I, along with quite a few New Orleanians, I think, have a few reservations about your choice of Ronal Serpas for police chief. He may be a little too old-guardy, a little too entrenched in the way things were done before, without even getting into some of what's been unearthed regarding his days at the NOPD.
However, I would like to commend you for two excellent jobs well done, at least in my book, during your first couple of weeks in office.
First, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting rid of all of those ridiculous, annoying, "Our Recovery in Progress" signs that were spread throughout the city in what was obviously an attempt at nothing more than self-congratulatory PR for C. Ray, since those signs almost invariably spotlighted some minor public works project that had absolutely nothing to do with the aftermath of Katrina and the Federal Flood. Could anyone explain to me how minor sidewalk patching along Audubon Place helped the recovery effort in any way, shape or form? I realize, Mitch, that you may have just had these signs removed to replace C. Ray's name with yours. But I'm going to take you at your word that we're no longer going to say we're in the recovery phase and are now going to move on to the creation phase.
Secondly, I would really, really, really like to thank you for demanding an apology from this jackass. I'm sure the apology was forced by his boss and was in no way sincere, but still, what an ass. How can you live in New Orleans for six years and then spout that kind of ignorant crap, even if you DO work for Fox? Chris Myers, you unfeeling, racist f*ck, may you and your family never face a natural or man-made disaster and need empathy from others. I hope that there's a special form of karma awaiting you.
Anyway, thanks, Mitch.
Sincerely, ALM
5.21.2010
Deja Vu
"We will do what it takes. We will stay as long as it takes to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives."
President George W. Bush, September 15, 2005
"Your government will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to stop this crisis."
President Barack Obama, May 3, 2010
President George W. Bush, September 15, 2005
"Your government will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to stop this crisis."
President Barack Obama, May 3, 2010
5.20.2010
FU/BP
As a resident of Louisiana, I'm so sick about this oil spill that I can’t even begin to tell you.
BP is still sticking to its initial “guesstimate” that approximately 5,000 barrels a day of oil are spewing forth into the Gulf, despite numerous reports saying that the real amount of oil being released is more likely in the range of 56,000-80,000 barrels per day. Even if you go with the lower estimate of 56K barrels a day, that means more than 2.3 MILLION gallons. A day.
BP’s CEO, Tony Hayward, has had the gall to try to downplay the damage being caused to the Gulf. "The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume," Hayward said.
But thanks to the “hot tap,” the smaller pipe that BP has shoved into the gaping pipe that is hemorrhaging oil, we’re saved, right? BP is proudly reporting today that the “hot tap” is now siphoning off 5,000 barrels of oil per day. However, as BP has maintained all along that only 5,000 gallons of oil a day have been leaking, and significant quantities of oil are STILL gushing out, this puts them in a bit of a quandary. You can watch a live feed of the oil leak here.
BP is still sticking to its initial “guesstimate” that approximately 5,000 barrels a day of oil are spewing forth into the Gulf, despite numerous reports saying that the real amount of oil being released is more likely in the range of 56,000-80,000 barrels per day. Even if you go with the lower estimate of 56K barrels a day, that means more than 2.3 MILLION gallons. A day.
BP’s CEO, Tony Hayward, has had the gall to try to downplay the damage being caused to the Gulf. "The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume," Hayward said.
But thanks to the “hot tap,” the smaller pipe that BP has shoved into the gaping pipe that is hemorrhaging oil, we’re saved, right? BP is proudly reporting today that the “hot tap” is now siphoning off 5,000 barrels of oil per day. However, as BP has maintained all along that only 5,000 gallons of oil a day have been leaking, and significant quantities of oil are STILL gushing out, this puts them in a bit of a quandary. You can watch a live feed of the oil leak here.
5.06.2010
Stand by Me
My brother-in-law and his family were in town for JazzFest last weekend, and we spent one of the days they were here just wandering around in the Quarter. It was a fabulous weekend for it--a wonderful breeze blowing in from the Gulf, warm--not hot--weather, Pimm's cups from the Napoleon House, and the most amazing amount of street musicians out that I've seen in a long time in the Quarter.
On just about every street we walked down, there was an awesome musician playing. We saw a group of teenagers who were right up there with Rebirth in their brass band skills. We spent about 30 minutes and $30 in tips watching them. We saw a funky group playing in Jackson Square with a clarinet, a violin, a keyboard, and a drum set.
And then on Royal Street, of course, we saw Grandpa Elliott, whom I love, and who is now a lot more famous thanks to Playing for Change. I had a nice little chat with Grandpa Elliott, and of course, got talked into buying a copy of his new CD. He's quite the salesman. Everyone has seen this video at least a dozen times now, but I still love it, along with the rest of the Playing for Change DVD.
On just about every street we walked down, there was an awesome musician playing. We saw a group of teenagers who were right up there with Rebirth in their brass band skills. We spent about 30 minutes and $30 in tips watching them. We saw a funky group playing in Jackson Square with a clarinet, a violin, a keyboard, and a drum set.
And then on Royal Street, of course, we saw Grandpa Elliott, whom I love, and who is now a lot more famous thanks to Playing for Change. I had a nice little chat with Grandpa Elliott, and of course, got talked into buying a copy of his new CD. He's quite the salesman. Everyone has seen this video at least a dozen times now, but I still love it, along with the rest of the Playing for Change DVD.
4.30.2010
Oil and Water
Jesus, what a mess this is. In a lot of ways, it really does feel like a replay of Katrina. We seem to have all of the necessary acts, including a catastrophic threat lurking in the Gulf, a too-slow response by the Federal government, plenty of everyone-remain-calm patronizing, and lots and lots of coulda-shoulda-wouldas and passing of the buck.
Yesterday, I walked outside of work and into a permeable stench in the air--it smelled like a combination of melting asphalt and diesel fuel. Gee. I wonder what that smell could be, with an oil spill the size of Jamaica 15 miles off of our coast? And then we get to hear people on the radio and television news, downplaying the stench and implying that everyone around here is working themselves into hysterics and experiencing some mass olfactory hypnosis. (But just to be on the safe side, even though we're all crazy and imagining the smell, they have DEQ monitoring the air quality.) This morning on the news, I swear I heard one of the local reporters say that the smell could be with us for the next 30-60 days. Can you imagine how lovely that will be once the real heat and humidity of summer hit us? Imagine a 90-degree, 98% humidity day with the added bonus of a reek of oil in the air. Doesn't that sound delightful?
Yesterday, I walked outside of work and into a permeable stench in the air--it smelled like a combination of melting asphalt and diesel fuel. Gee. I wonder what that smell could be, with an oil spill the size of Jamaica 15 miles off of our coast? And then we get to hear people on the radio and television news, downplaying the stench and implying that everyone around here is working themselves into hysterics and experiencing some mass olfactory hypnosis. (But just to be on the safe side, even though we're all crazy and imagining the smell, they have DEQ monitoring the air quality.) This morning on the news, I swear I heard one of the local reporters say that the smell could be with us for the next 30-60 days. Can you imagine how lovely that will be once the real heat and humidity of summer hit us? Imagine a 90-degree, 98% humidity day with the added bonus of a reek of oil in the air. Doesn't that sound delightful?
4.27.2010
Point, Georgia
In the continuing game Kenny and I like to play to decide whose home state is more embarrassing, my native state doesn't fail to disappoint as the great state of Georgia jumps on the birther bandwagon:
"[A] recent poll finds that only 58 percent of Americans say that Obama was born in the U.S. Twenty-three percent say they don't know, and 20 percent say he was born in another country."
Ah, living in the South. It never fails to disappoint. My only consolation is that the first state to pass a birther bill was Arizona. As Jon Stewart said last night, Arizona seems to be the meth lab of democracy.
"[A] recent poll finds that only 58 percent of Americans say that Obama was born in the U.S. Twenty-three percent say they don't know, and 20 percent say he was born in another country."
Ah, living in the South. It never fails to disappoint. My only consolation is that the first state to pass a birther bill was Arizona. As Jon Stewart said last night, Arizona seems to be the meth lab of democracy.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Law & Border | ||||
| ||||
4.20.2010
Hail to the Chi-Chi-Chi-Chia
I have now officially seen everything--I wonder if the "Proud to be American" chia series is made in China? And there's a Hillary chia pet, too! If you're on my Christmas gift giving list, you should be very afraid.
3.31.2010
Shit
The good news? Emmeline got accepted into the new magnet school for advanced studies in Jefferson Parish. The bad news? It's in Airline Park.
I don't think there's really any way in hell I'm going to be happy driving E out to Airline Park every day and then picking her up again in the afternoons. That is just way. Too. Far.
Kenny and I had a long talk about it tonight. Even though we're about 99.99% sure that we do NOT want to deal with getting E there and back every day, at the same time, it's very hard to just walk away from free tuition. That would be a savings of $700 per month. $700 a month we could definitely put to good use. I think Kenny is more for the idea than I am. I also think a big part of that has to do with the fact that he knows that I'd be the one responsible for getting E there and back the large majority of the time.
But as I told Kenny, I don't want to move to Airline Park. I don't want to move to Metairie. If we could have gotten E into the magnet school in Old Metairie, I would've considered that, because that would've meant we could stay in Old Jefferson. But she didn't get in there, not surprisingly.
Did I mention that I don't want to move to Airline Park? Or to Metairie? No offense to the people who live there--it's just not for me.
To be quite honest, I have my heart set on moving back into the city. To Lakeview, specifically, as I've recently discovered that there are still houses to be had at a somewhat affordable price there. (It might have something to do with all of the flooded and gutted houses that remain there.) And if we moved back into the city to Lakeview, E could go to Hynes. Or, since I'm an employee of a certain university that has priority at Lusher, she could probably go there.
But do we give up the sure thing of free tuition in Airline Park, even if I can't see myself being happy living out there? I don't want to enroll her in a school out there for a couple of years and then decide that we're moving back into the city limits and move her to yet another school. I'd rather just keep on paying tuition at her current school, even though, once again, we could really use that money. So if we move her to Airline Park, I feel like we have to be willing to move to that area. But if we don't move her there and take a gamble that we'll be able to get a house back in the city again and get her in one of the good public schools there and that falls through, then what?
Shit.
I don't think there's really any way in hell I'm going to be happy driving E out to Airline Park every day and then picking her up again in the afternoons. That is just way. Too. Far.
Kenny and I had a long talk about it tonight. Even though we're about 99.99% sure that we do NOT want to deal with getting E there and back every day, at the same time, it's very hard to just walk away from free tuition. That would be a savings of $700 per month. $700 a month we could definitely put to good use. I think Kenny is more for the idea than I am. I also think a big part of that has to do with the fact that he knows that I'd be the one responsible for getting E there and back the large majority of the time.
But as I told Kenny, I don't want to move to Airline Park. I don't want to move to Metairie. If we could have gotten E into the magnet school in Old Metairie, I would've considered that, because that would've meant we could stay in Old Jefferson. But she didn't get in there, not surprisingly.
Did I mention that I don't want to move to Airline Park? Or to Metairie? No offense to the people who live there--it's just not for me.
To be quite honest, I have my heart set on moving back into the city. To Lakeview, specifically, as I've recently discovered that there are still houses to be had at a somewhat affordable price there. (It might have something to do with all of the flooded and gutted houses that remain there.) And if we moved back into the city to Lakeview, E could go to Hynes. Or, since I'm an employee of a certain university that has priority at Lusher, she could probably go there.
But do we give up the sure thing of free tuition in Airline Park, even if I can't see myself being happy living out there? I don't want to enroll her in a school out there for a couple of years and then decide that we're moving back into the city limits and move her to yet another school. I'd rather just keep on paying tuition at her current school, even though, once again, we could really use that money. So if we move her to Airline Park, I feel like we have to be willing to move to that area. But if we don't move her there and take a gamble that we'll be able to get a house back in the city again and get her in one of the good public schools there and that falls through, then what?
Shit.
3.26.2010
Vive le Reform!
Doc from First Draft sums up my feelings about the Republican reaction to the passage of health care reform just right:
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
3.23.2010
Conversations With a Five-Year-Old, Volume One
Me: Emmeline, it's time to put your toys up and get in the bathtub.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
3.17.2010
Google Search of the Month
Sorry, faithful four readers--life keeps getting in the way of blogging. I keep thinking I have something interesting to say and then my boss throws the guidelines for yet another grant application that's due in two weeks on my desk and that's the end of any cognizant thoughts for the time being.
