occasionally i do things

Langston Hughes

2011-09-29T09:18:00.001-05:00

I'll always think
when I hear
   Langston  Hughes
of the moment a student
rapped
   "The Weary Blues"
for the class and
for me.

The Weary Blues
   Langston Hughes

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
 I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
 He did a lazy sway . . .
 He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
 O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
 Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
 O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
 "Ain't got nobody in all this world,
 Ain't got nobody but ma self.
 I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
 And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
 "I got the Weary Blues
 And I can't be satisfied.
 Got the Weary Blues
 And can't be satisfied--
 I ain't happy no mo'
 And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

Grillz

2011-08-03T10:57:00.000-05:00

Today was my first solo grilling attempt ever. At 9:30 in the morning. I would say it was mostly successful, although my pork chops were a little dry. Thanks to my friend Katie for witnessing the event over the phone. Everything was mostly successful.

Mmmm. Steak and eggs for breakfast.

Now I have to get my rear in gear for work. Blerg. I have done so well at being on time lately (believe it or not...I've been on time or early for most events in my life lately!)...But not today. Oops. Oh well, it's Wednesday.

Ahoy Mates!

2011-07-04T01:19:00.000-05:00

This is where I will be celebrating the 4th of July. What better way to honor our founding fathers, than to relax on the land that Divine Providence led them to acquire and defend? (Pictures of beach to follow.)

If I prepared for most things the way I prepare for the beach, my life would be more beach-like.

A big thanks to the men and women who serve our country. It's pretty rad what you do on a daily basis.

IBurn4U

2011-06-08T23:00:00.000-05:00

Last week, my teaching assistant Jasper led a lesson on a study skills lesson on class participation. The lesson was great. He used two short flash fiction stories (stories that have plot but don't give an abundant amount of detail in than 500 words, and leave the reader with many ideas of what the story is about).

One of the stories involved a magic trick, a bottle of wine, and flames. He was trying to help the students to make the connection of the symbolism between passion and fire or burning. To demonstrate, he said, "If I said, 'I burn for you,' what would that mean?" Which of course is a very dangerous thing to say. I was expecting someone to follow up with "It means you need to go to the clinic!" However, the response from one of the girls was much more candid and eased my fear when she yelled out, "IT MEANS YOU'RE AN ARSONIST!"

Yes, obviously, that's what it means. Why didn't I think of that?

2011-05-25T01:00:00.002-05:00

Never thought I would ever reach a point in my life where the cure for my bad mood comes from making a payment on my credit card.

Cure is a strong word, I suppose.

This is Really Happening

2011-05-10T12:13:00.001-05:00

Today on first day of a new class, I was greeted by the assistant to the provost who told me that the building I am teaching my GED classes is undergoing renovation. My class could barely hear my lesson on effective listening over the tile being broken off the floor in the hall way. It was a little easier to hear when they finally finished pressure washing the windows outside.

The lowest part of the day was being trapped in the classroom with the student who had asked me out on a date while the construction workers were jackhammering literally right outside my door. And as I emailed my boss about the situation, my student told me to get off my facebook page (which I was not on) because it could be deemed a distraction.

Jazz Fest Food

2011-05-08T21:28:00.002-05:00

List of Everything I Consumed at Jazz Fest 2011

1 - alligator pie
1 - servings fried green tomato
1 - strawberry lemonade
1 - cup straciatella gelato
2 - servings of crawfish monica
4 - bites of crawfish bread
1 - serving sweet potato chips with powdered sugar on top
3 - bites of hot sausage
2 - crawfish beignets with remoulade
1 - crawfish sack
1 - oyster pattie
3 - tums

Mind you, this wasn't all in one day. But too much sun and too much fried food makes for a long night of indigestion.

Thoughts On Osama Bin Laden's Death

2011-05-02T21:55:00.002-05:00

I was on the phone with my mom last night, shooting the proverbial breeze, when she said, "Turn on the news. Osama Bin Laden's dead." She very nearly hung up on me. Over the next few hours, glued to the t.v. the news of Bin Laden's death was explained to the American public, and I was awash with a variety of emotions.

I wasn't able to put a feeling on the emotion at the time, but now I recognize it as a sense of wary relief. I did not feel joy. I did not want to cheer his death. I did want to open the front door and shout "Osama Bin Laden's dead!" because shouting it out loud seemed like the only way to shake my disbelief.

I was moved by the people singing the national anthem in front of the White House. But as the crowd swelled, cheered, waved flags, and danced, I associated their action immediately with those in the Middle East after the news of 9/11 reached them. Is there any joy in death? I cannot believe that there is. Do I feel relief? Yes, an apprehensive relief that I'm almost certain won't last. Do I feel like the U.S. has accomplished a goal that we have been working to achieve for ten years - my entire adult life? Yes, absolutely. This is the biggest victory we have achieved. But joy and celebration is not something that I feel.

Isn't it wrong to celebrate someone's death? I'm not saying that this man was a good person - because he was anything but that. But the cheering and celebrating of death, isn't that one thing that we all condemned so many Muslims for? Celebration is only encouraging hatred and ignorance.

My friend Steph posted this Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. quote:

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

It's as if there is finally a glimmer of light at the end of a ten year tunnel. That little tiny glimmer - far, far away - gives me hope. I am proud to be an American, and I think that this is an exciting moment in history. After ten years of chasing after what seemed like nothing more than idea, we finally have something to show for it. It's the first concrete evidence that we have set out to do what we said that we would do. So today I am proud of the service men and women who made the operation possible, and I am proud of my country for enduring for this long. But it's pride I feel - not rejoice, and I hope that other people are able to distinguish the two.

Some food for thought news articles from CNN and NPR.

Light Bulb

2011-04-30T16:22:00.000-05:00

A few things I've realized lately:

- I need to always wear bug repellent.
- I should not cut my own bangs.
- I don't need to drive my car as often as I think I do.
- I am not good at asking people for things.
- Summer is here.Which means accepting perpetual sweatiness and developing a leg shaving regimen...two things I strongly dislike.
- Cut-offs are my new obsession
- Hammocks = a peaceful heart
- We overuse contractions when we speak.
- I have missed going to the library. So I paid off the exuberant my $14 fine and went back.
- I should not check out more than 2 books at a time.
- There is a reason that people are asleep at 3 a.m.
- Popsicles are a refreshing treat.
- Keeping my room clean is going to be as hard or as easy as I make it.
- Same with doing laundry.
- Staying at home reading a book isn't doing nothing. It's doing something.
- It is impossible to be able to do everything, to see everything, to read everything, to hear everything. I can be overwhelmed by that, or I can surrender to the fact that I can't. That doesn't mean not struggling with the fact I can't....
- Things that take a long time are really good for me. I didn't realize how impatient I really am.
- Sodoku is not that bad.
- Raspberries > strawberries
- A plane ride to get to the people I love is not impossible.

Adjective-less

2011-04-04T23:10:00.000-05:00

the first day back is always the worst.
no, it's the second.
but the $64 airport parking might have made the first day the worst.

i miss too many people right now. what a blessing it is to love so many people, even over a thousand miles.

Lights Out

2011-03-29T23:06:00.000-05:00

Tonight the weather was bad and the power went completely out about 45 minutes into class. It was the most terrifying 30 seconds of my life as I tried to figure out what I was going to do while responsible with 20 adults in the middle of a storm.

All I could think about was flashlights. Specifically where mine was at home. It was until a few minutes later after the lights came back on that I remembered my bike headlight was in my purse. It's more or less a flashlight.

I didn't like that one bit. I'm smart and mature and responsible, but evidently do NOT count on me in a crisis if it is pitch black.

Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend

2011-03-28T23:43:00.000-05:00

Busy weekends in New Orleans make me the happiest. They remind me why I moved here. I didn't move here for a job; I moved here because New Orleans is a great city NOT because I got a job. Reminders like this weekend remind me that there is more to my life than work! A wonderful gentle reminder.

Saturday afternoon my friends and I went to Hogs for a Cause. It's a big hog roast and all the proceeds go to cancer research. There was everything from Brazilian BBQ, to pork tacos, to ribs to pork belly. Did I tell the peons that I was the Pork Princess of Bureau County? Do you have to ask that question? Of COURSE I did. And imagine my surprise when I met someone who graduated from Princeton High School! We tried to small talk about people in town, but he graduated in 1992, so small talk was pretty limited. It seems only natural that I would meet someone from Princeton at a pork roast.

