Please Don't Leave Me - Pink

I don't know if I can yell any louder
How many times have I kicked you out of here?
Or said something insulting.
I can be so mean when I wanna be.
I am capable of really anything.
I can cut you into pieces.
But my heart is broken.

Please don't leave me.
Please don't leave me.
I always say how I don't need you,
but it's always gonna come right back to this.
Please don't leave me.


Go Saints

This article is making the rounds, both on the blogs and by email. I admit it, I teared up a few times when I read it.

Saints the Soul of America's City

Go Saints!


Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Seven

E: Look, Mommy--I made you a snowman at school today!

Me: Wow! That's really nice! Can I keep it forever and ever?

E: Why do you want to keep it forever and ever?

Me: So that someday, when you're all grown up, I can look at it and think about when you were a little girl.

E: Oh. So you want to keep it until you're really, really old?

Me: Uh, yes.

E. Okay. But I want it back when you die.


Who Dat?

I became a Saints fan in 2001, in the unlikeliest of places--my hometown of St. Simons Island, Georgia. Kenny and I were living there, during the brief experiment in which he tried life outside of New Orleans. As anyone who is or loves a native New Orleanian knows, they can't stay away too long--they always come back, eventually.

Kenny and I didn't last very long in Georgia. Kenny tried to like it, and we had a lot of fun along the way. We spent a lot of time at the beach, which I had missed desperately. We made several good friends--people that I hadn't known growing up there and that I'm still friends with today. We got married in the chapel I'd always hoped to marry in.

But there were just too many things that were foreign to him, like getting off of work at midnight and being unable to buy beer. Or last call. Or not being able to buy vodka at the drugstore. No Mardi Gras, no Jazzfest, no crawfish, no where y'at?

Why I Should Buy Stock in Fire Extinguishers

Tonight, my husband decided that our toaster oven is disgusting and in need of a good cleaning. I think that's an excellent idea, and I'm all for someone else cleaning something in this house. But I'm a little bit worried about his technique, which consisted of thoroughly spraying the entire inside of the toaster with oven cleaner and then hosing down the entire thing, including the heating elements, the electrical cord, etc. I think I'll go make some toast now.

To those of you who aren't regular readers, this is the same man who set himself on fire last year by deciding that pouring gasoline on top of the lit fire inside of the chiminea that Santa brought him was a good idea. That didn't go so well, either. Think lots of flames and a midnight trip to the drug store for burn cream.

P.S. If you ever come to my house, you might need to know that the fire extinguisher is under the kitchen sink.

A Question for the Ages

Along the lines of the old "If a tree falls in the woods" question: if New Orleans City Hall is only open four days a week rather than five, would anyone really notice? And would it really make a difference? Would it be possible for the majority of the staff at City Hall to be even more inefficient and incompetent than they already are? I, for one, don't think it will make much of a difference.

And also? C. Ray? Screw you and your race baiting. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way to Dallas.


The Little Cheerleader

A cheer, made up by Emmeline:

We are the dolphins.
We're going to beat you.
No, you're not.
Go Saints!


30 Minutes with a Four-Year-Old, or Short Attention Span Theater

Last night, during a viewing of Merry Madagascar, I decided to record everything Emmeline said in the 20-or-so minutes it takes to watch a pre-recorded, 30-minute show. This is for those of you who think I'm exaggerating when I say that if Emmeline's awake, she's talking.

8:00 p.m.
E: Mommy, why do they have bananas?
Me: I guess so they can eat them, sweetie.

8:01 p.m.
E: Mommy, how did they make that balloon?
Me: You'll learn that in chemistry class, dear.
E: Look, Mommy! Melman's head is on fire!