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
3.03.2010
Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Eight
This conversation took place while Emmeline was playing with one of my old Barbie dolls from the 70's, who is, apparently, an Orca by today's Barbie figure standards and doesn't fit into half of the new Barbie clothes.
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
3.01.2010
We Believed
If you want to know why we believed this season, if you want to know why we knew this team really was something special, this is why:
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
2.24.2010
The Week(s) In Review
So yes, I'm still alive. Kind of.
It's been a very busy couple of weeks, in between work, Mardi Gras, the Saints going to the Super Bowl, the Saints winning the Super Bowl, getting to publish a modified blog post in an online journal, going to the Saints Super Bowl parade, spring cleaning the house, etc.
Let's begin, shall we?
Work is absolutely insane right now, and I've been living, eating, and breathing it lately. I still maintain that it was highly inconsiderate of NIH to set the deadline for one grant application and three grant progress reports, all of which are 20-50 pages long, less than two weeks after Mardi Gras. Poor planning, people. I don't care if you do live in a place where Mardi Gras doesn't exist.
Recently, I introduced Emmeline to computer games. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it makes me feel less guilty when she's being babysat by the computer rather than the television when I need to do something really important, like vacuum. So anyway, I showed her how to get on NickJr. and play coloring games, Candy Land, etc. Great, right? Yeah, it was, until one night last week, when I didn't think and let her bring a big cup of water (sans lid) in here with her to play on the computer. I also didn't think when she came running into the kitchen to grab a towel. (I believe I was busy vacuuming or something.) So, fast-forward about 20 minutes, when I go to tell her dinner is ready, and find her sitting there with a panicked look on her face, in front of a still-dripping, madly beeping laptop. It died shortly thereafter, bless its heart. So I was without a computer for a while. Note to self: no more food or beverages allowed around the laptop if you're under 30.
And sadly, I can't even bring myself to be all that mad at Emmeline for trying to sneak the destruction of the computer past me. I'm sure all children her age are sneaky to some extent, but she is my child. When I was a kid, I made trying to get things past my parents into an art form and can't help but wonder if she somehow inherited the trait. I still get constant hell from my family about the time when I was about E's age and wrote my name on the wall with a pen. I then denied it up and down, backwards and forwards, and had all sorts of answers as to who would write my name on the wall. And why. I don't think I ever admitted that I was the one who wrote on the wall. (Although in hindsight, I probably should've picked something else to write if I were going to try to deny culpability.)
As I said, my husband and I are doing some spring cleaning right now, which resulted in an extremely entertaining fight about what else but the vacuum cleaner? Kenny decided that the reason there's so much dog hair and dirt in our house is not because we have a golden retriever who sheds about eight pounds of hair a day, but is because although I vacuum the house about three times a week, I'm not vacuuming properly. That's right, folks, the man who is apparently more afraid of our vacuum cleaner than our dog is, and who therefore never touches the thing, told me our house wouldn't be so dirty if I would just clean better. I'm sure you can imagine where I told him he could stick the vacuum cleaner hose. I would also like to point out that the next time the vacuum cleaner made an appearance, it was because he was the one doing the vacuuming.
So that's about it. My life in a nutshell. Did I mention that there was also Mardi Gras? And the Saints winning the Super Bowl? And a Super Bowl parade? All of which I had lots of great pictures of, about 2/3 of which were on the computer? That Emmeline spilled water all over? And then it died and I lost everything on it?
Sigh. Guess I'll go vacuum now.
It's been a very busy couple of weeks, in between work, Mardi Gras, the Saints going to the Super Bowl, the Saints winning the Super Bowl, getting to publish a modified blog post in an online journal, going to the Saints Super Bowl parade, spring cleaning the house, etc.
Let's begin, shall we?
Work is absolutely insane right now, and I've been living, eating, and breathing it lately. I still maintain that it was highly inconsiderate of NIH to set the deadline for one grant application and three grant progress reports, all of which are 20-50 pages long, less than two weeks after Mardi Gras. Poor planning, people. I don't care if you do live in a place where Mardi Gras doesn't exist.
Recently, I introduced Emmeline to computer games. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it makes me feel less guilty when she's being babysat by the computer rather than the television when I need to do something really important, like vacuum. So anyway, I showed her how to get on NickJr. and play coloring games, Candy Land, etc. Great, right? Yeah, it was, until one night last week, when I didn't think and let her bring a big cup of water (sans lid) in here with her to play on the computer. I also didn't think when she came running into the kitchen to grab a towel. (I believe I was busy vacuuming or something.) So, fast-forward about 20 minutes, when I go to tell her dinner is ready, and find her sitting there with a panicked look on her face, in front of a still-dripping, madly beeping laptop. It died shortly thereafter, bless its heart. So I was without a computer for a while. Note to self: no more food or beverages allowed around the laptop if you're under 30.
And sadly, I can't even bring myself to be all that mad at Emmeline for trying to sneak the destruction of the computer past me. I'm sure all children her age are sneaky to some extent, but she is my child. When I was a kid, I made trying to get things past my parents into an art form and can't help but wonder if she somehow inherited the trait. I still get constant hell from my family about the time when I was about E's age and wrote my name on the wall with a pen. I then denied it up and down, backwards and forwards, and had all sorts of answers as to who would write my name on the wall. And why. I don't think I ever admitted that I was the one who wrote on the wall. (Although in hindsight, I probably should've picked something else to write if I were going to try to deny culpability.)
As I said, my husband and I are doing some spring cleaning right now, which resulted in an extremely entertaining fight about what else but the vacuum cleaner? Kenny decided that the reason there's so much dog hair and dirt in our house is not because we have a golden retriever who sheds about eight pounds of hair a day, but is because although I vacuum the house about three times a week, I'm not vacuuming properly. That's right, folks, the man who is apparently more afraid of our vacuum cleaner than our dog is, and who therefore never touches the thing, told me our house wouldn't be so dirty if I would just clean better. I'm sure you can imagine where I told him he could stick the vacuum cleaner hose. I would also like to point out that the next time the vacuum cleaner made an appearance, it was because he was the one doing the vacuuming.
So that's about it. My life in a nutshell. Did I mention that there was also Mardi Gras? And the Saints winning the Super Bowl? And a Super Bowl parade? All of which I had lots of great pictures of, about 2/3 of which were on the computer? That Emmeline spilled water all over? And then it died and I lost everything on it?
Sigh. Guess I'll go vacuum now.
A Tale of Two Saints Parades
So, while I was standing outside in early February in freezing weather on Canal Street for over three hours, shivering with some friends and our kids and waiting for the Saints to finally pass by, I was feeling a bit sorry for my husband, who was at work. I shouldn't have.
Did we have fun standing out in the street with 800,000 of our friends and neighbors? Yep. But it was also cold and extremely crowded--in hindsight, we picked the worst possible place to watch the parade, as we were stuck behind NOPD barricades with tens of thousands of other people. (The lure of free and convenient parking at my work parking garage is what made Canal Street seem like a good idea at the time.)
After the parade was all over, we learned that if we'd been pretty much anywhere else along the parade route, we wouldn't have been boxed in by police barricades and would have been in crowds 10-15 people deep rather than 60-75. We also learned that people who got to the parade much later than us (we were out there for about 4 hours total) but went to different spots on the route were home before the parade even made it to us. Another mistake in watching the parade on Canal Street was that it was almost the end of the route, meaning we had to wait, and wait, and wait for the parade to get to us. (Dear Saints Super Bowl parade organizers--next time, please use the Uptown parade route. Love, A)
Did we have fun standing out in the street with 800,000 of our friends and neighbors? Yep. But it was also cold and extremely crowded--in hindsight, we picked the worst possible place to watch the parade, as we were stuck behind NOPD barricades with tens of thousands of other people. (The lure of free and convenient parking at my work parking garage is what made Canal Street seem like a good idea at the time.)
After the parade was all over, we learned that if we'd been pretty much anywhere else along the parade route, we wouldn't have been boxed in by police barricades and would have been in crowds 10-15 people deep rather than 60-75. We also learned that people who got to the parade much later than us (we were out there for about 4 hours total) but went to different spots on the route were home before the parade even made it to us. Another mistake in watching the parade on Canal Street was that it was almost the end of the route, meaning we had to wait, and wait, and wait for the parade to get to us. (Dear Saints Super Bowl parade organizers--next time, please use the Uptown parade route. Love, A)
Google Search of the Month
This month, we have a plethora of funny, strange, and just down right creepy google searches to choose from. So many that I couldn't pick just one. Or even two. So, here we go....
Funniest - "What is the spiritual meaning of grits?"
Worst Spelling, Porn Category - "I wots to see gris necid in the bed." For those of you who don't have your bad-grammar/spelling-porn-site-translator on you, I believe that should read "I want to see naked girls in bed."
Shameless Self-Promotion/Number of Searches for the "Pigs Have Flown" T-Shirt My Sister and I Made - 7. Number of money I make per t-shirt? $1. Would you like to buy one? The "Believe" shirt was much more popular--we sold 200 of those! Can I quit my day job yet?
Creepiest Search and Result, Porn Category - It's not so much per se that I'm creeped out by the guy who searched for "momy.gris.porn" and was directed to my site as I am by the fact that he spent over 30 minutes here. Doing what? I don't even want to know.
And the most exciting search - "gris grits." Does the fact that more people searched for my actual blog this month rather than "gris gone wild" mean that I've made it and can quit my day job now? Yeah, I didn't think so, either.
Funniest - "What is the spiritual meaning of grits?"
Worst Spelling, Porn Category - "I wots to see gris necid in the bed." For those of you who don't have your bad-grammar/spelling-porn-site-translator on you, I believe that should read "I want to see naked girls in bed."
Shameless Self-Promotion/Number of Searches for the "Pigs Have Flown" T-Shirt My Sister and I Made - 7. Number of money I make per t-shirt? $1. Would you like to buy one? The "Believe" shirt was much more popular--we sold 200 of those! Can I quit my day job yet?
Creepiest Search and Result, Porn Category - It's not so much per se that I'm creeped out by the guy who searched for "momy.gris.porn" and was directed to my site as I am by the fact that he spent over 30 minutes here. Doing what? I don't even want to know.
And the most exciting search - "gris grits." Does the fact that more people searched for my actual blog this month rather than "gris gone wild" mean that I've made it and can quit my day job now? Yeah, I didn't think so, either.
2.03.2010
(Kinda sorta) Published
A big thank you to the editors of likethedew.com for requesting that I submit an article on the effect that the Saints are having in New Orleans this year, thanks to their magical season. And an even bigger thank you for posting it.
I must confess, geek that I am, having a byline was pretty damn exciting.
I must confess, geek that I am, having a byline was pretty damn exciting.
1.28.2010
Growing Up Yat, Volume 1
Sometimes, raising a Catholic native New Orleanian is strange business; especially when you're neither a) Catholic nor b) a native. However, it also provides hours of entertainment.
For example, when Emmeline and I were flying home on Sunday from Georgia, I made sure to wear my Saints t-shirt. When we got the TSA screening area at the Jacksonville airport, the TSA agent saw my shirt and told me she was rooting for the Saints, too. Upon mention of the word "Saints," Emmeline immediately launched into Yat mode and alternated between singing the Who Dat chant and yelling black and gold in the Superbowl. The TSA agent started laughing and crying at the same time and told me that her hometown was New Orleans and that we'd just made not only her day, but her year.
That was a good moment.
For example, when Emmeline and I were flying home on Sunday from Georgia, I made sure to wear my Saints t-shirt. When we got the TSA screening area at the Jacksonville airport, the TSA agent saw my shirt and told me she was rooting for the Saints, too. Upon mention of the word "Saints," Emmeline immediately launched into Yat mode and alternated between singing the Who Dat chant and yelling black and gold in the Superbowl. The TSA agent started laughing and crying at the same time and told me that her hometown was New Orleans and that we'd just made not only her day, but her year.
That was a good moment.
1.27.2010
1.26.2010
Pigs Have Flown
Needless to say, this city is going bat-shit crazy right now after this:
It's been a beautiful few months here in New Orleans, what with Saints wins to talk about almost every Monday morning. And this one was the granddaddy of them all. To say "Saints" and "Superbowl" in the same sentence still seems, well, wrong. It's almost like you need to throw salt over your shoulder after you say it to ward off whatever hubris you might be attracting for next year by uttering those words together.