I went to a booth to try some of the drunken pork belly advertised on a sign, only to be disappointed with news that they were waiting for more to cook. So I shot the breeze with the people working the booth, and let it "slip" that they were privileged to be talking with royalty out mingling with the commoners for the day. When they found out I grew up on a pork farm, one of the guys at the grill pulled me back behind the booth and gave me a great big piece. Apparently people WILL give you stuff if you're important. I should let this secret slip a little bit more often....

After eating ourselves into a stupor, we headed over to the track to watch the ponies run. I have never been to a horse race before. It was only appropriate that the Louisiana Derby, a qualifier for the Kentucky Derby, was the first race I attend. I was able to watch a few of the races, but missed the big stakes races because I had to go work at Brocato's. Well, never mind the races, I saw what I came for: The old women in ridiculous hats.

After a delicious breakfast at my favorite Sunday brunch place, a place up the block called Katie's, we took the street car down to the Quarters for the Tennessee William's Literary Festival. There were all kinds of food vendors and street musicians playing. The big attraction was the Stella shout competition. In front of a balcony (presumably from the famous scene in A Streetcar Named Desire) contestants from all over the country fell on their knees and ripped their shirts in half while shouting up to Stella (or Stanley if you chose) on the balcony. The finalists then performed at La Petit Theatre.

I can't believe I'm about to admit this to you. But I'm doing it. I sure thought Tennessee Williams was dead. I suuuuuure did. But boy did I get confused when he came on stage in his linen suit reciting lines. I realized that I had NO idea when Tennessee Williams died or IF he had died. The man was convincing with the way he recited lines and told stories. The way the crowd was cheering him was convincing. To the point where I abandon my conviction that he was dead, and thought to myself "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M REALLY SEEING TENNESSEE WILLIAMS RIGHT NOW. ALL THIS TIME I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD. BOY WAS I WRONG BECAUSE THERE HE IS IN FLESH AND BLOOD!" Upon the conclusion of the shout, I made my friend Josh get out his phone and look up the truth. I wanted to delete the pictures I took of the Tennessee Williams imposter as soon as it was confirmed that the REAL Tennessee Williams has been dead for twenty eight years.

All in all, it was a really swell weekend.

2011-03-22T22:39:00.002-05:00

I just watched this clip from the movie Grease II and realized that this was what I wanted my high school experience to be like. WHERE WAS ALL THE SINGING AND DANCING IN ORDINARY EVENTS?

I just realized that my how disappointed I am with my high school experience because I didn't get to dance on the bowling alley lanes.

I'm serious.

....and this is how I imagine my mom's high school experience. She would have been the tree or March.

I'm serious.

2011-02-27T10:40:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I entered a home that had a real zebra skin rug, lion skin rug, and a sarcophagus.

I'm not making this up, people. And no, I didn't get pictures, even though I really wanted them.

2011-02-12T16:05:00.000-06:00

Later, after posting that last post, I learned what a magic 8 ball means on the street. I guess it's coke or something; I don't know drug lingo. But I don't want a drug magic 8 ball.

I want the magic 8 ball that will tell me things like, "All signs point to yes."

2011-02-11T22:29:00.002-06:00

I just need to bite the bullet and buy a magic 8 ball.

The Neighborhood is Falling to....

2011-02-01T00:01:00.002-06:00

Today I met my 89 year old next door neighbor.

Today I also helped my 89 year old neighbor pull up her pants, seconds after meeting her.

A Study in How I Spend my Time

2011-01-30T13:00:00.006-06:00

1:00 pm
Here's the problem with Netflix Instant: There's just too many damn choices. When I don't know what I want to watch, I just peruse the genres, thinking that the right movie will catch my eye, and I will shout "EUREKA! THANK YOU NETFLIX! THIS IS JUST WHAT I WANTED TO WATCH!" But what really happens, even when I find something I am interested in, is I pass it right by thinking I can find something better or more suitable to my mood. I end up effectively wasting 45 minutes and returning to my old stand by: Law and Order SVU.

I'm so annoyed.

My baking skills are too good my own good. I made peanut butter cookies last night. I am a mad master baker. But the problem is they are too good, and this is very dangerous.

I am so annoyed.

It's raining outside. I have to go BACK to the hardware store for the third time this weekend. My laundry needs some serious folding. I have to grade papers.

I'm so annoyed.

Everything is so annoying right now, except the biscuits and gravy I had for breakfast, my bed, and Law and Order. I'm taking a nap.

Update 2:30

After waking up from very short nap, I looked around my (extremely) untidy room. I considered cleaning it.

Then I decided on a bath instead.

The bath started out equally as annoying as everything else. The water was way too hot, and the first twenty minutes felt like noon in the middle of July. But then I watched episodes of 30 Rock, everything was much better. I feel mildly motivated. Mostly just to paint my nails and give myself a facial. Will keep you updated, as I'm sure you're dying to know what happens next.

Update 6:30

I neglected to mention that I started my bath at approx 2:30. I didn't get out until 4.

Since then, I've watched 1.75 episodes of Law and Order, 1 episode of 30 Rock, eaten some red beans and rice, two peanut butter cookies, and one can of Coca-Cola. I have also moisturized my skin, sufficiently praised the cat, and started folding my laundry.

Update 6:26

I'm sure you're desperately wondering how I traveled backwards in time. Well, here's how. The last update was actually written at 6:17. I rounded up.

I forgot to mention that I have spent time today looking for decently priced plane tickets to go to Florida to see my grandparents, on facebook chatting with my friend Becker, and let's not forget the time I have spent writing this blog. I also just helped my roommate move a table back into the kitchen and have considered starting to take the polish off my toes. My laundry looks quite nice, half folded on my bed.

Update 9:02 (being honest about the time now)

My laundry is folded. It was like pulling out my own teeth, but I did it.

Post-laundry finish, listlessness set in. So I took the garbage out, which was a huge. First step outside since I got back from brunch at noon. It was pouring rain. I decided to turn on the boob tube, make some tea and grade papers.

Then I remembered why I don't grade papers. There is nothing more enraging than grading subtraction problems after you have spent HOURS AND DAYS going over how to borrow only to find that my volume was on mute while teaching that lesson. Which tragically brought me back to stage 1:00 of extreme annoyance.

2011-01-25T00:31:00.000-06:00

I managed to kick three students out of class within the first three classes. I ticked one off, and after he refused to talk to me about it, I told him we could talk about it Monday. "Well, I'm not coming back Monday. How bout THAT?" Suhweeeet.

The one who left came back today, and it went rather well, considering.

Last week, in addition to throwing it down with my students, I also managed to completely organized all the paperwork in my desk. I have sorted all the worksheets by subject and then alphabetized them according to topic. Mom, I know you don't believe that I have organization skills, but I am passionate about alphabetization.

Narcotics Anonymous

2011-01-20T23:33:00.000-06:00

I have a growing collection of Narcotics Anonymous leaflets, handbooks, key chains and leaflets in my desk. If you didn't know better, and you opened the top right hand drawer of my desk, you might think that I am a recovering narcotics addict.

I have a student who's name isn't Danny, but is about as common. Danny is in his forties and is one of the nicest students that I've ever had. He insists on calling me Miss Molly, even after I've asked him not to, participates enthusiastically in class, works with the other students, helps put the books up after class, and thanks me after class. He doesn't always have a smile on his face, but he has the kindliest looking face, and when he does smile, it makes me smile back. Danny also has a five inch scar up his forearm that sinks about a quarter inch down into his skin. It's an inch wide, and the tissue at the edge of the skid looks like a fortress almost.

The first time Danny told me about his scar, he didn't say much. Just that he was a different person back when he was beat up in an abandon house and left for dead. After his first six weeks of having me for a teacher, Danny asked what he had to do to keep me for a teacher. As his luck would have it, he landed in my class again.

One morning, and I can't remember how it ever happened, but Danny told me that he was a recovering narcotics addict. He was shy and scared, and I can't blame him. Saying those things can change how a person views you. I told him about losing a friend to suicide and alcoholism and the confusion of the big, wide world. I told him that no matter what, he could always talk to me if he needed to, and that even if I didn't understand, I would support him.

I also solicited Danny for some help. One of my goals for this fiscal year is to put together a resource binder for our students. Students come to us for all kinds of help. Sometimes it's about housing issues, abuse at home, medical issues, and a gambit of other things. It's aggravating and embarrassing when a person reaches out for help, and you have no resources or even contacts to give them. Sure, you can look up a phone number on the Internet, but that doesn't mean that the information is good any more. I told Danny about my plan and asked if he could bring me a few fliers with meeting times and places.

