “Stefanie died,” I told him as her favorite quote scrolled across the screen. “She died of cancer.” “Who’s Stefanie?” In the hospital, there was an elderly woman whose bed was in the hallway. I walked past her as I made my required loops with my morphine, tubes and bags in tow. She was trying to sit up, trying to see, and her head would swoosh from side to side as if she was searching for someone. She rubbed the
hair from the back of her head because of her frantic searching, and in the middle of the night, she called out for someone named Henry. She woke me up. I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to find Henry, not because I felt bad for her, but because I wanted sleep. Before Foobies, I might have cared. After Foobies, I felt numb to everything and pushing the morphine button didn’t ease the pain. There were three reasons for getting rid of my breasts: my seven-year-old, my three-year-old and my 11-month-old. I wanted to be around to see my children grow up. But when I got home, I looked at the kids through the car window and didn’t know what I would say. I couldn’t be their mommy right now. I couldn’t be anything to anyone right now. I eased myself out of the car and onto my feet. I didn’t know if I could make it from the road to the house: back to my life. “Mommy needs to get upstairs,” my husband said, parting the way so I could get inside. “She doesn’t feel well. Sorry, guys. She needs to get to bed.” I walked past them with a soft hello. No kisses, no hugs, no Henry. I went to bed. My body craved sleep, and I couldn’t get enough of it. When I crawled out of bed, all I could think about was when I would go back to bed. Time crept by while everyone else made life happen. After Foobies, I couldn’t taste food, my gums hurt, sitting up from bed was impossible and there was pain. And doubt. And after a week, there was Stefanie staring back at me from Facebook. What was I supposed to do about her? She made me look bad. Like a coward! She would have given anything to be in my situation. To have known about her cancer before it even happened, to have the choice of when and where instead of letting cancer creep up and kill her at such a young age. Stefanie and her cowboy boots. Stefanie and her wigs. Stefanie and her husband who could no longer sit across the table from her. I put Stefanie’s name into the Facebook people search. There was her page. Even though I couldn’t view it, I imagined that it was being filled by people telling Stefanie how much they loved her, how much of a difference she made in their lives, and how much she meant to them. I imagined that Stefanie would tell me to get over it. To get back to my life. To get back to living. Stefanie was someone who gathered up her surgeons and convinced them to flip the middle finger at the camera, to screw cancer. She would tell me that I made a choice. To kiss my kids more often. To believe in myself. And to put on a pair of cowboy boots.
Janine Boldrin Gwinn has been bonding with her new foobies since the beginning of October. In addition to crafting her Facebook updates, Janine spends her time writing short stories and enjoying her family. 12
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“There are lots of people in this world who spend so much time watching their health that they haven’t the time to enjoy it.”
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I don’t regret...
Lisa M. Rogers | Stalker “I don’t regret stalking my husband Prevo,” laughs Lisa. Dazzled by the bull rider she met at a county bar, Lisa broke her own rule and slipped him her number. Confused and ticked off when he didn’t call, Lisa did what any righteous gal would do—she had a friend of a friend track the fickle cowboy down. It’s been 15 years since she showed up on Prevo’s doorstep—they celebrated their 13th wedding anniversary last month—and Lisa still has no regrets. “Prevo is my best friend, my partner in crime, and the love of my life. When he deployed to Iraq in 2005, it broke my heart, but we endured a 15-month deployment and are closer than before.” Nowadays the couple resides on four acres in the country, enough room for Lisa’s booming business, cactusandivy.com, and to throw one hell of a party. “Life is good!” says Lisa. Photo by John Fowler
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I don’t regret...
Selena Henderson | Planner “I don’t regret giving birth, even if it didn’t go according to plans,” says Selena. In 2006, Selena was confidently working her life plan. Education? Check. Career? Check. Marriage to soul mate, Koddie? Check. Next on the list: Children. Told that it might take a while to get pregnant after going off the pill, Selena even planned on earning her Master’s during the wait. As luck would have it, Selena started her studies and pregnancy at the same time. “Oh well,” she thought. “It’s still a planned pregnancy!” Healthy baby girl Morgan arrived on schedule, but afterwards Selena’s uterus was unable to contract and she was wheeled into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. When she regained consciousness three days later, Selena learned of the hysterectomy that saved her life, but altered future plans for more children. Would she do it again? In her self-published journal, The Last Born First, the proud mom writes, “Yes, I would do it again in a skinny minute. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Photo by John Fowler
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I don’t regret...