It's been a beautiful few months here in New Orleans, what with Saints wins to talk about almost every Monday morning. And this one was the granddaddy of them all. To say "Saints" and "Superbowl" in the same sentence still seems, well, wrong. It's almost like you need to throw salt over your shoulder after you say it to ward off whatever hubris you might be attracting for next year by uttering those words together.
1.14.2010
E's Adventures in Catholic School, Again
I understand that if you go to Catholic school, they're going to teach you about life, death, heaven, hell, etc. But for the past week, Emmeline has been walking up to me and then to her father, sighing, shaking her head sadly, and saying "I'm really going to miss you when you die." Is that normal?
Google Search of the Month
Sorry, internets, I've been busy with life and have therefore been too busy to post. (Actually, I just haven't had anything interesting to say, but, well, you know....)
So, without further ado, here are January's google search of the month selections. As usual, there were lots of good ones to choose from, such as those old classics like "gris xxx, "gris gone wild," etc. But I think the ones I'm going to select to win the January prize are: "Can grits kill mice?" and "Are knives allowed on buses?" Oh, you weird, sick people that have access to my site via the google. You only marginally frighten me.
So, without further ado, here are January's google search of the month selections. As usual, there were lots of good ones to choose from, such as those old classics like "gris xxx, "gris gone wild," etc. But I think the ones I'm going to select to win the January prize are: "Can grits kill mice?" and "Are knives allowed on buses?" Oh, you weird, sick people that have access to my site via the google. You only marginally frighten me.
12.22.2009
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.
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.
12.18.2009
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!
Saints the Soul of America's City
Go Saints!
12.15.2009
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.
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.
12.04.2009
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?
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.
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.
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.
12.03.2009
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!
We are the dolphins.
We're going to beat you.
No, you're not.
Go Saints!
12.02.2009
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!
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!
11.17.2009
Conversations With a Four-Year-Old, Volume Six
E: Mommy, where do you think unicorns come from? Because I think they come from Texas!
Me: Really? How come?
E: Well, I've never seen any unicorns in New Orleans or in Georgia, so they must all be in Texas.
Me: Hmm. Maybe so.
Me: Really? How come?
E: Well, I've never seen any unicorns in New Orleans or in Georgia, so they must all be in Texas.
Me: Hmm. Maybe so.
11.13.2009
Dear Charles
You've been gone for 8 1/2 years now. How is that possible? And is it really quite possible that I think about you at least once, still, every day? It seems that way, but sometimes, I'm not sure--it's like when you try to check to see if you've fallen asleep, but then realize that in order to do so, you have to actually be awake. Or when you realize you really are doing two things at once, like reading and singing the lyrics to a song at the same time. Am I the only one who does that?
Anyway....I can't be 100% certain, but I'm pretty sure that I still think about you at least once every day. For some reason, it's usually in the morning, on my way to work. It's become almost a habit, even, to have some random thought of you right around 8:15 a.m., right around the time that I've turned onto Jena Street--the part that's so potholed that you have to smile each morning, as you pass the "Go Slow or You Will Kill Your Car" sign that someone affixed to a telephone pole.
So, what do I think, when I think about you each morning?
Anyway....I can't be 100% certain, but I'm pretty sure that I still think about you at least once every day. For some reason, it's usually in the morning, on my way to work. It's become almost a habit, even, to have some random thought of you right around 8:15 a.m., right around the time that I've turned onto Jena Street--the part that's so potholed that you have to smile each morning, as you pass the "Go Slow or You Will Kill Your Car" sign that someone affixed to a telephone pole.
So, what do I think, when I think about you each morning?
Malcontent
Do you ever have one of those nights where you question what you were thinking when you agreed to get married and have children? I'm having one of those nights.
I'm not real worried about it--I've been in this relationship for 15 years (how is it possible that I'm old enough to have been in a relationship for 15 years?). I'm not real concerned that this is going to be the big one that does us in.
But still, sometimes, I just want to bitch and kvetch on this blog. I started this blog as an online journal, after I lost all of my journals in Katrina. And I stayed under the radar for the first 2-3 years, with no one reading this blog but me. But now, knowing that there are at least a few people who read this blog regularly and a few more who stop by every now and again, I feel more of a need to censor myself.
I tell y'all about the good stuff, the mundane stuff, and the bad stuff, especially when it comes to certain parts of motherhood, Katrina, and life in the City of New Orleans. But I don't talk about the days when I'm ready to strangle my husband. And I won't talk about it now, other than to say, once again, I'm having one of those nights.
We've been together 15 years, and I'm fully committed to us being together until death do us part. But that doesn't mean it's always easy, right? I love him, but good God, does he irritate me sometimes.
I'm not real worried about it--I've been in this relationship for 15 years (how is it possible that I'm old enough to have been in a relationship for 15 years?). I'm not real concerned that this is going to be the big one that does us in.
But still, sometimes, I just want to bitch and kvetch on this blog. I started this blog as an online journal, after I lost all of my journals in Katrina. And I stayed under the radar for the first 2-3 years, with no one reading this blog but me. But now, knowing that there are at least a few people who read this blog regularly and a few more who stop by every now and again, I feel more of a need to censor myself.
I tell y'all about the good stuff, the mundane stuff, and the bad stuff, especially when it comes to certain parts of motherhood, Katrina, and life in the City of New Orleans. But I don't talk about the days when I'm ready to strangle my husband. And I won't talk about it now, other than to say, once again, I'm having one of those nights.
We've been together 15 years, and I'm fully committed to us being together until death do us part. But that doesn't mean it's always easy, right? I love him, but good God, does he irritate me sometimes.
11.04.2009
Proud Moments in Motherhood
I swear, she's not really flipping the bird in this picture, even though she is. If it helps, she didn't know she was doing it. (Or so I keep telling myself.) I think it was a redirected nose-pick attempt, once she realized the camera was on her. Anyway, look--a fire truck!
How to Irritate the Piss Out of Me*
Be a pedestrian in New Orleans. Walk up to the light and see that you have the "don't walk" signal flashing at you. Look at me in my car and see that I have a green light. Proceed to walk into the crosswalk anyway, and then walk as slowly as possible, making me miss the entire green light waiting for you to cross the street illegally.
Alternately, look at my car, traveling down the street at 40 miles per hour, and decide that right then would be a great time to walk directly in front of my car, causing me to slam on brakes and scare the hell out of myself, while alternately fantasizing about running your ass over.
Repeat, 3-5 times per day
What is it with the pedestrians in this town? I really wish I could explain to everyone that the old adage, "the pedestrian always has the right of way," does not apply when you're disobeying traffic signals and/or walking directly into oncoming traffic. And don't even get me started on tourists in the French Quarter who think we're Disney World and not an actual functioning city.
Deep, cleansing breath.
*I would've preferred to call this post "How to Annoy Me," but Dooce already claimed it.
Alternately, look at my car, traveling down the street at 40 miles per hour, and decide that right then would be a great time to walk directly in front of my car, causing me to slam on brakes and scare the hell out of myself, while alternately fantasizing about running your ass over.
Repeat, 3-5 times per day
What is it with the pedestrians in this town? I really wish I could explain to everyone that the old adage, "the pedestrian always has the right of way," does not apply when you're disobeying traffic signals and/or walking directly into oncoming traffic. And don't even get me started on tourists in the French Quarter who think we're Disney World and not an actual functioning city.
Deep, cleansing breath.
*I would've preferred to call this post "How to Annoy Me," but Dooce already claimed it.
Google Search of the Month
I'm sorry, y'all, I know I'm obsessed with the people who end up at this blog via a google search. But I just can't help myself. It's a sickness, I think. I'll try to restrain myself to only posting about this once a month, starting...now....
Funniest search this month? "Do old grits turn into bugs?" Um, no, but if you leave them exposed long enough, the weevils will get into them, along with your flour.
Weirdest search of the month? "Free XXX gris porn." Not weird in and of itself, now that we've established that people are typing "gris" instead of "girls." But whoever did that search ended up spending 21 minutes on this site. What in God's name could they have found that interested them? My mom blogging? My witty banter? I guess I'll never know....
Funniest search this month? "Do old grits turn into bugs?" Um, no, but if you leave them exposed long enough, the weevils will get into them, along with your flour.
Weirdest search of the month? "Free XXX gris porn." Not weird in and of itself, now that we've established that people are typing "gris" instead of "girls." But whoever did that search ended up spending 21 minutes on this site. What in God's name could they have found that interested them? My mom blogging? My witty banter? I guess I'll never know....
10.31.2009
10.28.2009
I Heart SupaSaint
Miami Vice. Although, as a child of the 80's, the SupaLoose video is still my all-time fave.
Signs That I'm A Better Parent Than the Guy Who Made the Cover of Today's Metro Section
Really? Really? You tried to shoplift DVDs by putting them in your two-year-old's diaper bag and then you ran away and left him at Walmart when you got busted? Wow. Just. Wow. And also--point, Louisiana!
Other signs that I'm not that bad of a parent--I have yet to leave Emmeline in the car in August so I can play video poker. And if I did, I'd leave the windows cracked. And maybe throw the dog in there to keep her company.
Other signs that I'm not that bad of a parent--I have yet to leave Emmeline in the car in August so I can play video poker. And if I did, I'd leave the windows cracked. And maybe throw the dog in there to keep her company.
10.27.2009
City Living
K and I had a long talk over the weekend about where we'd like to be in five years. In sum, it all comes down to wishing for a slightly larger house--what we call a "grown up house," which in our minds equals a house with more than one bathroom and less scary neighbors. We would also really, really, really like to find a place to live where we could get cheaper (read, free) school tuition for our child. As Kelly commented, I'd love to be able to put some of the $800/month we're spending on tuition toward a larger mortgage instead.
As I've mentioned before, we briefly toyed with the idea of moving to Slidell about a year ago, namely due to the fact that we could buy a "grown up house" there and E could actually get a decent education at one of the public schools. Kenny brought up this idea again over the weekend--but I have to say, it really turns me off. Not because I have anything against Slidell--I just don't necessarily want to live there. If we could get a really nice house, right on the water, and have a boat and several hundred more dollars a month in disposable income? Sure--I'd be game for that. But otherwise, I'm not really interested in moving across the lake to trade free tuition for more commuting time, hassle, and gas money, wiht the only possible payoff being the chance for a slightly larger fixer-upper house.
As I've mentioned before, we briefly toyed with the idea of moving to Slidell about a year ago, namely due to the fact that we could buy a "grown up house" there and E could actually get a decent education at one of the public schools. Kenny brought up this idea again over the weekend--but I have to say, it really turns me off. Not because I have anything against Slidell--I just don't necessarily want to live there. If we could get a really nice house, right on the water, and have a boat and several hundred more dollars a month in disposable income? Sure--I'd be game for that. But otherwise, I'm not really interested in moving across the lake to trade free tuition for more commuting time, hassle, and gas money, wiht the only possible payoff being the chance for a slightly larger fixer-upper house.
10.23.2009
Okay, Who Forgot to Tell Me That Hell Froze Over?
New Orleans Crime Camera Leads to First Conviction
Well then, we should definitely continue to spend millions and millions of dollars a year on them. And while we're at it, are there any more coastal Communist countries we can send C. Ray to so that he can study their disaster management techniques?
Well then, we should definitely continue to spend millions and millions of dollars a year on them. And while we're at it, are there any more coastal Communist countries we can send C. Ray to so that he can study their disaster management techniques?
Point, Louisiana
Kenny and I have a game we like to play called "Whose Native State is More Embarrassing?" Each time your native state does something incredibly stupid, it gets a point. Bonus points if whatever your state does is so bad it makes the national news.
It all started one night when we were watching a History Channel special on the Klan. Early on in the show, they mentioned that the Klan had originally started in Louisiana; needless to say, I was all over Kenny about his racist, backward-ass state. About 20 minutes later, they mentioned that the Klan had all but died out at one point but then gained a resurgence during the Civil Rights movement.....in Stone Mountain, Georgia.