Danny was good to his word. He has faithfully brought me fliers about the meetings and locations, about admitting that you are an addict, and the 12 steps. One morning, before I'd had enough coffee and 40 minutes before class started, there was a knock on the door. I answered the door, fully prepared to tell the student to come back in twenty minutes. But there was Danny, and I couldn't say no to his smile. "Ms. Molly," he asked as he took off his jacket, "Would you mind reading this to me today?" He handed me his Narcotics Anonymous book with the page marked. I swallowed my humble pie with my coffee, and when I finished, he said thank you, and in earnest, "Miss Molly, did you get anything out of that?" And I had to admit with him, right there, that I needed to change my attitude for the day. "Miss Molly, you're sure not a morning person, are you?"

Last week Danny gave me his six month sober key chain. Today he brought me my own copy of Narcotics Anonymous. I'm not sure if he thinks I'm secretly an addict or if he is trying to help me with the resource binder or if it's his way of fighting his addiction. It doesn't matter what the reason is. I can't tell him no. Meanwhile, my desk drawer will slowly keep filling....

I'm on the East Bank, I'm on the West Bank

2011-01-12T22:33:00.004-06:00

After much experience of getting lost, I have firmly convinced myself that getting lost is the best way to truly get to know a place. It forces you to get up close and personal with where ever you are. I've gotten lost while I was at work plenty of times, but I have never gotten on an express way, going the wrong way with no exit except across a two mile long bridge with a class starting in half an hour. OH WAIT. I have.

My schedule is pretty tight, and I have to go from our campus on the east bank to the campus on the west bank in the space of an hour and a half. That doesn't sound like it should be too bad. And it isn't...when I don't get held up with things at the east bank, when I remember to bring my lunch with me, and when traffic is good. Today, none of those things happened. I was running behind, but it was manageable. Little did I know, that missing my exit would turn my whole day around. Literally.

To get to the west bank, I have to cross the Crescent City Connection, which is a huge and scary bridge complete with rush hour traffic. The traffic's mild compared to Chicago, but imagine beingy suspended a hundred or so feet in the air with cars whizzing and getting cut off by a janky turquoise pick-up with his windows tinted out and his muffler rattling the whole g.d. bridge. You're not sure if his tires are going to fall off before the duct-tape holding the topper on to the truck gives out, but you don't have time to worry about that because the Buick Lacrosse in front of you can't decide if she's going 50 mph or 30, and the sedan behind to you wants you to hustle your buns. Meanwhile the SUV that's next to you wants in your lane, and you better move the hell over soon. And during all of this, you're trying not to think about how one false move could send you plunging into the depths of the Mississippi. Missing an exit is totally understandable under these conditions.

The next logical thing was to take the next exit. I can count on both of my hands the number of times I've been on the west bank, and with the clock was tick-tocking, it seemed logical to just hop back on the interstate and take the correct exit. I passed one exit on my way to the west bank, so there should be one exit before the toll for the bridge.

WRONG. SO SO WRONG.

It was too late. There was traffic and honking and trucks and cars and tolls and toll tags. I stared in disbelief, dumbfounded by the terrible illogical construction of this horrible, scary bridge as I merged into a mire of filthy traffic. My exit was a figment of my imagination. It only exits when you're heading to the west bank. It doesn't exist when you're going the other way. The only thing I could do was cross the bridge BACK to the east bank, turn around, and cross AGAIN to the west bank.

THIS SHOULD BE FUNNY, I repeated out loud. But it wasn't. There were a lot of things I needed to do before class started, and no telling how long it was going to get turned around and back where I needed to be. So I did the only logical thing a girl could do: call my mother and burst into tears. And she said the only logical thing a mom could say: "I can't help you."

In the end, all was well.

But here's a map of the days journeys, just for emphasis.

2011-01-12T11:25:00.000-06:00

It's finally happened. Last night, I actually used the words "I ain't got nothin" in seriousness without thinking about it and without cringing. It's happened before, but when only when I was repeating something a student had said to me. This came from my own accord. Seconds after it happened, I looked around to see if any of my students realized what had happened. They were oblivious. I couldn't and can't believe it.

Sorry Momma and Daddy, your baby is officially Southern.

2011-01-09T01:11:00.000-06:00

You shouldn't
swim on an empty
stomach, and you shouldn't
think on a sleepy head.

2010 Best and Worst

2011-01-04T23:33:00.001-06:00

Top 5 Best and Worst Moments of 2010

Teaching Moments

Worst
5. When bad things happen
4. Not being able to find the new classroom on the day of new student student testing
3. Student lifting his shirt up, burping, and rubbing his belly in class
2. Explaining to a student with a terrible attitude why she was no longer allowed back into my class (she yelled at my teaching assistant, repeatedly disrupted my class, would not calm down to have a discussion and I thought she was going to punch me in the face) an hour before I left on vacation
1. Day after the Super Bowl

Best
5. Being called Teacher Lady and Miss Molly. And: Miss Molly, what are you making for Thanksgiving? You bringin' us a turkey?
4. Singing Miley Cyrus with my boy Jemell. Correction: Almost any interaction with Jemell
3. Learning the Dougie in class
2. GED Graduation and watching students transition from GED students to college students
1. My night class - They consistently worked their rear ends off and made me laugh.

Travel

Worst
5. Saying goodbye to my parents after my vacay in August
4. The drive back from Indiana in February when the weather got all scary and awful
3. The demon bug in Florida that bit me and infected my leg when it swelled to the size of an eggplant. AN EGGPLANT. Really.
2. The BP oil spill that made it nearly impossible to find an accessible beach
1. Cancelling my Alaska trip because of a stupid stress fracture in my stupid foot

Best
5. The 24 hour day with Nick, Noel, and Jennie that ended at the beautiful beaches of Mississippi
4. Fourth of July weekend with Laurin and Sue
3. Atlanta weekend with Caitlin
2. Lafayette weekend with the Brocato's girls and Josh
1. Indiana weekend with Trina and Britani

Guests and Our Adventures

Worst
5. My house key dropped down the sink during Mardi Gras
4. Minnie the Moocher/Stripper that lived next door
3. Spilling nacho cheese on a stranger at Bayou Country Fest with Kate and Steph
2. Getting into my first fender-bender just minutes after picking Melanie up from the airport
1. The parasite that wouldn't go away

Best (I'm sure I'll regret ranking my friends and family's visits later....)
6. Keeping it classy with Amy and Stephanie Colorado style.
5. Taking Katie and Stephanie out in New Orleans, starting with the daiquiri shop....
4. Elena. We saw sooo much cool stuff in Jean Lafitte State Park. Two water moccasins, nutria, tons of alligators, an alligator eating a nutria....2. Annie and Ethan. We got someone barred for life. Just sayin
2. Mom and Dad and Katie and John. It was really exciting to be able to show them where I work, live, and that I actually do know how to get around town! We ate good food, heard good music, had fun, went to the WWII museum and the aquarium, and I even took Mom and Dad to a bar!
1. Melanie. No contest. She had food on the table almost every night that I got home, and she showered me with gifts. I don't think we ever stopped laughing. It also helps that wherever she went, there seemed to be a trail of gorgeous men that followed....

Things I Couldn't Control

Worst
5. All those damn bug bites
4. Having to wait eons to get a full-time position
3. Stress fracture + the boot
2. The smallest water heater, broken door knobs and fans, drafts that blew papers off coffee tables, sinks with bugs, not getting our deposit back, and the crappiest landlord of all time
1. Getting robbed

Best
5. Good neighbors that provided plenty of entertainment
4. Getting my wallet back in the mail after I left in a cab. Cash stolen, cards cancelled, but at least I didn't have to go back to the DMV!
3. Finding an awesome apartment
2.
1. These awesome friends of mine

Soundtrack from this year in no particular order
20. Tik Tok - Ke$ha
19. Green or Blue - Jaymay
18. Wagon Wheel - Old Crowe Medicine Show
17. Out Last Night - Kenny Chesney
16. When a Man Loves a Woman - Jerry Lee Lewis
15. Cash on the Barrelhead - Dolly Parton
14. Everything I Am - Kanye
13. Shake Fo Ya Hood - Ricky B
12. That's How Country Boys Roll - Billy Currington
11. Hell On The Heart - Eric Church
10. Roll With It - Easton Corbin
9. House That Built Me - Miranda Lambert
8. All I Do Is Win - DJ Khaled
7. Homecoming - Kanye
6. Get Crunk! - Ying Yang Twins
5. F*** You - Cee Lo Green
4. Dog Days Are Over - Florence and the Machine
3. All Over Me - Josh Turner
3. Teach Me How to Dougie - Cali Swag
2. As She's Walkin' Away - Zac Brown Band
1. The Gambler - Kenny Rogers

Post-Vacay Blues

2010-10-19T18:10:00.001-05:00

Day One Back on the Job

The college was out of session the Tuesday I got back from Britani's wedding, but not the GED department. We're dedicated to life-long learning in the Adult Education department. Anyway, apparently someone was hosting some big fanfare for the Junior Achievement program that Delgado hosts. They day started off nicely, when I was led to my classroom by a fifth grade marching band.