Emily Clarke | Path Finder “I don’t regret quitting my job—in the middle of a recession—to pursue my dream of being a full-time artist,” says Emily. Some may call her crazy, but for Emily, leaving her career behind at a top advertising agency to open Emily Clarke Studio was a no-brainer. “I think about painting from the moment I wake up in the morning, until I go to sleep at night,” she says. Although the timing may not have been quite right, and the going sometimes tough, Emily still has no regrets. “Running my own business, and an art business at that, is the hardest work I have ever done, not to mention frightening. But I get a thrill out of telling people what I do, and answering the question, ‘And you make a living doing that?’” See why at emilyclarkestudio.com. Photo by John Fowler
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HE’S SO ORIGINAL
Dave Ball is Piping in the Pinot While attending a conference in San Francisco, local attorney Dave became intrigued when a colleague began pouring his own custom wine. Later that week, after tasting Pinot Noir wines in Carmel, Dave was struck with a radical notion. Why not create a Pinot pipeline from California to the Carolinas? The idea soon ripened into Dave’s own line of wine appropriately called Calicaro, a mash up of CALIfornia and CAROlina. “We are making exceptional single vineyard designated handcrafted Pinot Noir and Cabernet Sauvignon sourced from some of the best vineyards in California. It is true micro-lot handmade wine, made literally one barrel at a time,” says the hands-on vintner. Find out more at calicaro.com. What do you love about skirt! magazine? “How ‘bout that it rhymes with flirt? And dirt. Wine people love good dirt.” How do you feel wearing a skirt? “The things I do to sell a little vino. It’s gonna take years of therapy to get over this. Or just some good Calicaro wine.” Photo by John Fowler taken at Rick Erwins
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I never intended to have an affair with a married man, but who does?
W Ta m m i e P a i n t e r
hy is he calling again? I’m not complaining, I love the sound of his voice and everything about him, but his wife is home. So why is he calling for the second time this morning? “Hello,” I answer. “Hello?” A pause during which my stomach drops to my feet. “Who is—” the question trails off as she says, “Sorry, I must have the wrong number.” But her voice tells me she knows she didn’t misdial. So this is it. The moment of truth. We’ve been caught. I never intended to have an affair with a married man, but who does? As women we’re geared to see “the other woman” as a horrible home-wrecking wench and a moniker we should strive to never wear. In movies, books, and television she is the crazy, lonely, over-sexed woman with no morals. But sometimes even good girls get saddled with the title. We began as friends. Friends who were too attracted to each other and too well matched in personality, humor and interests to remain friends for very long. Trips to the beach, afternoons gabbing over pizza, Sunday morning bike rides that never lasted long enough and finding ways to see and talk to each other as much as possible became ingrained before we ever decided to have sex. We were in love long before we became lovers. And that was the hard part. Were it “just sex” or had we not clicked so perfectly, it would have been easy to send him back to his wife each day and simply enjoy the pleasure while carrying on with my carefree single life. Were it just physical it wouldn’t have torn my heart apart those occasional Sundays when he couldn’t join me on our bike ride or to think of him going home to her. Unfortunately, the physical portion of the complicated relationship came after the plunge into love and, as tends to happen, the physical bit only made the emotions rage stronger. I fell into the problem the other woman is not supposed to desire, speak of, or admit to: I wanted more.