It all started one night when we were watching a History Channel special on the Klan. Early on in the show, they mentioned that the Klan had originally started in Louisiana; needless to say, I was all over Kenny about his racist, backward-ass state. About 20 minutes later, they mentioned that the Klan had all but died out at one point but then gained a resurgence during the Civil Rights movement.....in Stone Mountain, Georgia.
True Confessions
Tonight is the first time I've posted anything interesting (which I know is debatable) in several weeks, so I'm getting it all out of my system tonight, while the husband's at work. You're thrilled, I know.
True Confessions
I'm 40 years old, about as white bread as they come, and yet still I love "Forget about Dre" by Eminem and Dr. Dre.
I also write sentences that include "and yet still...."
I also write sentences that include "and yet still...."
True Confessions
I'm 40 years old, write and edit for a portion of my living, and I STILL cannot spell "occasionally" without having to spell check it--two c's? Two n's? Who knows?
Further Signs That I'm a Bad Parent
Emmeline's school has this thing called "happy grams." You're supposed to send notes to school occasionally, talking about something great your child did at home, which the teacher then reads aloud and posts on the blackboard. I think it's a great idea, and E really loves it when I send her to school with a happy gram--it's the least I can do, seeing as how I can't afford the tuition to send her to a school where she would by now be fluent in Mandarin or something.
Anyway--this week, I sent a happy gram to school, praising Emmeline for the fact that she had set the table all by herself one night this week. She was thrilled. Then, yesterday, when I went to pick her up from school, I stopped off at the bulletin board to peruse the happy grams. And there was E's note, praising her for setting the table, right next to the note that one her friend's mother wrote. It said something along the lines of "Sally is doing very well in the extra coursework we assign her at home. She can now count to 223, and, when using the abacus she got for Christmas, she can add sums up to 30." Our children are four. Am I supposed to be doing calculus with her at home now? How inadequate am I?
To further add to the mix, we got a notice in the mail today saying that the magnet schools in Jefferson Parish are accepting applications for next year. Kenny and I go back and forth on this idea--we're happy with her current school (my misgivings about Catholic education aside) and we don't necessarily want to move her. But, at the same time, $800/month for where she is now versus ZERO/month for a magnet school certainly makes it worth thinking about.
We applied last year, trying to get E in there this year for pre-K. We took her in for their required testing, and they said she did well. When the test scores came back, we were hopeful--she scored in the 96th percentile. Still, we knew that there were only 40 available slots for 400 children, so we weren't counting on her getting in and weren't surprised when we got the your-child-has-been-wait-listed letter.
Long story short, I called them today to see if we should even bother re-applying. I wasn't certain as to how the selection process went, as you have to score in the 75th percentile to be considered. My thinking was that if they put all of the kids' names who scored 75th percentile and above into a hat and just pulled names out until they'd reached their quota, it was pretty much impossible that she'd ever get in. But--but--if they were selecting kids based on their scores, maybe we had a chance. So, I called. Turns out, they do select kids based on their scores. But the woman said they didn't go any lower in scores than the 99.7th percentile, because the kids in the applicant pool were Just. That. Smart. So if E scored 96th percentile and they had at least 40 kids who were in the 99.7th percentile or above...yikes! Apparently, everyone but Emmeline got an abacus for Christmas last year. I don't know what we were thinking buying her that Sleeping Beauty outfit and Santa coloring book instead....
Anyway--this week, I sent a happy gram to school, praising Emmeline for the fact that she had set the table all by herself one night this week. She was thrilled. Then, yesterday, when I went to pick her up from school, I stopped off at the bulletin board to peruse the happy grams. And there was E's note, praising her for setting the table, right next to the note that one her friend's mother wrote. It said something along the lines of "Sally is doing very well in the extra coursework we assign her at home. She can now count to 223, and, when using the abacus she got for Christmas, she can add sums up to 30." Our children are four. Am I supposed to be doing calculus with her at home now? How inadequate am I?
To further add to the mix, we got a notice in the mail today saying that the magnet schools in Jefferson Parish are accepting applications for next year. Kenny and I go back and forth on this idea--we're happy with her current school (my misgivings about Catholic education aside) and we don't necessarily want to move her. But, at the same time, $800/month for where she is now versus ZERO/month for a magnet school certainly makes it worth thinking about.
We applied last year, trying to get E in there this year for pre-K. We took her in for their required testing, and they said she did well. When the test scores came back, we were hopeful--she scored in the 96th percentile. Still, we knew that there were only 40 available slots for 400 children, so we weren't counting on her getting in and weren't surprised when we got the your-child-has-been-wait-listed letter.
Long story short, I called them today to see if we should even bother re-applying. I wasn't certain as to how the selection process went, as you have to score in the 75th percentile to be considered. My thinking was that if they put all of the kids' names who scored 75th percentile and above into a hat and just pulled names out until they'd reached their quota, it was pretty much impossible that she'd ever get in. But--but--if they were selecting kids based on their scores, maybe we had a chance. So, I called. Turns out, they do select kids based on their scores. But the woman said they didn't go any lower in scores than the 99.7th percentile, because the kids in the applicant pool were Just. That. Smart. So if E scored 96th percentile and they had at least 40 kids who were in the 99.7th percentile or above...yikes! Apparently, everyone but Emmeline got an abacus for Christmas last year. I don't know what we were thinking buying her that Sleeping Beauty outfit and Santa coloring book instead....
10.21.2009
Wisdom of the Ancients
Tonight, I got to attempt to explain to Emmeline what a record player is. Needless to say, I was met with utter confusion. I can't wait until she's a teenager and I get to tell her about how I was 12 when we first got a microwave and a VCR and that I was in my mid-20's when the internet became accessible to the average person. (Of course, then I'll have to explain to her what a VCR is.) Now I know how my parents felt when they explained to me that they didn't have television until they were about eight or nine and that it was in black and white. The horror! This could be fun....
10.13.2009
Signs That I'm a Bad Parent
Emmeline now has her very own library card. She's very excited about it, and it kept me from having to fork over the $45 in late fees that have accumulated on my card due to the Dora book that went missing in Emmeline's room for about six weeks. But kids can't rent movies with their cards, so I had to lie to E and tell her that the Muppet movie was rented out. Life's going to get a lot harder once she learns how to read and can tell when I'm lying.
I heard a news brief on the radio today that said that 75% of parents think it's important to teach their children not to lie but also admit to frequently lying to their children. I most definitely fall into this category. I will lie my ass off to E with a straight face, if it's in her (or my) best interest. Case in point? The day that Halloween costumes appeared in T.J. Maxx. There was no way in hell we were getting the sequined, bedazzled, hooker-looking cheerleading costume that she fell in love with. "Oh, I'm so sorry, honey, but they don't have that costume in your size. How about this adorable ladybug costume instead?" I'm sure you can guess what E will be for Halloween this year.
I heard a news brief on the radio today that said that 75% of parents think it's important to teach their children not to lie but also admit to frequently lying to their children. I most definitely fall into this category. I will lie my ass off to E with a straight face, if it's in her (or my) best interest. Case in point? The day that Halloween costumes appeared in T.J. Maxx. There was no way in hell we were getting the sequined, bedazzled, hooker-looking cheerleading costume that she fell in love with. "Oh, I'm so sorry, honey, but they don't have that costume in your size. How about this adorable ladybug costume instead?" I'm sure you can guess what E will be for Halloween this year.
Loyalty
I love my dog, but some days, he drives me crazy. Am I the only one who has a dog that literally follows me everywhere I go? I'm serious. If I get up to go into the kitchen, he's right there with me. A side trip to the bedroom? There he is. And then he stands there and stares at me, making sure that I'm getting settled into whatever room I'm in before he'll lie down. Sometimes, just to screw with him, I'll walk into the living room, sit down, wait for him to sit down, and then walk into the kitchen, wait for him to sit down, then move on to the next room. If I'm really, really bored, this can go on for a good 10-15 minutes before he gives up. (Note to self: get a life.)
And then when he's not following me physically, he's following me with his eyes. Right now, as I type this, he's staring at me fixedly, waiting and watching. It can get kind of creepy after a while. It's like he thinks that if he just stares at me hard enough, I'll put him in the car for a three-hour ride and then stop off for a couple of T-bone steaks and an ice cream sundae for him. Either that or he's waiting for monkeys to fly out of my butt. Or maybe he's trying to figure out if there's a way that he can kill me in my sleep?
Does anyone want a dog?
And then when he's not following me physically, he's following me with his eyes. Right now, as I type this, he's staring at me fixedly, waiting and watching. It can get kind of creepy after a while. It's like he thinks that if he just stares at me hard enough, I'll put him in the car for a three-hour ride and then stop off for a couple of T-bone steaks and an ice cream sundae for him. Either that or he's waiting for monkeys to fly out of my butt. Or maybe he's trying to figure out if there's a way that he can kill me in my sleep?
Does anyone want a dog?
10.09.2009
The Google, Redux
Y'all know how much I love my google searches--especially since I finally connected the dots that 92.3% of the searches for "gris" that turn up are mispelled versions of "girls," aka porn.
So, here's today's search of the month: "gris naket." Not "naked girls," mind you. Not even "girls, naked." But "gris naket." Gris. Naket. I love it. Is our children learning? Is our adults stupid?
So, here's today's search of the month: "gris naket." Not "naked girls," mind you. Not even "girls, naked." But "gris naket." Gris. Naket. I love it. Is our children learning? Is our adults stupid?
9.22.2009
E's Adventures in Catholic School
Request to dress up as the Virgin Mary for Halloween? Check.
Question about whether the dinosaurs are all in Heaven now? Check.
Request to pray before dinner and then beginning prayer with "God is grape, God is good?" Check.
Announcement about and subsequent performance of "Jesus dance" she made up? Check. (Complete with jazz hands and prayer hands, I might add.)
Catholic school for four-year-olds is fun.
Question about whether the dinosaurs are all in Heaven now? Check.
Request to pray before dinner and then beginning prayer with "God is grape, God is good?" Check.
Announcement about and subsequent performance of "Jesus dance" she made up? Check. (Complete with jazz hands and prayer hands, I might add.)
Catholic school for four-year-olds is fun.
9.18.2009
Observations of a Four-Year-Old
I often think some of the most rewarding parts of parenthood are the times when I get to observe Emmeline in her, umm, natural habitat, shall we say? You know, like when I go to pick her up at school and she hasn't yet noticed that I'm there, so I get to watch her play. Or when I get to eavesdrop on her from time to time, listening in on those rare occasions when she'll play by herself with her dolls for a little while.
Last night, though, was a real doozy; I got to listen to my daughter compose and perform a patriotic song, complete with plastic flute accompaniment, all while she sat on the toilet. It was all I could do to not roll on the floor laughing--especially when she got to the part where she sang about this great country of ours, the Nighted Stick of America.
Last night, though, was a real doozy; I got to listen to my daughter compose and perform a patriotic song, complete with plastic flute accompaniment, all while she sat on the toilet. It was all I could do to not roll on the floor laughing--especially when she got to the part where she sang about this great country of ours, the Nighted Stick of America.
9.14.2009
Financial Aid
Number of weeks that E has been in her new school so far: 3
Number of times that we've been hit up to give additional money and/or time so far: 12
Ah, the joys of private school.....
Number of times that we've been hit up to give additional money and/or time so far: 12
Ah, the joys of private school.....
9.10.2009
A Letter to My Daughter, 09/09
Dear Emmeline:
You're four-and-a-half now, and jeez, how the time has flown. You've become the model four-year-old that everyone talks about, the one that makes you laugh out loud at least 2-3 times a day with your antics.
Let's see, where to begin? You finish your third week at "big school" tomorrow and are doing wonderfully there. I think it's been more of an adjustment for me than you--you're attending a Catholic school, as public schools are out of the question. Nothing against Catholics, but I'm not one, so it's been a bit odd for me, and I've been concerned that you might feel left out at times, if you're considered different from the other kids because you don't share their faith. So far, though, you're taking it in stride. You've really warmed to the whole Jesus and Mary thing, including making me play songs about them on the way to school each day. Thank God (no pun intended) for my ipod with the Christmas song playlist on it, or you'd pretty much be out of luck. Last week, you informed me that instead of being Jasmine for Halloween, you want to be the Virgin Mary. I tried to keep a straight face for that one, while also thinking about what a ridiculously cheap Halloween costume that would be (blue sheet? check).