There are a significant number of pregnant women that pass through our GED programs. I'm not talking a small three or four months along. I'm talking the kind of pregnant where she is only 6 months along and looks like she's going to pop any minute sort of pregnant. And it has never even crossed my mind that a lady could be so pregnant that she might have her baby in my class. Thank God that isn't what happened. Close enough though.

There was a knock on the classroom door, and one of the janitors was there, asking for my boss. She wasn't there, so I stepped out into the hallway to see if I could handle the problem. The janitors and campus police have surrounded one of our students who is big pregnant and sitting in a chair. Sam, a female police officer, is asking the 19 year old girl questions and calling for an ambulance. Meanwhile, inside the classroom to which she belongs, testing is going on, and the teacher thinks she stepped out because she has gas.

Between campus police, the janitors, campus police, and me all pummeling her with questions, we got her into my empty classroom and called her mother. Suddenly, as if compelled by his spidey-sense, my boss Sean and father of 4 (with a fifth due any day), appears out of nowhere. He asks the poor girl question after question, and explains to her about what a contraction is about. I had to leave the room when he asked her, "Do you understand the birthing process?" As the only person without kids in the room, I was already uncomfortable. But there was no way in hell that I was going to take it to the limit and listen to Sean explain what was about to happen to this 19 year old girl's body.

The story resolves nicely. The girl is fine, the bun is in the oven, and I will never again listen to Sean talk about childbirth.

In Rapid Succession

2010-09-22T11:48:00.000-05:00

August is over, and now September is almost over. It is time to get back to blogging again.

Things got a little out of control in August. It all started with a nice trip back to Illinois. I have never cried when I got home, nor when I left, until then. It had been eight whole months since I had back there! I take back all of the bad things I've said about Illinois (except about Blago because that is all true). It was soothing to be back where my roots are.

I have a new place and new roommates, and things are , and so far things are going swimmingly at the new house. I never knew what a gift central air was until I spent a year without it. I 'm not kidding you when I tell you I have thanked God for it every day since I moved in. We've christened the new place Circus Circus. I'll get pics up eventually.

Still working on my tan and summer goals, since it is going to be summer for a few more months. I must say, I've done a pretty good job accomplishing them so far. As long as it is hot outside and not scarf weather, I'm going to consider it summer....Many goals still yet to be accomplished.

Current goal for self improvement: hang mini blinds in my room and blog twice a week. I need a new theme...because this blogging from what's going on in my mind is making me lazy, as you can well see.

I'm out like sauerkraut.

2010-07-27T23:17:00.000-05:00

To All Bugs of Louisiana and The World:

Please stop biting me. I know it's sort of your livelihood and all, but it's ruining mine. I can't afford to have an eggplant-esque infection or break out in hives and go to the doctor every time you're hungry.

Best regards,

Mosely.

Wallets and Such Like

2010-07-26T22:47:00.002-05:00

About a week ago, I was out for my roommate's birthday. It wasn't late, only about 11:30 pm, and we were at a bar in the Bywater neighborhood called Vaughn's (recently featured on HBO's Treme). I walked her out to my car to put one of her birthday presents ( a homemade pinata because, duh, we're grown-ups) in the car. As we were about to leave, a teenage kid solicited us to use our cell phones. We we said no, he pulled out a hand gun, and proceeded to solicit us for our money. Naturally, we obliged. Fortunately, my car keys were in my hand and phone was stashed in, ahem, a pocket. The kid didn't get much from me: credit/debit cards some gum, Tylenol, my $7 man's wallet, my favorite purse, and my $300 William Sonoma gift card (WHICH I bled for) , and from Jennie: her cell and work phone, keys, camera and maybe about 40 bucks. I'm sure he was disappointed that neither of us even had any lipstick in there. Just kidding. All in all, it was a pretty scary situation, but I handled it pretty well. Plus the detective was a major babe, and I totally got his card. ....Ok, ok, for informational purposes only, but still.

FAST FORWARD A WEEK.

I now have my new credit card and one of my new debit cards. I'm even sporting a new purse and wallet, an AWESOME gift from my Aunt Kathy and cousin Jennifer. I'm wearing the same dress. We had some cocktails and went out dancing. The eveninng draws to a close, and BJ, Lauren, Nick, and I hail a cab home. I planned to crash on their couch, since my car was parked at their house. But the cabbie conveniently went right past my house, so I jumped out and went home. In my hasty exit from the cab, I failed to put my wallet back in my purse.

What a disappointing Saturday morning to realize that thirty dollars and my brand wallet were gone. My debit card didn't even survive its maiden voyage. Fortunately, I am quite the expert at cancelling debit cards, since I am also quite the expert at losing them. But never in this expediency. It was quite the awkward phone call to Capital One. I enjoyed the rest of the weekend doing nothing.

FAST FORWARD TO MONDAY EVENING

After work, I came home and checked the mail. I was expecting my debit card from my bank in Princeton - which still hadn't arrived from when I cancelled it after the robbery. There was a package in the mailbox. A package! Could it be for me?! I thought. No, I concluded; it never is.

But it was.

My wallet had made it's way back to my house with a note found on the packaging from the kind U.S. Postal Service that said, "Found Loose in Mail." No cash, but all my cards and I.D. were there. Yes. True story. The cabby was a good Samaritan thief who took all my cash and dropped my wallet in the mail. Yes. That happens. Good Samaritan thieves. Let us also note, that had my wallet not been stolen from me a week earlier, and it would have been impossible for me to receive a lost wallet in the mail as I had not updated since I left my first apartment. And now I might go knock on the door of the people who live in my old apartment to see if my handsome man's wallet with the great i.d. picture ended up on their doorstep.

This is my life. It should be on film.

Summer Haikus

2010-07-26T11:13:00.001-05:00

   Robbed
Walk down street: fast, slow.
Boy and gun are tremulous.
Bye bye, wallet, bye!

   I think I'm a Medium
Think it's second sight
Predict: coincidence? No.
Control with my mind.

   Insomnia
4:15 am,
again. House creaks. Eyes heavy.
5:30 am.

   Weather
Sweat drip drips. Skin stick
sticks. Rain, rain, please, rain. Break heat.
A breeze would be nice.

Catch-up

2010-07-13T10:33:00.000-05:00

"And the thing they thought was going to destroy them, turned out to be the thing that saved them."

I was devastated when I had to cancel my Alaska trip. I put off canceling the tickets until the last possible minute, hoping that by some miracle, my broken foot would heal and I would leap up well again. Obviously that didn't happen. After some serious self cross-examination, I made myself realize that giving up on the summer would be extremely detrimental to my health. The summer heat coupled with a summer funk would only let me simmer until I went postal on someone. It got a little too hot for a minute, but I grabbed the summer bull by the balls and am well on my way to completing my summer goals. Let me also say, that "summer" for me started when it got hot in April or May and will go til September or October when it isn't hot any more.

Here's a quick recap of what's happened lately.

Late June: Mama and Daddy came to visit. It was so good to spend time with them. It had been six months since I had seen them. They made sure I had plenty of good food to eat. We went to the WWII Museum, the French Market, and for a nice drive down Highway 90 to Mississippi to get a nice view of the country. We also saw some base camps where oil spill cleaners set out.

July 4: I spent the fourth of July in Gulfport, Mississippi. We managed to get some beach time, even though the waters may or may not have been closed. I swam anyway. There was no visible oil, and other people were swimming, so I didn't feel bad about it. We spend most of the afternoon bumming around the pool at the bed and breakfast that we stayed at. Imagine three 20 somethings staying at a b&b that served formerly as a retirement community. There were alcoves every 50 ft so you could sit and rest, handles, in the bathrooms, and the room set up clearly hinted at (and slightly smelled like) a retirement community. Regardless, it was awesome. There were peacocks roaming all over the place like they owned it.