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The Other Woman
I knew my role. I was supposed to realize what I had gotten myself into and accept he would never fully be mine. I wasn’t supposed to— wasn’t allowed to—want more. So I never told him outright for fear of scaring him off. He’d said in the beginning he couldn’t leave her, but his increasing indiscretion in public and displays of dissatisfaction at home made it clear he too wanted more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls. He spoke of regretting his marriage to her and how the misgivings he’d experienced at the wedding shouldn’t have been ignored. “We aren’t even smiling in our wedding photos,” he often lamented. She was never mentioned by name, as if it were only a pronoun looming over our future together. Were we a novel or movie, people would be putting the book down or walking out of the theater because our love and desire was so cliché. It was embarrassing to try to put into words how I felt about him and he about me, because I knew the expressions I used sounded like every other “other woman” who has gotten in too deep. But it was genuine. His words to me weren’t simple utterances to keep me having sex with him, and I had no doubt about my feelings for him. This wasn’t a case of I-want-what-I-can’t-have. No, trite as it seems, I’d met my soul mate. We matched in every way, we completed each other’s thoughts and sentences, and we couldn’t love each other with more passion without exploding. Over the months the conviction we were meant to be together overwhelmed us. We knew we wanted each other forever, we just couldn’t admit we wanted to make it happen. Until the day of the phone call. For me it became a long string of hours filled with waiting and doubt. When I saw him at work that Saturday he never told me what he intended to do and for the first time I couldn’t look in his eyes and know exactly what he was thinking. Once his workday was over I didn’t hear from him. I spent the rest of the day not knowing if he had gone home and resolved things with her or if I would ever hear from him again. With the phone now silent, I could only assume it was over. The next morning was Sunday and I rode our familiar route hoping to find him around each curve or corner. I never did. I imagined the doorbell ringing and me answering to find him at my step with bags in hand, but this never happened either. I spent the day in tearful misery at the knowledge I’d lost the strongest love I’d ever had. Finally, after a torturously long Sunday, the phone rang. When I answered the phone I didn’t know what to expect. My pessimism prepared for the worst. I’d never been happier to be wrong. “I told her. I told her everything,” he gushed. I couldn’t speak with my mind numbed from the crying and wondering why he hadn’t called sooner. It hadn’t been an enjoyable 24 hours for him either. He didn’t want to admit to what he’d done to her. The option was there to weasel out of it and tell her the lines got crossed somehow when she hit redial that morning or to confess and go to counseling. But he told the truth and said their marriage was at its end. Playing the pretense of the happy couple for one more day for her parents’ sake, he’d been trapped in the ordeal of a Sunday at the in-laws. She didn’t cry or get angry at his revelation; she simply arranged the best day for him to move out and, within two weeks, started openly dating the person she’d been seeing before and during the marriage. Their marriage was over long before that Saturday morning phone call, but neither had wanted to face the fact. “We’re going to be together,” he blurted into the receiver, his voice full of enthusiasm. Four years later we still are. We’ve been married for three of those years with an unimaginable devotion. I occasionally have doubts that he’ll do the same to me or that he’ll regret turning his back on his old life. But he swears with a sincere conviction that neither of these things will ever happen. He shines as he says he knew from the day we met that he’d found the person he was meant to be with and his only regret is the manner in which we had to spend our first nine months together. And he continually brags how our wedding photos show us smiling from ear to ear. Odd as it is, I scorn news of celebrities or acquaintances cheating on their spouses, and nowhere in my personal morals do I think adultery is okay. I don’t recommend it. It’s emotionally stressful and someone usually ends up hurt in the end, but I don’t for one second regret my time as the other woman. Tammie Painter lives near Portland, Oregon, with her husband and collection of other beasts. Her work has been accepted by several magazines and is regularly featured on the website “Powder Room Graffiti.” She is currently working on publishing her first novel. skirt.com
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?
[ The F -Wor d | Fe min ists Sp e a k Out ]
Is There a rIghT Way?
Therese Shechter
“I’ve more Than made up
“I really do hold to a personal belief that sex is something special to be shared only with someone who is truly a soul mate...and, let’s just say that at this point in my life I still haven’t found that ‘special someone.’” TM, 41, from my blog.