You're four-and-a-half now, and jeez, how the time has flown. You've become the model four-year-old that everyone talks about, the one that makes you laugh out loud at least 2-3 times a day with your antics.
Let's see, where to begin? You finish your third week at "big school" tomorrow and are doing wonderfully there. I think it's been more of an adjustment for me than you--you're attending a Catholic school, as public schools are out of the question. Nothing against Catholics, but I'm not one, so it's been a bit odd for me, and I've been concerned that you might feel left out at times, if you're considered different from the other kids because you don't share their faith. So far, though, you're taking it in stride. You've really warmed to the whole Jesus and Mary thing, including making me play songs about them on the way to school each day. Thank God (no pun intended) for my ipod with the Christmas song playlist on it, or you'd pretty much be out of luck. Last week, you informed me that instead of being Jasmine for Halloween, you want to be the Virgin Mary. I tried to keep a straight face for that one, while also thinking about what a ridiculously cheap Halloween costume that would be (blue sheet? check).
8.29.2009
Four Years On
So, long story. When we moved back to New Orleans after Katrina, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I was despondent, I was depressed, I was angry, I was antsy. To sum it all up, I was feeling a bit crazy. I had a nine-month old baby, a husband who worked non-stop, and a lot of time on my hands. I didn't know how to process what had happened to me, to my mother and stepfather, to absolutely everyone in my husband's family, to my friends, to my co-workers, to the people I knew in passing--to everyone on this whole damn coast.
I drove around--a lot--and I pulled my camera out--a lot--and I took a lot of pictures. Four months after the storm, eight months after the storm, one year after the storm....Last weekend, I drove around Lakeview and the Lower 9th for the first time in about a year. Some houses have been repaired by now; about the same amount haven't. I heard on the news today that there are some 40,000 houses abandoned to Katrina still standing in the greater New Orleans area. Forty. Thousand. Abandoned. Houses. Can you even wrap your head around that? I can't, and I've driven past the majority of them.
I drove around--a lot--and I pulled my camera out--a lot--and I took a lot of pictures. Four months after the storm, eight months after the storm, one year after the storm....Last weekend, I drove around Lakeview and the Lower 9th for the first time in about a year. Some houses have been repaired by now; about the same amount haven't. I heard on the news today that there are some 40,000 houses abandoned to Katrina still standing in the greater New Orleans area. Forty. Thousand. Abandoned. Houses. Can you even wrap your head around that? I can't, and I've driven past the majority of them.
8.28.2009
This is What is What Like
Thanks to my friend Kelly, I've discovered a new blog that I absolutely love. I haven't had time to obsessively read every page yet (I do have a little bit of a life, I'll have you know--just not much of one), but I came across this post in his archives that just sums it up perfectly.
This is what is was like, in the days immediately following Katrina, when we had no news and everyone was telling us that it might be best to just cut our losses and move. This is what is was like when people were debating on CNN and Fox whether New Orleans should be rebuilt. This is what is was like. We weren't listening to anything anyone had to say. We were thinking about everyone we knew in New Orleans and the people whose names we didn't know but who were still a part of our lives. This is what is was like. I hope sturtle won't mind if I quote him in full:
This is what is was like, in the days immediately following Katrina, when we had no news and everyone was telling us that it might be best to just cut our losses and move. This is what is was like when people were debating on CNN and Fox whether New Orleans should be rebuilt. This is what is was like. We weren't listening to anything anyone had to say. We were thinking about everyone we knew in New Orleans and the people whose names we didn't know but who were still a part of our lives. This is what is was like. I hope sturtle won't mind if I quote him in full:
8.25.2009
Pre-K in a Good Way
Where did the time go? How is it that I already have a pre-kindergartener?
All dressed up in her uniform.
The school is having half-days all this week, so Emmeline is getting to spend some time at work with me in the afternoons. Who knew that underneath the desk is the best place to hang out? I think I might try this the next time my boss comes looking for me.
All dressed up in her uniform.
The school is having half-days all this week, so Emmeline is getting to spend some time at work with me in the afternoons. Who knew that underneath the desk is the best place to hang out? I think I might try this the next time my boss comes looking for me.
Need office help? E can type 1.5 words per minute.
8.18.2009
Going Mental
It’s nice to see that some things never change and that there’s still plenty of scorn to go around four years later. Earlier this month, an article appeared in The Washington Times (H/T, Charlotte) entitled “Mental Illness Tidal Wave Swamps New Orleans.” An excerpt:
That shortage of facilities is felt most strongly by residents like Byron Turner, who four years after Katrina still is haunted by visions that eventually drove him to seek professional help.
"Life was real good for me before Katrina," he said. "I had no mental health issues ever in my life. I was never homeless. I had jobs. I had two automobiles before the storm."
Today, he is homeless and taking medication to reduce his bouts of anger. Sometimes he's angry about his situation, sometimes he just gets frustrated with himself. Sometimes, he's still angry over the hurricane.
"I still see the bodies. I still see the dead children. I still see the elderly people floatin' in the water. I still see the water," Mr. Turner said.
Overwhelmed public health agencies in New Orleans can only guess how many of the city's residents are, like Mr. Turner, still struggling to cope with the mental and emotional consequences of a maelstrom that swept away whole neighborhoods and stole away friends, relatives, homes and social networks - the glue that holds people's psyches together.
That shortage of facilities is felt most strongly by residents like Byron Turner, who four years after Katrina still is haunted by visions that eventually drove him to seek professional help.
"Life was real good for me before Katrina," he said. "I had no mental health issues ever in my life. I was never homeless. I had jobs. I had two automobiles before the storm."
Today, he is homeless and taking medication to reduce his bouts of anger. Sometimes he's angry about his situation, sometimes he just gets frustrated with himself. Sometimes, he's still angry over the hurricane.
"I still see the bodies. I still see the dead children. I still see the elderly people floatin' in the water. I still see the water," Mr. Turner said.
Overwhelmed public health agencies in New Orleans can only guess how many of the city's residents are, like Mr. Turner, still struggling to cope with the mental and emotional consequences of a maelstrom that swept away whole neighborhoods and stole away friends, relatives, homes and social networks - the glue that holds people's psyches together.
8.13.2009
Old Wounds
I can feel it starting to set in on me. When I'm sitting, relatively relaxed, as I am now, I can feel the tenseness start to creep into my shoulders. I swear, for the first two years, I couldn't sit completely relaxed. When I was sitting, it was hunched over, with my shoulders rolled forward and tensed for flight, my hands constantly fidgeting or making that weird washing movement like Mr. Burns from "The Simpsons."
For the most part, these days, I put it aside. I live with the daily frustration of life in NOLA and remember all of the reasons that I still choose to live here. But when the height of hurricane season rolls around, sometimes it's still hard.
Sometimes, I hate to admit, I wait for the next big one--the one that will deal the finishing blow and allow us all to move on. To where? I don't know. But if there's one thing the Gustav scare taught me, it's that no matter how much I try to pretend that I'm inured to it now--that I can handle it again, if worse comes to worse, because I've been through it before--I'm lying to myself.
I'm tense. Four years later. And Jeanne Meserve echoes in my head.
CNN Transcript - August 29, 2005
MESERVE: It's been horrible. As I left tonight, darkness, of course, had fallen. And you can hear people yelling for help. You can hear the dogs yelping, all of them stranded, all of them hoping someone will come. But for tonight, they've had to suspend the rescue efforts. It's just too hazardous for them to be out on the boats. There are electrical lines that are still alive. There are gas lines that are still spewing gas. There are cars that are submerged. There are other large objects. The boats can't operate. So they had to suspend operations and leave those people in the homes. As we were driving back, we passed scores of boats, Fish and Wildlife boats that they brought in. They're flat bottomed. They've obviously going to put them in the water just as soon as they possibly can and go out and reach the people who are out there who desperately need help.We watched them, some of them, come in. They were in horrible shape, some of them. We watched one woman whose leg had been severed. Mark Biello, one of our cameramen, went out in one of the boats to help shoot. He ended up being out for hours and told horrific tales. He saw bodies. He saw where -- he saw other, just unfathomable things. Dogs wrapped in electrical -- electrical lines who were still alive that were being electrocuted.The police are having radio problems. At least they were earlier this evening. They didn't have enough boats. They put out an appeal to various police who had personal boats to bring them to the scene. But the problem was the people who had the boats couldn't get to the boats to bring them to the scene to go out and rescue the people.People are out there tonight. One of the EMS workers told us that the water is rising, and I can tell you that when we came back into the city tonight, it certainly was higher here. Whether it's rising in that neighborhood as much as it has here, I don't know.
For the most part, these days, I put it aside. I live with the daily frustration of life in NOLA and remember all of the reasons that I still choose to live here. But when the height of hurricane season rolls around, sometimes it's still hard.
Sometimes, I hate to admit, I wait for the next big one--the one that will deal the finishing blow and allow us all to move on. To where? I don't know. But if there's one thing the Gustav scare taught me, it's that no matter how much I try to pretend that I'm inured to it now--that I can handle it again, if worse comes to worse, because I've been through it before--I'm lying to myself.
I'm tense. Four years later. And Jeanne Meserve echoes in my head.
CNN Transcript - August 29, 2005
MESERVE: It's been horrible. As I left tonight, darkness, of course, had fallen. And you can hear people yelling for help. You can hear the dogs yelping, all of them stranded, all of them hoping someone will come. But for tonight, they've had to suspend the rescue efforts. It's just too hazardous for them to be out on the boats. There are electrical lines that are still alive. There are gas lines that are still spewing gas. There are cars that are submerged. There are other large objects. The boats can't operate. So they had to suspend operations and leave those people in the homes. As we were driving back, we passed scores of boats, Fish and Wildlife boats that they brought in. They're flat bottomed. They've obviously going to put them in the water just as soon as they possibly can and go out and reach the people who are out there who desperately need help.We watched them, some of them, come in. They were in horrible shape, some of them. We watched one woman whose leg had been severed. Mark Biello, one of our cameramen, went out in one of the boats to help shoot. He ended up being out for hours and told horrific tales. He saw bodies. He saw where -- he saw other, just unfathomable things. Dogs wrapped in electrical -- electrical lines who were still alive that were being electrocuted.The police are having radio problems. At least they were earlier this evening. They didn't have enough boats. They put out an appeal to various police who had personal boats to bring them to the scene. But the problem was the people who had the boats couldn't get to the boats to bring them to the scene to go out and rescue the people.People are out there tonight. One of the EMS workers told us that the water is rising, and I can tell you that when we came back into the city tonight, it certainly was higher here. Whether it's rising in that neighborhood as much as it has here, I don't know.
One
I'm slowly but surely coming to the realization that my one child is probably my only child. Acceptance of that, however, is another matter.
I guess the best way to describe it would be completely conflicted. I had a dream last week in which I realized I was pregnant. And it wasn't a "happy-family-Oh-my-God-I'm-pregnant!" dream. It was an "Oh-my-God-I'm-pregnant" dream and all of the resultant panic. One of those wake up with a pit in your stomach dreams.
So, since then, I've been trying to figure out what the fact that I'm having non-happy dreams about pregnancy means. Needless to say, procreation has been on my mind a lot lately, especially now that I'm 40 and the window for actually being able to have another child is rapidly closing.
I guess the best way to describe it would be completely conflicted. I had a dream last week in which I realized I was pregnant. And it wasn't a "happy-family-Oh-my-God-I'm-pregnant!" dream. It was an "Oh-my-God-I'm-pregnant" dream and all of the resultant panic. One of those wake up with a pit in your stomach dreams.
So, since then, I've been trying to figure out what the fact that I'm having non-happy dreams about pregnancy means. Needless to say, procreation has been on my mind a lot lately, especially now that I'm 40 and the window for actually being able to have another child is rapidly closing.
The Google Revisited
Today's top search on the google? "Nasty gris porn." Of course.
Today's weirdest search? "Big ass flying bug with two stripes on its butt." I haven't seen that bug yet, but I can assure you, if it exists, it will make an appearance on my porch soon.
Speaking of which, one of my neighbors is chainsawing something right now. At 9:50 p.m. WTF? Oh well--I guess that's a step up from crack dealing.
Today's weirdest search? "Big ass flying bug with two stripes on its butt." I haven't seen that bug yet, but I can assure you, if it exists, it will make an appearance on my porch soon.