We missed most of the fireworks which made me pretty homesick. We headed up to the Hardrock Casino for hot dogs and burgers (everything else was closed!), and had the best foot long hot dog I've ever eaten. I won $10 on the nickel slot machine (which I promptly lost), and settled for winnings of $3.50.

We closed the night down at a bar called EO's with a Mississippi blues band that knew how to break it down. How is it the blues take you out of your funk, whatever it is, and make you feel alright again?

(I've been listening to a lot of Tab Benoit lately, and I suggest you should, too.)

Last weekend's destination: Georgia. I've never been to Georgia, so I took up my friend Caitlin's offer to go visit her fam. We stayed an hour north of Atlanta in Canton, GA. The scenery was absolutely beautiful, rolling hills, trees, cattle and horses. Aside from the big houses and new developments that were coming in, it looked a lot like I pictured it. My favorite spot was at a turn off a highway. THere was a tiny house surrounded by flowers. Flowers on the porch, flowers hanging from the ceiling, flowers on every inch of yard surrounding it. It was called Corner Flowers or something like that, and it was right across from a general store called the Corner Store. It was lovely.

It was great to spend sometime with a family: cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, everybody. It was much needed. The whole family was so gracious and I felt right at home.

We went out in Atlanta on Saturday. It felt a lot like Chicago...but not like Chicago. It was strange. I suggest if you aren't afraid of bars where your shoes stick to the floor, and I mean REALLY stick to the floor, you go to the Clermont Lounge next time you're in Atlanta.

Well now you're caught up on everything. More soon. Love.

2010-07-03T16:15:00.000-05:00

BP is really spoiling my summer plans. I suppose I am partly responsible, since I was planning on driving to the beach. Still.

2010-06-22T00:21:00.001-05:00

I didn't know it was possible, but I may have actually bleached my skin whiter with peroxide. Another major wtf moment in my life. Bye bye tan, and hello splotches!

This sort of reminds me of the time I dyed my hands orange in high school, only with less tears and less musical numbers.

In which I Lose Both my Legs

2010-06-21T12:29:00.002-05:00

If having stress fractures and a giant boot on my left leg wasn't enough, I have recently suffered another casualty. Since I had to postpone my trip to Alaska (which is looking completely cancelled at this point), I took off for Florida to camp at Big Lagoon State Park with my friend Ashley and her dog Toby.

The people of Florida seem friendly, but the sentiment has not rubbed off on the insect population. At the beach, I got bit by something. I presumed it was a fire ant or something of the sort. Regardless, the little bugger bit me three times, leaving a tiny triangle of tiny blisters an inch above my right knee. At first it slowly swelled up to the size of a quarter, like a bee sting. But it didn't stop there. By bed time, the bite was the size of my palm. It seemed ludicrous to believe that it would continue to grow. I woke up expecting to find it smaller, but instead, it was hot to the touch, brighter red, and the size of my whole hand.

A few Benadryl later, and it hadn't gone down. I really didn't think much of it until I called my dad for Father's Day, and he suggested going to the emergency room. And my dad doesn't use those words lightly. We are talking about the man who, after I broke both of my arms in early morning basketball practice, asked my mom if I could wait until the doctor's office opened at nine o'clock.

I hemmed and hawed about going, and went over to my friend Nick's house to watch Trueblood and Treme on HBO as per usual Sunday night. Nick is cut of the same cloth as my dad when it comes to going to the hospital. He usually tells me to be man about things like injuries, so when his face screwed up in disgust at the red softball sized lump on my leg, I figured it might be time.

After being quizzed about my antibiotic allergies by the E.R. doctor, he gave me a script Cypro and sent me on my way. The redness and swelling hasn't gone down, but the temperature has. The kicker is this: He told me to elevate my feet as much as possible and to stay off them. I know I should be doing that anyway with my broken foot, but sitting still isn't in my nature. I don't have much of a choice any more since I don't have any legs left.

If anyone would care to purchase a Hoveround for me, it would be put to good use. I promise.

Louisiana is for Lovers

2010-06-17T10:28:00.000-05:00

Pictures from adventuring around: Bayou Boogaloo, City Park, the Quarter, and etc.

As my cousin Elena pointed out, someone's hand to get r.e.a.l.l.y. close to someone else's dog poo.

"Tarot card readings. True and professional."

Same guy: "Psychic Readings, Very Accurate!"

Baby trumpeter with Stooges Brass Band

The Dancin' Man with Stooges Brass Band

Yes, he is wearing a sash, and, yes, it says Dancin' Man. It didn't last long in the heat though. After a few tunes Dancin' Man lost his shirt and sash. He was so cut. I am pretty sure it is because he dances everywhere he goes. He has a jive walking dance that if I could do it, I would be cut, too.

"Feel free to sit in my chair while I'm out dancing! Happy fest!"

I did feel free.

Neighbor and resident movie star, Earl Maddox and roommate and resident cool person, Eva

Zydeco with Tab Benoit and Beausoleil

(Tab's a major babe.)

I don't know if "itch" is something you necessarily want to advertise at a bar. Maybe that's just me.

Dried fish in Central Grocery Store about to eat my face off.

That's all for now. More another day.

Happy 72nd!

2010-06-16T11:54:00.000-05:00

You never know what you're getting into when you sign up for anything. When I started working at Angelo Brocato's, I thought I was just getting a job. Instead, I ended up with a new group of wild women in my life that have taken me in and treated me like family. We range in age from 18-72. And the party doesn't stop.

Monday night was Ms. Mickey's 72nd birthday. Ms. Mickey has never been married and doesn't have children of her own. The girls have sort of adopted her and she has sort of adopted them (although I think if she had to choose between the girls and her doll collection, I wouldn't count on her picking any of us!). Since I started working at Brocato's I heard stories about Mickey's birthday dinner at Irene's. I wasn't invited the first year- It's sort of a special thing, they told me. Don't feel bad if you weren't invited.

This year I was invited. It was one of the most wonderful nights in my time in New Orleans so far.

Despite the rain, we met at Irene's for an aperitif. When we were finally seated, a huge bouquet of flowers hand made by one of the wait staff engulfed the table. Mickey was a celebrity at this joint. The owners and the staff just daunted over her, and the rest of the customers stared like we were important. And duh, we were. We were with Ms. Mickey!

After a difficult decision, we ordered dinner. After complimentary bruschetta and caprese salads, we dove into our appetizers. I have never had escargot before, but it changed my life. It was unbelievable. Imagine a giant mushroom topped with tomato, basil, and garlic, and other heavenly deliciousness on top of a bread crust. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I expected it to be rubbery, but no. It fell apart easily. The only chewy part is what I assume is the little part that helps the snail walk. The escargot was followed by Oysters Irene, oysters with tomatoes and pancetta. Delicious!

Between the appetizers and the main course we had a light, tart, lime sorbet to cleanse our palets. And then....The main course. I had veal. I can never resist it. The veal marsala was so good that I nearly cried. I am not exaggerating. I almost did. I can't speak about this any more because I am so sad it's gone.

Finally, Irene herself and the entire wait staff brought out a four layer chocolate and strawberry cake. The entire restaurant stopped and sang happy birthday with us to Ms. Mickey. It was awesome.

When dinner was through, we walked to Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, the oldest bar in New Orleans (a small challenge for me). When I came out of the bathroom, the girls were gone. They had left their crippled friend at the bar while they walked up the street to look at Ms. Mickey's old house! Fortunately, they came back to join me for a cocktail. And of course, charming Ms. Mickey in her sparkley blouse and done up hair caught the eye of the staff. After she had a couple of pina coladas, she put on her dancing shoes when the piano player started playing Elvis for her. And then he played Louisiana LeRoux's "New Orleans Ladies" , our song. And once again, all of the patrons stared at this loud, wild group of women, dressed to the nines, cocktails in hands, singing along.

The night ended with us stopping at the former Angelo Brocato's, established in the French Quarter in 1905, to take pictures. We all took turns posing in front of the tiling that says "Angelo Brocato's, 1905, Ladies Entrance."

There are moments that I am unsure if I'm in the right place doing the right thing. But it's nights like these that I wouldn't change my life for anything.

Grizzly

2010-06-15T22:33:00.001-05:00

Well, I guess I can cross Alaska off my summer goals list.

As in it isn't going to be happening kind of crossing off. Thanks to this guy. (Don't let my smiling face deceive you. I didn't know then what I know now.)

At least I have a $640.00 airline credit and a $150 rebooking fee waiting for me at both United and Continental airlines.

The last thing I want to do in Louisiana is celebrate the Summer Solstice. It just seems so wrong and somewhat, I don't know, satanic to do that in a place where it is so hot.