�
I, too, was a late bloomer sex-wise. Growing up, I had bought into the whole magical/true love/special someone scenario which, for me, translated into losing my virginity to a handsome, med school-bound boyfriend. He failed to materialize, and by the time I was 23, I was tired of waiting. So I said screw it, and had sex with a guy I had gone out with all of three times who made some smooth moves on me one night in his basement apartment. So what if it was awkward and we never saw each other again? I was no longer a virgin and I was thrilled. Much to my surprise, though, I felt totally unchanged by the experience. I didn’t even bleed—my hymen was as blasé as the rest of me. I had saved my “precious gift” for this? I’ve more than made up for lost time, but I’m still fascinated by how people make their sexual debuts. Is there a right way to lose your virginity? A right reason? A right person? I’m making a documentary to explore these questions called How to Lose Your Virginity. I also write a blog about all things virgin, from the abstinence-only movement to virginity auctions to artificial hymens. Several months ago, my readers began sending in stories about their own experiences around virginity, which turned into a series of popular posts called “First Person.” Natalie, 26, was one of the first to contribute, and I relate to her feelings: “Around my 20th birthday, I began to feel ashamed about my lack of sexual experience. The emotional baggage that went along with feeling unwanted and ‘different/defective’ was much more damaging than the physical act of never having had sex.” I cringe when I think about all the times I nodded and smiled knowingly when college friends talked about sex. At the age of 23, I believed I was the oldest living virgin and everyone around me was having fabulous sex with their devoted boyfriends. In retrospect, I’m sure many were as full of shit as I was. Rosie, 21, echoes the feelings of several women I know: “An older man was willing to give me some attention and make me feel special. It was hard to resist even though I knew the situation was really wrong. I knew I was being taken advantage of, but it was nice to feel wanted.” I think “First Person” is popular partly because of the wide variety of experiences and opinions about virginity. We’re fed a lot of crap about what our first times should be like, whether it’s the promise of perfect wedding night sex after a life of abstinence, losing it on prom night with your football player boyfriend, or going wild on spring break while the cameras roll. Reality is something else entirely, so it’s no wonder many of us feel abnormal and then are too embarrassed to talk about it. I’m so grateful for this post from Lilith, 21: “My first sexual experience was date rape, and after recovering from the incident I found I continued to identify as a virgin, partly because I didn’t feel attached to my body at the time. At times I wish my first time was all magical like I was led to believe, but I don’t regret it. It was what it was, I can’t change it, and it has led me to where I am now, having sex with someone I love.” Dana, 26, was inspired to make her own sexual debut after reading “First Person.” She then shared her own story with the blog. I wish I could have read her post back when I was contemplating my first time: “Having sex was just another step along the gradual slope of sexual experience. I feel freer now to pursue sex so I want to go out there, find people I like, and have sex with them and enjoy myself. That’s my mission now.”
losT TIme, buT I’m sTIll fascInaTed by hoW people make TheIr sexual debuTs.”
Therese Shechter is a filmmaker, writer and activist based in Brooklyn. She tweets at @TrixieFilms, and her blog “The American Virgin” is at theamericanvirgin.blogspot.com. More info on her work is at trixiefilms.com. 26
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an invitation to the American Red Cross of Upstate South Carolina’s 2010 Rio Carni-
clinical trials, an anti-depressant has been dubbed “Viagra for women.” The pill
inadvertently improved sexual desire and
satisfaction in women.
val-themed Fine Wine Auction on Jan. 23.This formal affair with flair includes wine tastings, silent and live auctions, dinner, dancing, and cocktails. redcross wineauction.com
Empower Yourself! Safe Women Safe Kids offers classes for women and children in self-defense to
u Texas teen Mackenzie
v A report for an Australian state
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Safeguard the Trail! New threats
McCollum was barred from playing on her
Education Department
school’s volleyball team
calls for teachers to
after she found out she
be trained in gender, violence and sexual health issues so they would be comfortable discussing “taboo” issues in compulsory
was pregnant. Her high school administration required a doctor’s note to clear her to play, but the coach then cut her playing time and
feminism programs in a
disclosed the pregnancy
major push to prevent
to all of her teammates.
violence against females.
The US Department
help prevent abuse, abduction, rape, and
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of Education is now
w South African runner
investigating the school
Caster Semenya will
for Title IX violations.
retain her gold medal,
title and prize money for
v ABC canceled Adam
her August victory at the
Lambert’s appearance
women’s 800 meter race
on Good Morning
at the world track and
America after his man-
field championships. The
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at the American Music
will remain confidential.
Awards, but then booked
to the Appalachian
Chris Brown, who was
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When you join the Ap-
felony assault of fellow
palachian Trail Con-
performing artist Rihanna.
servancy, you become a member of the
w After Sarah Palin said
distinguished group of
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to preserving and
Glenn Beck in 2012, the
protecting the
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the idea of a Beck-Palin ticket, but not a PalinBeck ticket. He then went on to tell her to get back in the kitchen: “Go shoot a bear, make some stew, I’m hungry in here.” Sexism is sexism, no matter your politics. skirt.com
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My husband and I had never been parents before, and now we were about to meet a child we’d never change, feed or soothe.