Speaking of which, one of my neighbors is chainsawing something right now. At 9:50 p.m. WTF? Oh well--I guess that's a step up from crack dealing.
Hurt - Johnny Cash via Trent Reznor
I hurt myself today to see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real.
The needle tears a hole, the old familiar sting.*
Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything.
What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end.
And you could have it all, my empire of dirt
I will let you down. I will make you hurt.
I wear this crown of thorns upon my liar’s chair,
Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair.
Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear.
You are someone else and I am still right here.
What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end.
And you could have it all, my empire of dirt.
I will let you down. I will make you hurt.
If I could start again, a million miles away--
I would keep myself. I would find a way.
*Just in case any of y’all are scared, this blogger has never tried, and never plans to try, any drugs that require needles. I just like really, really sad songs. Especially if they’re sung by Johnny. Or Willie. Or Patsy.
8.04.2009
Conversations With a Four-Year-Old, Volume Five
I think it's only fair that E should need therapy, at some point, due to my parenting skills. Because she sure throws some zingers out at me occasionally. For example:
E: Mommy, can we have some quiet time now?
Me: Sure. Are you tired of talking?
E: Yes. Sometimes, when you talk, it makes my ears hurt.
E: Mommy, can we have some quiet time now?
Me: Sure. Are you tired of talking?
E: Yes. Sometimes, when you talk, it makes my ears hurt.
7.17.2009
Dear New Orleans Gods...
I'm leaving in the morning to go to Puerto Vallarta for a week.
Since someone is indicted every single time I go out of town, it would be really great if it could be Ray Nagin this time. If you can't swing that, I'd settle for Greg Meffert. Or Veronica White. Or if there can't be an indictment, a resignation from Warren Riley would be super, too.
In exchange, I'm willing to bring you back a bottle of tequila. And I promise that if I run into Captain Stubing, Julie, Isaac, Gopher, or any of the rest of the Love Boat gang, I'll tell them you said hi.
XOXO, A
P.S. Anthony Jones' firing doesn't count--that happened before I left.
Since someone is indicted every single time I go out of town, it would be really great if it could be Ray Nagin this time. If you can't swing that, I'd settle for Greg Meffert. Or Veronica White. Or if there can't be an indictment, a resignation from Warren Riley would be super, too.
In exchange, I'm willing to bring you back a bottle of tequila. And I promise that if I run into Captain Stubing, Julie, Isaac, Gopher, or any of the rest of the Love Boat gang, I'll tell them you said hi.
XOXO, A
P.S. Anthony Jones' firing doesn't count--that happened before I left.
7.15.2009
Competition
I went to renew our Louisiana Citizens FAIR (hah!) Plan today for wind and hail coverage. The woman at the insurance office and I got to talking, and she asked how many feet of water we'd had during Katrina. When I answered 3 1/2 feet, she got a little pissy with me. "Hmph. I wish that's all the water we'd had in our house." Turns out, she lived in Chalmette and had water to her rooftop.
Really? Is there an "I got more water than you did during Katrina" competition that no one told me about? Because, for the record, 3 1/2 feet of water did a hell of a lot of damage. And for that matter, 6 inches of water, if it sat inside of your house for two weeks, did a hell of a lot of damage. And even if you got no water during Katrina, I'm sure you felt (and possibly still feel) a little pyschologically damaged.
Let's not fight amongst ourselves, m'kay? Three-and-a-half feet of water sucked. As did 20 feet of water. As did 6 inches of water. We all had to replace a hell of a lot. And recover from a hell of a lot.
I don't know why that set me off. Is therapy calling my name?
Really? Is there an "I got more water than you did during Katrina" competition that no one told me about? Because, for the record, 3 1/2 feet of water did a hell of a lot of damage. And for that matter, 6 inches of water, if it sat inside of your house for two weeks, did a hell of a lot of damage. And even if you got no water during Katrina, I'm sure you felt (and possibly still feel) a little pyschologically damaged.
Let's not fight amongst ourselves, m'kay? Three-and-a-half feet of water sucked. As did 20 feet of water. As did 6 inches of water. We all had to replace a hell of a lot. And recover from a hell of a lot.
I don't know why that set me off. Is therapy calling my name?
7.14.2009
Four-Oh
So, I'm 40 years old now--is it time for me to have my mid-life crisis? Personally, 40 seems a little late to have a mid-life crisis. I think my chances of making it to 80 are fair to middling.
Do people in New Orleans say "fair to middling? Or is that just another Southernism that y'all have never heard of? Like "full as a tick on a hound dog?" That's my personal favorite. I'm going to go out on a limb and venture that people from, say, Vermont have definitely never heard of the hound dog simile. Prove me wrong.
So anyway, I'm 40 now. What do you, my faithful two readers, think I should do to celebrate? Right now, there are about 4 votes that I should go get a tattoo and a nose ring (kidding). Although I have thought about getting another tattoo. Yes, I have one--it's personal. But not in an "I got drunk and got some guy's name tattooed on my butt and then we broke up" kinda way. Just in an "It's personal, it meant something to me, and I did it only for me and very few people know about it" kinda way.
Thank you, dear husband, for a wonderful surprise 40th birthday party, complete with getting old friends into town and a very hungover brunch at Commander's the next day. Pictures to follow at some point, once I find the time to edit them.
Do people in New Orleans say "fair to middling? Or is that just another Southernism that y'all have never heard of? Like "full as a tick on a hound dog?" That's my personal favorite. I'm going to go out on a limb and venture that people from, say, Vermont have definitely never heard of the hound dog simile. Prove me wrong.
So anyway, I'm 40 now. What do you, my faithful two readers, think I should do to celebrate? Right now, there are about 4 votes that I should go get a tattoo and a nose ring (kidding). Although I have thought about getting another tattoo. Yes, I have one--it's personal. But not in an "I got drunk and got some guy's name tattooed on my butt and then we broke up" kinda way. Just in an "It's personal, it meant something to me, and I did it only for me and very few people know about it" kinda way.
Thank you, dear husband, for a wonderful surprise 40th birthday party, complete with getting old friends into town and a very hungover brunch at Commander's the next day. Pictures to follow at some point, once I find the time to edit them.
7.13.2009
Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Four
So, with all of the celebrity deaths lately (I mean, c'mon--Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson AND Billy Mays? Oh, the humanity!), the subject of death was bound to hit Emmeline's radar eventually. Somehow, Michael Jackson's death made it into her frame of consciousness this week.--I think it has to do with the fact that she absolutely loves Thriller. (I blame her father. And Vincent Price.) So, we got to have the following conversation on the way home from daycare today.
E: Mommy, why did Michael Jackson die?
Me: (Me, thinking to myself, "Oh lord, the death conversation. I'm so not ready for the death conversation. Shouldn't she be having this conversation with a trained professional?") Oh, he was sick honey. Sometimes people get sick and die.
E: Mommy, why did Michael Jackson die?
Me: (Me, thinking to myself, "Oh lord, the death conversation. I'm so not ready for the death conversation. Shouldn't she be having this conversation with a trained professional?") Oh, he was sick honey. Sometimes people get sick and die.
Insomnia
So, what do you do when you can't sleep and end up staying up all night? Me? I could've taken advantage of catching up on my blog last night, when I was up roaming around the house between the hours of 12:00 and 5:030 a.m., unable to sleep. But that would've been too productive. Instead, I finished my book, hoping I'd get sleepy, and started a new one. No luck. So, I turned to my fail-safe insomnia method--surfing channels and watching infomercials until I was sure I'd get so bored that I'd be able to get to sleep. Again, no such luck. And I must say, when you can't sleep at 5:00 a.m., those infomercials start to look pretty tempting. I consider myself lucky that I made it back to bed around 5:30 without giving into temptation and becoming the proud owner of some Bare Minerals makeup (with a FREE compact!), a Shark vacuum cleaner (as good as the Dyson! And it comes with a FREE steam mop!) and a body shaper (drop two dress sizes INSTANTLY!). But I must confess, it's just not the same without Billy Mays shouting at me. And how big of a bummer is that, to have the Oxi-Clean guy die on your birthday?
I have lots to blog about--my trip to Peru, my insane four-year-old, my upcoming trip to Mexico, turning 40 and having my husband actually throw me a surprise birthday party. But I'm feeling sleepy. Guess it will all have to wait while I go in search of an infomercial for the Magic Bullet....
I have lots to blog about--my trip to Peru, my insane four-year-old, my upcoming trip to Mexico, turning 40 and having my husband actually throw me a surprise birthday party. But I'm feeling sleepy. Guess it will all have to wait while I go in search of an infomercial for the Magic Bullet....
6.19.2009
A Google Epiphany
I just figured it out--all of this time, I've been wondering if there's some weird definition of "gris" that I don't know about, other than when it's used in the context of "gris-gris." You see, people keep ending up at this blog via the google, where, as I believe I've mentioned, they type in weird-ass things like "big ass gris," "gris porn," and "gris on my body."
They're not trying to type gris. They're trying to type girls and are just terrible typists. (They probably don't blog much.)
Maybe this occurred to everyone else a long time ago, but I just got that. Duh.
They're not trying to type gris. They're trying to type girls and are just terrible typists. (They probably don't blog much.)
Maybe this occurred to everyone else a long time ago, but I just got that. Duh.
6.18.2009
Up on the Roof
Did I mention that I moved into my office? (Why yes, you've mentioned that several times now.) How about pluses and minuses to my new office? Have I mentioned those? No? Okay, here we go.
Fill In the Blank....
Way back in the dark ages, when I was pregnant with Emmeline, I signed up for one of those sites where you get a weekly email telling you what to expect during that week of your pregnancy, what to expect now that your child is XX weeks, months old, etc.
Now that Emmeline is officially a pre-schooler, the emails have narrowed down to one maybe every couple of months. Usually, they languish away in my inbox, with me always meaning to open them and read what words of wisdom they may have but never finding the time to do so.
I had to laugh this afternoon when one appeared in my inbox. The title, which was too long to show up fully, was abbreviated to "Your 4-Year-Old: Your Little...."
My little what? Oh, the words I could use to finish that sentence....The correct answer is "Your Little Reporter," but I prefer some of the answers I came up with, which I won't repeat here.
Now that Emmeline is officially a pre-schooler, the emails have narrowed down to one maybe every couple of months. Usually, they languish away in my inbox, with me always meaning to open them and read what words of wisdom they may have but never finding the time to do so.
I had to laugh this afternoon when one appeared in my inbox. The title, which was too long to show up fully, was abbreviated to "Your 4-Year-Old: Your Little...."
My little what? Oh, the words I could use to finish that sentence....The correct answer is "Your Little Reporter," but I prefer some of the answers I came up with, which I won't repeat here.
6.17.2009
Dear Crawfish Gods:
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for letting this story happen in Lafayette rather than in New Orleans. After the whole teenager stabbing a bus driver story, we could use a little break. What kind of idiot tries to force their child to eat an entire crawfish, shell and all?
On the plus side, I think I just got a point in the game my husband and I like to play, "Whose Native State Contains More Jackasses?"
On the plus side, I think I just got a point in the game my husband and I like to play, "Whose Native State Contains More Jackasses?"
6.08.2009
Random Musings #7
I haven't had a chance in the past couple of days to do my usual perusal of pretty much every NOLA blog known to man, but in light of the news that's come out over the past few days, I'm willing to make a wager right now that the phrase "Shanghai surprise" is making the circuit. Time will tell when I have a chance to surf. I'm also willing to go out on a big limb here and predict that people in New Orleans are not exactly broken up over the fact that our mayor is being quarantined in China. How could our city government get any worse? I, for one, will not be pining for C. Ray's return.
As I said in a FB posting, I am so officially old now. Yes, I will be FORTY in 20 days (technically, 19 days and two hours, but who's counting?). For the most part, I feel okay about this whole aging thing. Would I like to go back and be 17 for a couple of days? God, yes. But it's okay--I've had 15 years to get used to gray hair (thank you, Ms. Clairol) and all of the other joys that go along with aging. But the thing that still kinda disturbs me and makes me realize that I really am officially middle-aged now (other than the screaming at children to get off my lawn) is the fact that I'm so out of the Top 40, Entertainment Tonight loop that it's not even funny. Who in the hell is Shia LaBouef? I see his name all over the place now. I have no idea of who he is, and I don't care--I'm not even willing to google it and find out who this guy that all of the teeny-boppers are swooning over is. Did I mention that everyone should get off my lawn?