Louisiana Saturday

2010-06-05T23:54:00.002-05:00

I was getting a little stir crazy in New Orleans. I needed open spaces, windows down, country music up, and a long drive to clear my head. Nothing's wrong, but the past few weeks have been exhausting. Between work and work things, GED graduation, two fun months of visitors almost every weekend, a stress fractured foot, all the things that are here there, and all the things that are neither here nor there, I just needed a break. And not the kind of break where I drive to Mississippi and sit on the beach. No, the kind of break where I'm out in the country and there's wind and fresh air and lots of country music radio stations.

I almost took off on my own and hopped on the interstate for a long drive, which I do sometimes when I need to drive. I'm too afraid to explore the back roads of Louisiana by myself. More uncertain than afraid, I guess. I really wouldn't know what to do if I ran over a gator or something.

So I called my friend Nick, and we decided to head to Denham Springs, Louisiana in search for some nice bottles for our limoncello that we're making. Nick is my friend because a.) he drives a pick-up truck, b.) he likes country music, c.) he doesn't mind driving with the windows down, and c.) because he says things like, "Well, this might take a little longer, but I want to avoid the interstate." All of these are things I am down with, but those were just the words I needed to say.

As we crossed Lake Ponchatrain on the Causeway (a bridge that is 23 miles long that goes from New Orleans to the north shore of the lake, ) there were clouds a-brewing west of us, bolts of lighting shooting down. As I have no sense of direction in this state, I didn't know that very shortly we would be turning into those clouds.

It started raining when we hit the short of interstate we had to take I didn't mind that it was raining because I wasn't driving. I didn't mind that it was pouring because I wasn't driving. I started to mind when the rain was coming down sideways. Buckets, cats and dogs, or downpour does not describe this rain. I would say that monsoon is applicable. Instead of white outs with snow, the rain came down so heavily that it was literally impossible to see anything. And of course, being the good backseat driver that I am, I asked Nick if he wanted to pull over at Robert, LA, the next exit. No. Being the man that he is, he politely refused. We weren't fifty feet past the exit when lighting struck a tree next to us, and the most thunderous clap of thunder I have ever heard shook his truck. Nick kept driving. I could only sit there with my hands folded, and we did not talk while we tried to regain our composure. When we drove out of the storm, Nick said, "See, I knew it would blow over. . . . . . . . . But I might have a streak in my drawers."

The venture to the antique was completely foiled after we exited for Denham Springs. I should have known we weren't going to make it when we came to a T stop and Nick said, "I can't remember which way to downtown." We went right, mostly because there was a sign offering karate classes, and the first two were free. When we hit Walker, Nick said, "Well, we're not in Denham Springs any more." "Do you want to turn around?" "Nope." And so began our one hour to an antique store turned into an eight hour Sunday drive on Saturday afternoon.

Yes, eight hours. The windows were down, the music was up, and I kept my fractured foot elevated out the window of the car. At every intersection or junction, we took turns deciding which way to go. We saw some great barbecue places (you know it's good if there's a restaurant in the middle of nowhere with a giant inflatable pig in a chef's hat in the yard.) We tried to get to the river, and to a Civil War battlefield, but it closed right as we got there. By five o'clock, we'd made it all the way to St. Francisville, Louisiana. Which now that I think about isn't much of a feat, but considering that we made it anywhere at all, I'm pretty proud of that.

We had dinner at a WASP-y version of a Mexican restaurant. The view was amazing. It was in a valley next to the river. It was beautiful and quiet. It was so quiet that we didn't even talk while we ate, just let the bees buzz and the birds chirp.

The drive back was even more beautiful. I will suggest Louisiana State Highway 16 to anyone who loves scenic drives as much as I do. The only problem is the serious lack of bathrooms. If you ever find yourself in Amite, LA, do not even bother asking if the gas stations have bathrooms because they don't. And if they did, you would probably not like them. But the good thing is that the clientèle outside the gas stations are friendly enough to offer to sell you weed and painkillers. Because really they are just thinking of you - especially when they see the giant walking cast on your leg. I never thought I'd say it, but thank God for Piggly Wiggly.

Eight hours later, after successfully avoiding the interstates for as much as possible, I am home again. And I feel just right. Well, maybe a little sore in the backside from so much sitting. And I do not want to try to comb my hair out. And I'm still limoncello bottle-less. And I did have to pee at a Piggly Wiggly....Louisiana Saturday afternoons turn into Louisiana Saturday nights.

GED Graduation

2010-06-02T11:23:00.002-05:00

GED graduation was a few weeks ago. It was incredibly inspiring. I couldn't help bursting with pride. There was an incredible local support. The featured speaker was Lance E. Nichols, a successful actor born, raised, and returned to New Orleans. It was so much fun, and I am so proud of every one of my students. Here are some pictures to show off my students! All of our hard work over the past two years has paid off!

Waiting for Pomp and Circumstance

Group photo that didn't turn out so great.... James Appel, the camera is straight in front of you!

GED recipients of the Greater New Orleans Area

Josh

Emmanuel and his parents

Carol - who bought an air horn and planned to blow it as she walked across the stage....until her husband took it from her.

Trineil whose name I've been saying wrong for the past year and didn't know it until the day of graduation. Her favorite past time is giving me grief.

Cherlyn...whose name I've been saying wrong for the past two years....Thanks, girl. Gonna miss having her around though...she keeps me in my place!

Practically family.

From top: Erin, coworker, Natasha, and Isabelle, coworker

Natasha through an awesome party that we were very sad to leave. Crawfish, the best barbecue I have ever eaten, a bottle of Crown, and a trampoline. We left before it got wild.

This doesn't sum up the past two years, but it's close as I'll be able to get.

2010-05-22T16:00:00.002-05:00

you know it's hot when you don't have to go to the bathroom at all because your body is secreting waste entirely through your sweat glands.

2010-05-12T11:01:00.003-05:00

The thing that makes me happiest, the thing I wish I could do forever, is to laugh.

Names

2010-05-10T23:04:00.004-05:00

Too legit to quit, man. Call me if you want me to read this list to you. You should hear the pronunciation for the full effect.

Pronounced: Kee-yahnna. A Study in Visual Effects

Keeyana
Keyanna
Kiana
Kianna
Keianna
Quianna

Ends in Nisha

Aaronisha
Bisha
Eri'keisha
Jameisha
Kevinisha
Lakiesha
Lakrisha
Willanisha

Ends in -ika or Close

Jonika
Juaneka
Rosaszeka
Shamika
Shannika
Tamieka
Terrinika
Tramika
Wandrica

Dominic
Dominique
Monique
Sherlrick
Tarik

Rhymes with Coco Chanel

Chanel
Chanelle
Shanelle
Shantelle
Shawtell
Sherelle
Shuntell
Sheena
Shereena
Kechelle
Kentrell
Gaidrelle
Jacquel
Jonquel
Janelle
Jeanelle
Dorishell
Niagelle
Nichelle
Trenel

And the Mens

Jamal
Jemell
Leonel
Cornell
Terrell
Ternel
Trelvin
Delton
Darrell
Darryl
Diamond
Dujuan
Dwayne
Dwight
Jawayne
Jermaine
Jarrard
Jenero
Errol
Louis
Louis
Louis
Cornie
And Mr.Charles

And Honorable Mention, Although Not Poetic nor Rhyming.

Adonirum
Addonis
Ava
Cinnamon (bonafide nickname)
Duran Duran
Hilda
Jazzman (Pronounced like it is spelled. Jazz Man.)
Josie
Kissier
Kenethra
Marva
Mildred
Meatball (bonafide nickname)
Rosetta
Sassey
Violetta
Valencia

Stew

2010-05-01T16:19:00.005-05:00

Stew
When I think about all the things in this world
that I can't do because there's just not enough time
and never enough money,
I simmer loneliness to refine bitterness.

Off-Kilter
The grocery store on a busy day always makes
me cranky and nervous and sad. With your arms full of groceries,
you tie my infantile tongue and trip me on your invitation.
Milk, detergent, apples, spinach?
You make me cranky and nervous and mad.

Inside
Is just as dusty as outside and hotter.

Summer Goals

2010-04-29T22:54:00.003-05:00

A yearly tradition for me (established circa 2002) is to write a list of summer goals. And so goes this year's summer goals, which even admist adversity, I believe is totally accomplishable.

Summer Goals 2010

-Alaska (conquer) ....Check step one. Bought plane tickets for June 18-26. I will be there for the longest day of the year! Hello Summer Solstice and friend Josh Brown!