Heather Philpot
T
ake photographs of a dead child? No way. To me, it was creepy, exploitative and completely out of the question. I could not stop envisioning scenes typical of forensic crime lab dramas. Grayhued cadavers placed on shiny tables in a windowless, disinfected room. I was already a hormonal mess, sleepdeprived and completely traumatized by what was about to happen. First of all, this is not at all how I had foreseen my first childbirth experience. I was supposed to be at least eight months along with a lost mucous plug or ruptured membranes. I was supposed to be fat with rosy cheeks (like Mrs. Claus, only with anxiety and contractions). My husband and I had never been parents before, and now we were about to meet a child we’d never change, feed or soothe. Our pastor told us that our pain was that of mourning our dashed hopes and anticipated joys. I just wanted this stillbirth nightmare to be over so I could go home and scream at the top of my lungs and pack away the crib and blankets. I wanted to hide in my bedroom and reflect upon why I was not meant to be a mother. I even felt like a disappointment to the labor and delivery staff in that I could not produce what so many thousands before me had. My arrival at the hospital was like that of any normal expectant mother for a scheduled induction. I wore house socks and held my husband’s quivering hand. We entered the business office and received identification bracelets. We waited in a stark white room with a wall clock and a barrage of television infomercials declaring the merits of Magic Bullets, OxiClean and bareMinerals. When the doctor finally delivered her, I was afraid to look. After all, she was arriving so early, with so many internal abnormalities of which we were already aware, that I thought she might appear alien-like. Nevertheless, when my very first flesh and blood production was placed lifeless in my arms, she looked like a sleeping cherub. With the pink tone of life slowly fading from her face, she appeared strangely content with her unfortunate fate, as if she had maturely accepted it long before
we had. It was difficult knowing that for so long (six months to be exact), I had essentially been her life support (her ventilator, if you will). According to the doctors, I wasn’t doing her any favors. I held her and stared at her for a very long time. I talked to her. My husband rocked her. We most definitely did not want the video camera. But several family members were really pushing the photograph issue. “That way you’ll never look back and say, ‘I wish I had.’” “That way you will know that you did every thing you could to honor her.” But I was afraid to take her picture. The mere suggestion felt like an invasion of privacy. Would we not be disrespecting the deceased? I began contemplating the meaning of a “snapshot.” What purpose does it serve? I suppose it’s how we, as humans, attempt to hard-wire a memory. Among other things, we also use photos for evidence, protection, justification and art. Did I wish to place on a back burner in my mind the physical and emotional despair of this day? Or did I need to prove to myself what a glorious part in the circle of life I had played? Granted, my most significant role in the universe thus far would be short-lived. However, I had indeed become a parent. I was the only female who would ever nurture this one-pound, 15-ounce being. Even though life had failed her, I was still a proud mother. I describe the experience as the single best and worst day of my life. My child had not lived, but I had met her. That was enough. And we did take photographs—moments that to this day have only been witnessed by my husband and very few family members. I even made a small keepsake album that I keep hidden away. From time to time, I will glance at these sacred images even today, six years later. Looking back now, I don’t know why I was so opposed to taking these photographs. No, they did not include Santa, her teammates, pets or birthday cakes, but they are ours to touch and stare at when we need proof of that wonderful nightmare. I can marvel at how her features resemble those of her younger sisters, who are still too young to comprehend her tragic fate. I now do not know how I would cope without those photographs. I shudder to think that my fear of the unknown nearly destroyed my firstborn’s opportunity to achieve a physical permanence within her mother’s life. And that would have been my greatest tragedy.
Heather Philpot is a freelance writer who lives in Travelers Rest, S.C. She can be reached at cjtig71@bellsouth.net. 28
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Last year as Miss Teen South Carolina
Courtney Millikin Cox
International 2009, Courtney championed one of her favorite causes, the Special Olympics. “I would love to get rid of the word ‘retarded’,” she says. “People who use this word in a derogatory manner have never worked with or met these amazing special education students.” This bubbly, goal-oriented, and fashionable college freshman also has dreams of creating her own non-profit someday.