As I said in a FB posting, I am so officially old now. Yes, I will be FORTY in 20 days (technically, 19 days and two hours, but who's counting?). For the most part, I feel okay about this whole aging thing. Would I like to go back and be 17 for a couple of days? God, yes. But it's okay--I've had 15 years to get used to gray hair (thank you, Ms. Clairol) and all of the other joys that go along with aging. But the thing that still kinda disturbs me and makes me realize that I really am officially middle-aged now (other than the screaming at children to get off my lawn) is the fact that I'm so out of the Top 40, Entertainment Tonight loop that it's not even funny. Who in the hell is Shia LaBouef? I see his name all over the place now. I have no idea of who he is, and I don't care--I'm not even willing to google it and find out who this guy that all of the teeny-boppers are swooning over is. Did I mention that everyone should get off my lawn?
6.04.2009
Thank God I'm Normal, aka Conversations With a Four-Year-Old, Volume Three
I have discovered a post that, in my humble opinion, is the funniest damn mom-blogging post ever. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Watch Your Mouth. Go read it. It's well worth it.
And now, in the spirit of that honesty, I'll share my own watch your mouth moment, otherwise known as Conversations With a Four-Year-Old....
E: *#$%^&*!
Me: What did you just say?
E: Sorry, Mommy. I said f*ck. But it's okay, because I was just talking to my Barbie because she won't let me put her damn clothes on. I wasn't talking to you.
I really honestly can't imagine where she's heard such language....
And now, in the spirit of that honesty, I'll share my own watch your mouth moment, otherwise known as Conversations With a Four-Year-Old....
E: *#$%^&*!
Me: What did you just say?
E: Sorry, Mommy. I said f*ck. But it's okay, because I was just talking to my Barbie because she won't let me put her damn clothes on. I wasn't talking to you.
I really honestly can't imagine where she's heard such language....
The People on the Bus are Carrying Knives
Sometimes, when the crime in New Orleans seems particularly out of control, like, oh, every day, I wonder why there are so many people in the world who seem to have no sense of responsibility and absolutely no moral compass. I wonder why people are so willing to solve their disputes with violence and why they don't know any better.
And then, when something particularly disturbing happens, it makes me remember how many people there are in this world who don't have responsible parents or authority figures in their lives and don't have anyone to teach them the difference between right and wrong.
Like this story--"RTA Bus Driver Stabbed by Young Woman in Stroller Dispute." How screwed up do you have to be to get on a bus with your two-and-a-half-year-old, get offended when the bus driver tells you to fold up your stroller, and decide that the appropriate response is to throw milk in the bus driver's face and then stab her with a steak knife?
The perpetrator is a 17-year-old girl, which means that she got pregnant at 13 or 14. I have no idea of whether her parents are in the picture, but you do have to wonder what, if anything, she's been taught if she thinks it's appropriate to stab someone over a minor dispute. Another child having children. I hope like hell she gets some help, for her sake and for her child's.
Depressing.
And then, when something particularly disturbing happens, it makes me remember how many people there are in this world who don't have responsible parents or authority figures in their lives and don't have anyone to teach them the difference between right and wrong.
Like this story--"RTA Bus Driver Stabbed by Young Woman in Stroller Dispute." How screwed up do you have to be to get on a bus with your two-and-a-half-year-old, get offended when the bus driver tells you to fold up your stroller, and decide that the appropriate response is to throw milk in the bus driver's face and then stab her with a steak knife?
The perpetrator is a 17-year-old girl, which means that she got pregnant at 13 or 14. I have no idea of whether her parents are in the picture, but you do have to wonder what, if anything, she's been taught if she thinks it's appropriate to stab someone over a minor dispute. Another child having children. I hope like hell she gets some help, for her sake and for her child's.
Depressing.
6.03.2009
Really, Riley?
This is enough to scare the hell out of me. Please, dear God, let us be smart enough not to elect Warren Riley as mayor. I think that could just be the final nail in New Orleans' coffin.
And speaking of that jackass, why is it still considered news when the FBI ranks us as the murder capital of the U.S. and then Riley comes out to dispute the FBI's designation by spouting off something similar to "Blah, blah, blah, the census figures are wrong. Blah, blah, blah, crime rates are down." Great. Crime rates are down. We're still watching people around here get killed on an almost-daily basis.
My favorite part of the Times-Pic story on the population dispute is this: "Using the highest of [the] population estimates, the city last year recorded 55 murders per 100,000 residents. The number used by the FBI notches that up to 64 murders per 100,000 people. St. Louis has the nation's second-highest rate, about 47 murders per 100,000 people."
So, even if we do have 45,000 more people than the U.S. Census Bureau originally gave us credit for, as Riley insists, we're still killing people at a higher rate than anyone else. I don't know of anyone who thinks that the responsibility for the astronomical murder rate in this city rests solely with the NOPD. But coming out and denying that murder rate by saying that the FBI's numbers are wrong is NOT making anyone feel better--especially when this is about the fourth year in a row that Riley's trotted out that tired excuse.
I think that's one of the things that drives me up the wall the most about the Nagin administration. Not a single damn one of them will ever just be honest and admit that there's a problem--they're always trying to spin, spin, spin.
God, how I can't wait for these idiots to be gone. Surely we can't do any worse, right?
And speaking of that jackass, why is it still considered news when the FBI ranks us as the murder capital of the U.S. and then Riley comes out to dispute the FBI's designation by spouting off something similar to "Blah, blah, blah, the census figures are wrong. Blah, blah, blah, crime rates are down." Great. Crime rates are down. We're still watching people around here get killed on an almost-daily basis.
My favorite part of the Times-Pic story on the population dispute is this: "Using the highest of [the] population estimates, the city last year recorded 55 murders per 100,000 residents. The number used by the FBI notches that up to 64 murders per 100,000 people. St. Louis has the nation's second-highest rate, about 47 murders per 100,000 people."
So, even if we do have 45,000 more people than the U.S. Census Bureau originally gave us credit for, as Riley insists, we're still killing people at a higher rate than anyone else. I don't know of anyone who thinks that the responsibility for the astronomical murder rate in this city rests solely with the NOPD. But coming out and denying that murder rate by saying that the FBI's numbers are wrong is NOT making anyone feel better--especially when this is about the fourth year in a row that Riley's trotted out that tired excuse.
I think that's one of the things that drives me up the wall the most about the Nagin administration. Not a single damn one of them will ever just be honest and admit that there's a problem--they're always trying to spin, spin, spin.
God, how I can't wait for these idiots to be gone. Surely we can't do any worse, right?
A Four-Year-Old First
This morning around 6:30 a.m., I was sitting on the back porch having my usual breakfast of champions of a Coke and a cigarette. Then, all of a sudden, the clouds parted, angels with harps appeared, and the Hallalujah chorus began playing around me.
In other words, today was the first morning EVER (or since she learned how to talk, at least) that my daughter woke up, came out and found me on the porch, and didn't start immediately demanding that I turn on the bathroom light, turn on some cartoons, get her some cereal, get her some juice, cover her with a blanket, etc., all of which should be done RIGHT. THIS. VERY. MINUTE.
Instead, we sat on the porch together for about 10 minutes and had a conversation about dogs and squirrels. And then we calmly walked into the house together and I got her some breakfast and turned on the Disney Channel. And THEN, she got dressed. By herself.
If this is what people have been talking about in regards to how delightful it is to have a four-year-old, sign me up for more, please!
In other words, today was the first morning EVER (or since she learned how to talk, at least) that my daughter woke up, came out and found me on the porch, and didn't start immediately demanding that I turn on the bathroom light, turn on some cartoons, get her some cereal, get her some juice, cover her with a blanket, etc., all of which should be done RIGHT. THIS. VERY. MINUTE.
Instead, we sat on the porch together for about 10 minutes and had a conversation about dogs and squirrels. And then we calmly walked into the house together and I got her some breakfast and turned on the Disney Channel. And THEN, she got dressed. By herself.
If this is what people have been talking about in regards to how delightful it is to have a four-year-old, sign me up for more, please!
5.14.2009
The Google, Again
Dear Google Users:
You're really starting to creep me out a bit. All because of this post, you people keep ending up at my site, with your weird-ass questions, like, "Is it okay to give my two-year-old Xanax?" and "Xanax for a four-year-old."
The answer, in case you were really wondering, is NO. No, you cannot give your child prescription drugs. Okay? Does that make it clear? Now go google something about "funky grits" or "grits porn" or something else weird and let me be, okay? Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "No, you cannot give your child Xanax, even if you really wish they'd be quiet, just for a little while." Sheesh.
Now, just for the fun of it, let's type "hallucinogenics and toddlers" and see who ends up here....
You're really starting to creep me out a bit. All because of this post, you people keep ending up at my site, with your weird-ass questions, like, "Is it okay to give my two-year-old Xanax?" and "Xanax for a four-year-old."
The answer, in case you were really wondering, is NO. No, you cannot give your child prescription drugs. Okay? Does that make it clear? Now go google something about "funky grits" or "grits porn" or something else weird and let me be, okay? Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "No, you cannot give your child Xanax, even if you really wish they'd be quiet, just for a little while." Sheesh.
Now, just for the fun of it, let's type "hallucinogenics and toddlers" and see who ends up here....
5.13.2009
I Want to Play, Too!
Following the lead of Jeffrey and Kelly, here’s what I was up to 81 days after Katrina—trying to explain to the insurance company that I had no idea of where my car ended up after it went under a 30+ foot storm surge in Bay St. Louis. Ah, good times.
Other misty-water colored memories of that time include getting into serious discussions with my husband (some including yelling, crying, and screaming) as to whether we should move back to New Orleans or not, while we lived in an unfurnished house in Atlanta that someone had been kind enough to loan to us until we figured out where in the hell to go. And then there's the laugh-a-minute memories from around Day 81 like fighting with Allstate about whether or not our house would be declared a total loss, fighting with Allstate about why they kept reassigning us to a different adjustor, and coming to terms with the fact that everything we owned at the time fit into a couple of Rubbermaid plastic containers, thanks to Katrina. I think I would’ve preferred a first-class, all-expenses paid trip to Jamaica, too, mon.
To see what we’re talking about, go here—81 Days Later, Life Was a Beach
Oh, happy days.
Other misty-water colored memories of that time include getting into serious discussions with my husband (some including yelling, crying, and screaming) as to whether we should move back to New Orleans or not, while we lived in an unfurnished house in Atlanta that someone had been kind enough to loan to us until we figured out where in the hell to go. And then there's the laugh-a-minute memories from around Day 81 like fighting with Allstate about whether or not our house would be declared a total loss, fighting with Allstate about why they kept reassigning us to a different adjustor, and coming to terms with the fact that everything we owned at the time fit into a couple of Rubbermaid plastic containers, thanks to Katrina. I think I would’ve preferred a first-class, all-expenses paid trip to Jamaica, too, mon.
To see what we’re talking about, go here—81 Days Later, Life Was a Beach
Oh, happy days.
5.08.2009
Ah, Spring - Part Two
Have I mentioned how much I really dislike the wide world of insects found in New Orleans in springtime? At least I'm used to palmetto bugs (aka, big-ass flying cockroaches)--they're gross, but they're familiar. But stinging hairy caterpillars? Those huge gigantic mosquitos that are about 20 times the size of a normal mosquito? And what in God's name are those weird-ass bugs that look like beetles wearing a shell and then spin around on the ground making horrible noises? Really, what in God's name are those?
Yesterday evening, K, Emmeline, and I were sitting on the porch, hanging out, when all of sudden, this bug cruised up and over the chair Emmeline was sitting in. I guess it was a beetle of some sort, but it was black with white stripes. It looked like a zebra. With a horn. I've never before in my life seen one of those.
But anyway--the point of this story. Tonight, I tried to tough it out and sit on the porch, Formosan termite swarms be damned. And I did just fine there, for a while, killing them as they landed on my arms and legs. But then one landed on my head and tried to burrow into my scalp. My porch-sitting time for this evening is officially over. I'll be picking termite bits out of my hair for the rest of the night.
Ah, spring in New Orleans. I'm off now to turn off all the lights in the house in a futile effort to keep the termites out.