-Stock up on strawberry beer, so that it is accessible after it goes out of season

-Establish a poker night

-Learn to play a decent hand of poker

-Catch a fish and learn to clean it (this has been on the list since approximately 2005 and is still has yet to be accomplished in full)

-Baby pool party in the backyard

-Beach it - near and farther

-Mini-vacay as often as possible

-Go camping

-Go to the Insectatarium and WWII Museum

-Keep a basil plant alive

-No tanlines (might be even more challenging now that this oil leak is creeping in on our coastline :( )

-Make new friends

-Start watching baseball

-Go to a Zephyrs game

-High 5 a stranger while one of us is in a car

-Photo scavenger hunt

-Learn to dance Lindyhop

-Write letters (Pen pal anyone?)

-Stay awake for 24 hours (Summer Solstice?! 24 hours of daylight?!)

-Make friends with someone who has a boat/motorcycle/horse/insert something else really cool here (This has also been on the list since 2005...)

-Make something

-Find something

-Go out in St. Bernarnd, the Westbank, the North Shore, and Lafayette

-Make limoncello (check. Nick and I started the 90 day limoncello process on Sunday. It will be a long wait until July when it will be ready.)

-Form a bicycle gang

-Explore parts of New Orleans I don't know

-Complete Summer Goals list

Chivalry

2010-04-22T12:36:00.002-05:00

Women are always complaining that chivalry is dead. Men are always complaining that women are complaining about the death of chivalry, but that women are the ones that killed it. Chivalry is not dead. It is still alive and well, but like everything else in this world, it has had to adapt to survive. Women, ignorant women, choose not to see it for what it has become by either setting their expectations to high for their men and consequentially demeaning themselves, or by refusing to accept a simple act meant to show respect. Men, stupid, stupid men think that they can keep chivalry alive in old fashioned ways that are no longer applicable in today, or they completely ignore it all together, operating under the assumption that women will feel demeaned. Both sexes are dangerously ignorant of this age old mating dance.

To clear somethings up, here is a list of what chivalry is and is not.

For the mens, chivalry is not:

-stopping in traffic before a crosswalk to let that female runner cross the street. You both know you don't care about her crossing the street safely, nor are you being polite.

-buying a girl drink and then assuming you are welcome to park next to her for the rest of the night.

-commenting on how attractive a woman is to your friend while she is in earshot.

-talking about how great you are for an entire evening, no matter how funny you are or how great your career is.

-mentioning your wife/girlfriend in a conversation so as not to misinform the girl you're talking to.

For the ladies, chivalry is not:

-talking to guys just so they will buy you drinks.

-being insulted when the mens comment on your goods when you are amply displaying them.

-mentioning your husband/boyfriend in a conversation so as not to misinform the girl you're talking to.

For the mens, chivalry is:

-letting a girl pay for a date without getting upset or embarrassed. I have a job too, dumbass.

-buying a girl a drink, chatting her up for a bit, getting her phone number, staying for just long enough, and then going away. This means not being annoying. If you really want to be impressive, you offer to buy her friends a round, too. This should only be done after you've bought her a drink, she accepted, and she is still talking to you.

-is walking a girl to her car or walking her home.

-doing the dishes if she makes you dinner. Or making her dinner if you cook better.

- opening the door for your lady.

-is believing her if she says she knows what she is doing.

For the ladies, chivalry is:

-is offering to pay sometimes, too. Even if he doesn't always let you.

-is making dinner sometimes. Or doing the dishes if you can't cook.

-still being independent these days, and not look to someone else to do everything for you.

-buying him a round or two.

- verbally acknowledging a man's wedding band when he buys you a drink.

This list is not comprehensive. There are several additions that should be made...Suggestions welcome.

2010-03-31T11:26:00.002-05:00

I like lists. So a list of things that have been rolling around in my head of

Things I am Thinking About

1. Buying a hedgehog for a pet

2. New fish in the meantime

3. See the summer solstice from a mountaintop in Alaska

4. Just paid of one of my loans (a small one), but it still deserves a BOOOOOYAHTSKI!

5. April Fools is tomorrow. Brian's dry erase markers + jello = an episode of The Office with more cursing and more tobacco.

6. A new car: sounds nice.

7. A new car: sound really really nice.

8. A new car: sounds like such a commitment and so much work + money

9. Sister and brother-in-law coming soon!

10. Cousin coming soon, too!

11. I suck at plot lines. Seriously. Non-fiction only? If that's the case, then what happens to Hal? Will he be stuck in purgatory forever?

12. I thought about skipping 12.

13. A phone call would be nice.

14. A bike ride would be perfect for this weather.

15. And a picnic.

2010-03-25T01:41:00.003-05:00

Dear Chicago,

I miss you at your worst right now. I miss the way you smell, the way the wind blows in my face, and the way the wind blows your worst smell in my face right when I least expect it. I miss the cold, and the way the winter stays until you least expect it. I miss how it is 10 degrees colder down town than it is anywhere else on the brownline. I miss riding the redline late at night with all those freaking weirdos who try to touch my hair, solicite me for money, and tell me that the Sox pitchers are better than the Cubs...until the whole train boos 'em off the car. I miss riding the El, Orange, the Harold Washington Library, and Carols Country Pub. I miss Movies in the Park, even though I only saw half of one, and I miss that dirty old Lake Michigan. I miss riding my bike in the middle of traffic and people who know how to deal with dat. I miss telling people just what I think, and knowing that it's just ok because the people on the street are okay with that. I don't miss Lollapalooza, but I do miss walking on a break and listening to Kanye through the trees and wishing to be free. I miss all the theatres: all the ones I went to and all the ones I didn't go to; museums, too. I miss the snow, and I miss the people who know how to shovel a sidewalk, guard a space, and get outta there because there just isn't any other choice. I miss North Park (a little), King at Neffers (not really), and walking home from the el and the creeps that hollered no mattered how I looked (not really). I miss pizza every block and the best burritos in the world, and I miss boys who bought me a drink even when they didn't have shit to buy one with. I miss 2am being late and 4am being a novelty. I miss driving down Ashland, getting lost downtown, and knowing that Michigan Ave sucks. I wish I had jumped in Buckingham Fountain on my last night in the city, and I miss my Illinois drivers license.

Chicago. I miss you. You haven't seen the best of me yet. New Orleans is making it for you.

Pigeons-2, Molly-0, Cruel Fate-Infinity

2010-03-15T09:33:00.005-05:00

Disclaimer: If you find some mild offensive language, well, offensive and by some strange chance actually care for pigeons, then read no further. This blog is not for you.

Seriously.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My apartment on Jefferson Davis has its pros and cons. Mostly cons, but the pros are pros. Realtors always say "location, location, location" is the key to a good place. I have to say, that is the reason that I took such a shining to this place. It's right on the bayou, two blocks from the streetcar and several good restaurants, and a short jaunt to the park. It was everything I wanted. The ventilation and insulation is atrocious, but the huge front windows, kitchen, and most importantly the balcony are what sold me. And I do say sold. I took one look at the balcony and couldn't get Jeff Davis off my mind (which sounds a little odd to be saying about the Father of the Confederacy). I moved in as soon as I could and took the front bedroom, off the balcony, foregoing having a bathroom in my bedroom so that I could enjoy the great view.

The love for prime real estate transcends boundaries: racial, gender, age, and BEAST. From the very founding of the Brotherhood of 216 (our apartment name), it was impossible to ignore the fact that pigeons had been there first. Dry poop on the porch showed their affinity for the place. Nails protruded upward on any flat landings on the balcony to deter any potential landing pads. There were even nails placed on the air conditioning unit outside my window.

We swept the poo off the porch and thought that was the end of that. It seemed as though the battle had been fought and won. But lo and behold, shortly after I moved in, I awoke to the sounds of pigeons gently cooing in the throes of passion during the wee hours of the morning. Having some previous experience of pigeons roosting on our back porch in college, I knew that this love-making needed to be truncated AS SOON AS POSSIBLE to avoid a long battle that would eventually come to a standstill.

During the Great Pigeon Battle of 2008, the tactic that seemed most effective early on was scaring the pigeons. So as the summer heat of 2009 sweltered and the pigeons cooed lovingly on my air condition, I resorted to my first plan of attack: Throwing shit at them. This actually was deemed quite effective. Because there are blinds on my windows, I could see out, but they couldn't see in, allowing for a perfect sneak attack offensive. When the sounds of hot pigeon sex began to rage in the morning, I screamed, "PIGEON BITCHES!" and launched a pillow at the window. Tiptoeing up to the window, peering out, and banging on the blinds also proved effective. They never knew when I might be there, since pigeons aren't smart enough to figure out my work schedule.

