End of an Era

Well, it's official. As of June 28th (which is also my birthday), my husband will no longer be a restaurant manager and I will no longer be a restaurant widow. I find this news both exciting and terrifying.

Exciting because for the first time in our almost 17 years together, my husband will have a somewhat normal 9 to 5 job and weekends off. Which means that we might can do things together like normal couples. Like go out of town for a 3-day weekend. Or have dinner together at night. Or, I don't know, him stay home on a Thursday night while I go out or something.

Terrifying because for the first time in our almost 17 years together, my husband will have a somewhat normal 9 to 5 job and weekends off. Which means that we'll be spending lots of time together. And that he'll spend more time complaining about my choice in television shows (goodbye, Game of Thrones; hello, Antiques Roadshow). Also terrifying because of the quite substantial paycut he's agreed to until the commissions start coming in.

Terrifying in general. And exciting. Who's up for drinks on

*You may have to buy.


Trailer Hell

I can't decide whether this article posted on The Lens today regarding the re-emergence of Katrina FEMA trailers in the areas affected by the recent tornadoes makes me more angry or sad. I hate it that people are having to resort to living in those death-traps again, and it brings back unpleasant memories of 2006.

My sister-in-law and her two sons lived in a FEMA trailer for about 18 months after Katrina, while they waited for the insurance settlement on their totaled home to finally come through. Her boys had never had any health problems before, but once they moved into the trailer, they were each taken to the hospital at least 5 or 6 times with bloody noses, coughs, and bronchitis. You can't tell me those problems weren't caused by formaldehyde. Fortunately, the've been fine since they moved out of the trailer.

And now, a whole new set of people is getting ready to experience the joys of living in a tin can. God forbid we give them some decent, safe temporary housing.


The D-Word

So, I've officially been on a diet for 30 days now. Coca-cola (aka, nectar of the gods), in all of its pure, sugary deliciousness, has not crossed my lips since April, except in its highly inferior diet form. (And no, Coca-cola Zero does not taste like real coke, no matter what any of you say.)

I've learned to live within my Weight Watchers points and, to some extent, I've learned to live with being constantly hungry. I've never really been about the food anyway--don't get me wrong, I love good food. I love potatoes. And red meat. And good seafood. A medium-rare filet mignon? Nom, nom, nom. But I've never really cared about desserts or snacking. Give me lunch, dinner, and a few drinks and I'm good. I'm having to relearn how to live, as Oprah-ish as that sounds. When I have a stressful day at work now, I don't immediately go for beer or wine (although I really, really want to). I've learned to let alcohol go during the week, for the most part. I won't lie--I know exactly how many points there are in one can of Miller Lite or one glass of red wine. And there have been a couple of nights (including tonight) where I've foregone dinner so I can have some beer instead.


Left Behind

I called my friend Dorothy tonight, who just had her second child about two months ago. We hadn't spoken since Mardi Gras when she was last in New Orleans, hugely pregnant and ready to get the whole damn thing over with.

We've played phone tag for the past couple of months and I haven't tried too hard to follow up, to be quite honest. I've told myself that I've stayed away and haven't tried to track her down because I can only imagine how busy she is, mothering both a newborn and a two-year-old. And that's the truth. But there has been a deeper truth to it, an uglier truth, to be quite honest, in that I've been somewhat reticent to call her for fear of finding that my old friend has changed and moved on into a world I will most likely never inhabit. And she has moved on into the world of two children, but I'm greatly relieved to find that our rapport seems unchanged.

It's stupid, I know, but a part of me looks at it as a loss. A friend has moved on to something I probably won't experience, and my mind and heart prepare for the distance that comes from it. Like when I was still single and childless and all of my friends were getting married and having babies. They had moved on into the world of motherhood while I was left behind. They knew things I didn't, had feelings I had never felt. And then we all joined this club together, the one where you know what two-year-olds are really like (and the one where, once you have a three-year-old, you long to have the two-year-old back).