Edit: A big-ass flying cockroach just swooped down on me. He was probably trying to get the termite in my hair. I am so moving to Alaska.
Yesterday evening, K, Emmeline, and I were sitting on the porch, hanging out, when all of sudden, this bug cruised up and over the chair Emmeline was sitting in. I guess it was a beetle of some sort, but it was black with white stripes. It looked like a zebra. With a horn. I've never before in my life seen one of those.
But anyway--the point of this story. Tonight, I tried to tough it out and sit on the porch, Formosan termite swarms be damned. And I did just fine there, for a while, killing them as they landed on my arms and legs. But then one landed on my head and tried to burrow into my scalp. My porch-sitting time for this evening is officially over. I'll be picking termite bits out of my hair for the rest of the night.
Ah, spring in New Orleans. I'm off now to turn off all the lights in the house in a futile effort to keep the termites out.
Edit: A big-ass flying cockroach just swooped down on me. He was probably trying to get the termite in my hair. I am so moving to Alaska.
5.06.2009
Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Two
A conversation that took place at 3:00 a.m.
E: Mommy, wake up. Mommy?
Me: Uhnnnnnn.
E: Mommy, wake up. I don't feel good.
Me: What's wrong, sweetie?
E. My tummy hurts. I think I have the swan flu.
E: Mommy, wake up. Mommy?
Me: Uhnnnnnn.
E: Mommy, wake up. I don't feel good.
Me: What's wrong, sweetie?
E. My tummy hurts. I think I have the swan flu.
4.29.2009
Progress, Part Two
The "recovery" is moving along at a rapid-fire, lightning-quick pace now. Only 44 months later, the flooded-out, abandoned house that sat a block down on our street since Katrina, complete with moldy furniture, was finally demolished. Progress, people! Next up, cranes on the skyline....
Four-Year-Old Blues
Lately, I feel like I can't do anything right when it comes to mothering. Everyone has told me how wonderful four-year-olds are, that they're finally in a sweet, agreeable, tantrum-free phase, and some of the time, I agree with them. Emmeline is funny, and smart, and sweet. But she's also incredibly defiant, and I'm incredibly tired.
It seems like lately that everything is a battle. And I mean everything. It starts off in the morning with her arguing about what I'm fixing her for breakfast, we then move into an argument over whether or not she can have candy after breakfast, and then transition into the battle over what clothes, shoes, and underwear to wear to school. Believe me, I let her pick whenever possible--even when that means she goes off to school in a dress that's too short and is wrinkled beyond belief and is accessorized with a pair of scuffed-up old shoes that are worn on the wrong feet (for some strange reason, she prefers them to be on the wrong feet).
It seems like lately that everything is a battle. And I mean everything. It starts off in the morning with her arguing about what I'm fixing her for breakfast, we then move into an argument over whether or not she can have candy after breakfast, and then transition into the battle over what clothes, shoes, and underwear to wear to school. Believe me, I let her pick whenever possible--even when that means she goes off to school in a dress that's too short and is wrinkled beyond belief and is accessorized with a pair of scuffed-up old shoes that are worn on the wrong feet (for some strange reason, she prefers them to be on the wrong feet).
4.23.2009
A Question?
Has anyone ever noticed? That Travers Mackel? Can't report the news? Without sounding like? A teenaged girl? Who makes every sentence? Sound like a question? Am I the only one? Who finds this? Really irritating? And thinks that he needs? Some coaching? And that WDSU? Is quite possibly? The cheesiest local television? News channel?
Just wondering. I don't know why I even watch their evening newscast, as none of the reporters really do it for me. And their constant patting of themselves on the back has me rolling my eyes constantly. I guess I watch it out of habit, because I like ol' Roop in the morning, and I prefer NBC nightly news at night.
But still? Travers Mackel is really irritating. As is Fletcher. And don't even get me started on how happy I am that the stupid DARN scale retired with Dan. And get off my lawn.
Just wondering. I don't know why I even watch their evening newscast, as none of the reporters really do it for me. And their constant patting of themselves on the back has me rolling my eyes constantly. I guess I watch it out of habit, because I like ol' Roop in the morning, and I prefer NBC nightly news at night.
But still? Travers Mackel is really irritating. As is Fletcher. And don't even get me started on how happy I am that the stupid DARN scale retired with Dan. And get off my lawn.
4.22.2009
Conversations With a Four-Year-Old, Volume One
E: Mommy, Ryan was talking about his tee-tee at school today. He has a tee-tee because he's a boy.
Me: Yes, that's right. Ryan's a boy.
E: Yeah, he's a boy, but I told him I didn't want to hear about his tee-tee. I told him that's biscusting.
Me: Biscusting?
E: Yeah. Biscusting. That's when something's really gross.
Me: Yes, that's right. Ryan's a boy.
E: Yeah, he's a boy, but I told him I didn't want to hear about his tee-tee. I told him that's biscusting.
Me: Biscusting?
E: Yeah. Biscusting. That's when something's really gross.
A Quiz
If you woke up at 4:00 a.m., realized that your husband had never made it home from work, then called his cell phone and discovered it was either turned off or the battery was dead, what would you do?
A. Call his cell phone obsessively every 5-8 minutes in the hopes that he'd eventually turn it on and answer it.
B. Start calling hospitals to see if he'd been in an accident.
C. Start calling police departments to see if he'd been arrested.
D. All of the above.
I went with option D and didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I've never been so happy in my life to see him as when he finally showed up around 7:00 a.m. Of course, I was extremely irritated with him as well. Turns out his boss asked him to stay at the restaurant all night and re-inventory the food, as they discovered last week that there was some sort of error that was resulting in their food costs being off by about $150K. He just forgot to mention that to me. And forgot to charge his cell phone.
Husbands. Will they never get the whole "call me if you're going to be late" thing?
A. Call his cell phone obsessively every 5-8 minutes in the hopes that he'd eventually turn it on and answer it.
B. Start calling hospitals to see if he'd been in an accident.
C. Start calling police departments to see if he'd been arrested.
D. All of the above.
I went with option D and didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I've never been so happy in my life to see him as when he finally showed up around 7:00 a.m. Of course, I was extremely irritated with him as well. Turns out his boss asked him to stay at the restaurant all night and re-inventory the food, as they discovered last week that there was some sort of error that was resulting in their food costs being off by about $150K. He just forgot to mention that to me. And forgot to charge his cell phone.
Husbands. Will they never get the whole "call me if you're going to be late" thing?
What I Learned Today
Whew--it's over. The grand opening of our new office and all of the minutiae that were involved in pulling it off are done. Now, for the things I learned today:
- If you send out 1,200 invitations to an event, consider yourself fortunate if 50 people reply to the requested RSVP.
- It's hard to plan how much food to have for an event when no one RSVPs.
- When people who didn't RSVP show up at the event, expect some of them to complain about the fact that there isn't enough food to go around.
- It seems that some people live for showing up at an event so that they can complain about the logistics of it.
- If you feed them, they will come.
- Portabello mushroom tarts taste a lot better than they look. They kinda look like something you'd scrape off of your shoe in horror.
- Some adults get waaaayyyy more excited about free pens than they should.
- My new office is pretty.
- Some people get really pissy when they don't have a pre-printed name tag because they didn't RSVP. My advice? Get over it.
- I now remember why I got out of the PR/special events business.
- All in all, it went really well.
4.16.2009
Note to Self
Try to be a lighter sleeper the next time Emmeline sneaks into your room at 5:00 a.m., finds the nail polish in your bedside table, and proceeds to paint her toenails and fingernails. And her toes. And her ankles. And her calves. And her fingers. And her wrists. And her forearms. And the sofa. And the coffee table. And the rug. And the floor. And the Elmo chair.
P.S. Find a new hiding place for the fingernail polish. And buy more nail polish remover.
P.S. Find a new hiding place for the fingernail polish. And buy more nail polish remover.
4.11.2009
CEJ+
Dear Charles:
I love you. I miss you. I remember you. I wish you were still here. It seems wrong that you're not. You should be 30 years old. You should be married. You should have kids, or at least one on the way. You should be here. You should be playing with Emmeline and be her favorite uncle. We should be sitting on Mom and Nick's porch, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. You should have a good job that you love. You should be making Mom and Nick and Patty and Paul proud of the man you've turned out to be. You should be the brother that I love to hang out with during the holidays. You should be the person who's found himself. You should be here.
You should be here. I try to tell myself that you moved on because you were ready to do so--because you had one of the kindest, wisest souls that I've ever known. And it's true. But you should still be here. We weren't ready for you to go.
Eight years. I love you. I miss you. I remember you.
Charles Eric Johnson. 1978-2001.
I love you. I miss you. I remember you. I wish you were still here. It seems wrong that you're not. You should be 30 years old. You should be married. You should have kids, or at least one on the way. You should be here. You should be playing with Emmeline and be her favorite uncle. We should be sitting on Mom and Nick's porch, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. You should have a good job that you love. You should be making Mom and Nick and Patty and Paul proud of the man you've turned out to be. You should be the brother that I love to hang out with during the holidays. You should be the person who's found himself. You should be here.
You should be here. I try to tell myself that you moved on because you were ready to do so--because you had one of the kindest, wisest souls that I've ever known. And it's true. But you should still be here. We weren't ready for you to go.
Eight years. I love you. I miss you. I remember you.
Charles Eric Johnson. 1978-2001.
4.09.2009
I Think I Would've Gone With Mary Jane
My favorite part of the story appearing in the Times-Pic this morning entitled "NO Man Convicted of Attack on Tourist" would have to be this:
Rayfield, who was acquitted of an armed robbery charge in 2003, took the witness stand in his own defense, saying that after a night out with a friend on Bourbon Street he was walking up to his sister's apartment in the Iberville when police grabbed him and slammed his head into the wall.
His sister, Marijuana Rayfield, also testified for the defense that her brother couldn't have been involved in the crime that morning.
The jury deliberated for 1 1/2 hours before finding Rayfield guilty as charged.
Can someone please explain to me why you'd even consider naming your child Marijuana?
Rayfield, who was acquitted of an armed robbery charge in 2003, took the witness stand in his own defense, saying that after a night out with a friend on Bourbon Street he was walking up to his sister's apartment in the Iberville when police grabbed him and slammed his head into the wall.
His sister, Marijuana Rayfield, also testified for the defense that her brother couldn't have been involved in the crime that morning.
The jury deliberated for 1 1/2 hours before finding Rayfield guilty as charged.
Can someone please explain to me why you'd even consider naming your child Marijuana?
4.08.2009
Us Versus Them
I don't know why this stuff still gets to me. Almost four years later, you'd think I'd be over it. That I would have long since grown accustomed to the callousness, insensitivity, and downright meanness of some of my fellow Americans. But after seeing the ridiculous mid-west flooding versus Katrina comparisons begin anew, it still brings out the same reaction in me that it would have in 2005. It makes my head start buzzing and my heart start pounding. It makes me want to cry and punch something at the same time.
If you haven't already, please go read Scout Prime's excellent post on the false comparisons that are being drawn between the recent flooding in North Dakota and the flooding in New Orleans after Katrina. She says it much better than I can.
I talked with an old boyfriend on Facebook recently, for the first time in oh, about 20 years. After telling him that I'd lived in New Orleans for the past 10+ years, had gone through Katrina, etc., his response was interesting. He said he'd been one of those people that sat around in their living rooms, watching the coverage of Katrina, and commenting on what idiots we all were for living there in the first place, etc. He said that I was the first person he knew of that actually lived in the area and was affected by Katrina and that, to be quite honest, he felt like a bit of an asshole for his earlier analysis. His comments didn't offend me--at least he was honest about it.
If you haven't already, please go read Scout Prime's excellent post on the false comparisons that are being drawn between the recent flooding in North Dakota and the flooding in New Orleans after Katrina. She says it much better than I can.
I talked with an old boyfriend on Facebook recently, for the first time in oh, about 20 years. After telling him that I'd lived in New Orleans for the past 10+ years, had gone through Katrina, etc., his response was interesting. He said he'd been one of those people that sat around in their living rooms, watching the coverage of Katrina, and commenting on what idiots we all were for living there in the first place, etc. He said that I was the first person he knew of that actually lived in the area and was affected by Katrina and that, to be quite honest, he felt like a bit of an asshole for his earlier analysis. His comments didn't offend me--at least he was honest about it.
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