“I want to clothes for little or no cost for women be exactly and teenage girls in need.” like my mom when I grow up. She is beautiful inside and out.” “I’d like to provide special occasion
Photo by Josh Norris
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“I love these bright
paper poms. The pops of color are a perfect remedy to the gray days of January. Caitilin, skirt! Art Director
welove 1 “Benefit’s Talk to the Tan facial tint with tan-i-tude is a surefire way to keep my summer glow going throughout the winter months!” Angela, Director of Sales
2 “These foo dogs from Porta Portese on Ram Cat Alley just had to come home with me! They will be a fabulous pop of color on my bookshelves!” Kathryn, Sales Executive
“This winter, I’m mad for plaid. Gwen Stefani’s line, Harajuka Lovers, offers the ‘Airlie’ Mary Jane Pump, a sexy plaid shoe sure to pump up any wardrobe!” Sheril, Editor
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4 “My Memento Mori earrings from Extasia.com are carved of fossil ivory from ancient Mammoth ivory. Sic transit gloria mundi.” Nikki, skirt! Publisher
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TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN
Downtown Julie Brown | Realtor My work: Real Estate Agent, JOY Real Estate Co., Greenville SC.
The one item that has changed my life: GPS navigation.
Words I live by: “Don’t regret the things you did, regret the things you didn’t do when you had the chance.”
The most important thing I ever lost: Just recently my cat Simon, however he was found a week later…safe, sound and groomed!
I’m thinking about: Getting more organized.
Something most people don’t know about me: I have a twin brother.
I love: The night sky, the silence of snow, and the blues.
The worst idea I’ve ever had: Sun-In Hair Lightener. Hey, I was only 12 at the time!
I am most proud of: Turning down alimony.
Best one-liner you ever heard: The trouble with life is there’s no background music.
Photo by Sheril Bennett Turner 32
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At the end of a long day, the first thing I want to do is: Take off my shoes, my jewelry, and my bra. Always... remember negativity is like kudzu and will take over if given the chance. Never... think something is outside the realm of possibility! I wish… for more hours in the day! Read more at greenville.skirt.com
browse
This issue of skirt! was put together to the sounds of: American River Jonathan Elias
One Fast Move Or I’m Gone: Music From Kerouac’s Big Sur Benjamin Gibbard & Jay Farrar Careful What You Wish For Jonatha Brooke
Songs That Made Woody Allen Movies Great Various Artists
Page Turners The Last Olympian Rick Riordan
My daughter can’t put these books down! This is the final volume in a five-book series about twelve-year old Percy Jackson, who finds out he’s the son of Poseidon. The fantasy books are based around Greek lore but use modern-day locales as a setting: Olympus is now on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building and the Underworld is located in Hollywood. Caitilin McPhillips, Art Director
I Didn’t Work This Hard Just to Get Married: Successful Single Black Women Speak Out Nika C. Beamon
It seems absurd that women today are still judged by their ability to land a man. Although this collection of candid essays is written for and by women of color, I think its message will resonate with all women. Don’t settle just to settle. It’s quite all right to be single, successful, and happy. Sheril Bennett Turner, Editor
At a Glance Taschen’s New York Angelika Taschen
It’s more expensive to visit NYC than buy this book, but not by much. As big and glossy as a Manhattan ego, it’s a tome to turn your friends green with envy. And that’s so New York. skirt.com
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planetnikki [ a v isua l journa l ]
Along with my Kindle, Windsor & Newton travel watercolors are my latest obsession. Small enough for my purse—just add water and play.
This is my idea of the perfect man... sensitive, smart and totally unattainable. I’ll admire him from afar at his workshop in Charleston in February.
“anticipation” On my way to meet a friend whose significant other left her flat, I wondered why our hearts just keep splitting open like green wood even though we’re supposedly dry tinder now. For my own part, even though I have a bone density test, shingles vaccine, pneumonia shot, colonoscopy and long-term care insurance policy under my belt, I am still the same 16-year-old girl who lay awake every night with my heart pounding over the possibility of love standing underneath my bedroom window wearing a khaki windbreaker and a scar on the side of his face. And I hope I always will be.
When I took a writing workshop in California, I spent as much time drawing as I did writing. I love the work Sea Shepherd does in harassing Japanese whalers. Along with Mountain Justice, they’re my favorite eco warriors.
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