The battle was short, and I was victorious. Little did I know that would not be the end of the pigeons.

Spring has sprung, and all creatures are twitterpated when the weather gets nice and the days get longer. And the pigeon cooing sexy time returned. I groaned and searched my bed for something to throw at the window. I couldn't afford to throw any pillows, so I shouted out in anger, "SHUT UP!" which only proved to be ineffective. When I finally pulled myself from the bed, I checked their former spiky roost on my air condition. No pigeons. No nest. They must've learned their lesson good and roosted elsewhere.

And then I noticed it. Little sticks. An assortment of sticks tangled around the nails on the air condition. "This cannot be happening again," I said to myself. "They are not building a bunker to start a war again." Hopes in vain. Hopes dashed on the nails of a pigeon prevention board that CLEARLY is not doing its job.

The morning love making routine resumed, only quieter and more sporadic. I resumed my sneak attack tactic. But someone must have warned those bitches about it because it didn't phase them. They flew the coop and then flew back only minutes later. I mentally pulled up my Great Pigeon Battle '08 tactic book. How would I put something like a stuffed animal on the nest? I decided to hold off on that option for extreme circumstances, but considered putting a stuffed animal in the window. What pigeon wouldn't be afraid of a stuffed purple cow?!

I prepared to put the plan into action. Then I saw it. The nest had transformed from a hob-nob assemblance of sticks into a nest held together by nails. And resting gently amid this torture chamber nest was a white thing. AN EGG.

AW. HELL. NAW. YOU DIDN'T. OOOOOOH GIRL, YOU DID.

This battle just got UGLY. I returned to sneak attack with such a ferocity, that those pigeons didn't know what happened to them. I'd scare them off, knowing with a matter of time that they would be back to snuggle that little egg. I opened the blinds, and stood out of their line of vision, until they flew back. And just when they thought it was safe, I'd get 'em good.

But since, I (shockingly) have a life, I can't be there on guard for every minute of the day. And they returned. THIS TIME TO LAY ANOTHER DAMN EGG. Oh you wily pigeon bitches, bring it on.

After consulting my advisers, I decided opening the window adjacent to the air condition would allow me to sweep off the nest. WRONG. The window DOESN'T OPEN. All my brute strength in the world is not helping me.

So we are at a standstill. Although the sneak attacks have scared them off for the time being, it is just a matter of time. If I learned anything from the GPB08, it is that pigeons are the stupidest creatures on the planet with the shortest memory next to a goldfish. Which means, any minute, now, I will be suffering the sounds of pigeons sexy coos.

The window is stuck. The pigeons have TWO eggs. And all I've got is a sneak attack and a window that won't open. I might have to call in snipers extraordinaire, Nick and Noel. The saga will be continued and pictures of the nest to follow. . . .

Wednesday.

2010-03-10T22:02:00.003-06:00

Tonight I practiced being bored. I don't really know the last time I didn't do anything. After a ten hour work day of being diplomatic, polite, encouraging, stern, and organized, I needed to do nothing. Literally nothing.

You have absolutely no idea how deep the ot do anything work ethic runs in your veins until you try to do nothing. I sat on my balcony and listened to WWOZ do their spring pledge drive. I refused to think about anything, but I kept ticking off a list of things that needed to do. I should call friends I haven't talked to in a while. I should do the dishes. I should pick up my room. I should, I should, I should. Every time I was near to standing up, I wondered how much longer I could sit there.

So I watched the cars going by. And I watched the clouds going by. I listened to the cicadas. I felt the humidity on my skin. I noticed the way the oak trees looked against the night sky, and the way the street like across the street shined just a little like Christmas lights. I looked at the old abandoned hospital that is catty-corner from my house and noticed how even it was beautiful in the witching hour. I imagined myself dancing to the blues and jazz on the radio.

I was truly bored. I haven't been bored in so long. It's a fascinating novelty. I can't say it is a habit I am going to enjoy forever. But tonight it was a choice. It was a lovely choice for a Wednesday.

Here a thing, there a thing, everywhere there's things things

2010-03-08T17:27:00.003-06:00

I'm horribly afraid of messing things up. Any things. Big things, little things, work things, home things, outside things, indoor things, my things, your things, things things things!

My friend and co-work Beej knows me better than anyone down here. I don't know what this man is made of, but he has been patient with me when I have been strategizing on how not to mess up my things. And it always seems that the moment when the moment of brilliancy (as I like to call it) strikes me, Beej knocks it all down like a pile of blocks when he says, "Hey, Mose, what are you tryin' so hard for?" Call him my best friend, my life-coach, the Greek chorus in the saga of my life, my translator when it comes to the opposite sex. He manages to be neutral when all I want is someone to tell me what to do, and tells me what to do when I throw everyone else to the wind. Which maybe isn't what the Greek chorus does, and anyway, Beej isn't Greek, he's Creole. Anyway, the point of this post isn't to talk about how great Beej is, even though he does give a mean high five.

The point is, I spend too much of my time worrying myself about that whole Dr. Suess list of things. And I got the best advice from him. Which I know I've heard before. But it never made sense like this. "Just don't mess it up today," he said. Which I like. I can handle today. It's tomorrow that makes me worry. Not messing up right now seems so much more manageable.

Reread for Review

2010-03-03T21:12:00.003-06:00

Boxes of Brown
molly losey

In those days we buried people in boxes brown
wood. We traded our smiling flushed faces for black
sullen ones. We ate humble pie and branded ourselves red
with guilt for what we could have done, and we hated the shade
of the grass. It was still green, still alive
when the people we loved were dead.

Remorse comes togehter with the smell of cypress and the dead
air of the sanctury matched the shade
the preacher prayed. His heavy, black
typewritten words with a gold paved certainty they were still alive
someplace beyond the brown
earth in which we were about to leave them and their red

sweaters. We cried hollow tears, ones that were red,
guilty, responsible, maybe. They were the dead
ones, but we, we were just as cold and black,
as inwardly lifeless as skin faded from brown
to an unmoving gray. We hastened to shade
ourselves from such a fate, absorbing the sacraments and coming alive

again. Now it’s a novelty, this being alive;
contradicted by the shade
of sackcloth reasoning and prayer that browns
and wilts with the heat of the slow burning fire. Thirsty and red,
forever at our backs faith won’t settle for dead,
will never leave us charcoaled and black.

Skirts and suits are embraces of black,
their toothy mouths slopping out red
words from the New Testament. Alive
as they say, means that the only dead
is sin. The living suffering the blandness of brown,
a dull sorry existence, an unpolished shade.

The day for us ended with the closing of windows and drawing of shades.
Tomorrow will be new, shining, alive.
We, we though, will have eyes that are red,
hearts that know only what it is to be black,
aching in such a way that we, too, become dead
and buried in a box that is brown.

In the black brown shade of the lonely red earth,
if the dead are weeping and gnashing their teeth,
and their red, tearstained stories tell they’re yet, yet alive.

--fall 2007

I will never never forget how I felt when I wrote the first draft of this poem and shared it with my poetry class. Never.

2010-01-27T10:22:00.002-06:00

I have many special skills in life. One such skill is seeing Mark Twain in many places and stages of his life. Yes, I know that this sounds absurd. I know that it does, but it is true. I have come to believe that I will encounter him in every stage of his life before I die. And since he's already dead, I guess I will encounter him once more. That is if we end up in the same place. It's hard to say where he went.

My first encounter with Mark Twain, or if you care to get more personal, Samuel Clemens, was actually here in New Orleans. It was Halloween night last year, and being a socially concientius person, he opted for the public transportation rather than drinking and driving to the downtown Halloween Festivities. He was a bit past his prime; he'd reached the age of white suits with the black tie that we all seem to connect with him. He spoke in his deep and charming southern accent, excused himself when he squeezed through the train, and said yes and thank you ma'am to women on the train. I was not fortunate enough to get to speak with him.

But did you know that Mark Twain is actually involved in present day adult education? When you think about, you probably say to yourself, "huh, that makes sense." Didn't you?! I'm sure I heard you.

Yes, I sat next to Mark Twain yesterday in a test-training professional development I had to go to. He's quite tall, silent, and a little intimidating. He was in a younger stage of life than last time I saw him. His hair was starting to change. It was white, shot through with some strawberry blond, but long and combed back. His beard was still red and his eyes were the kind of blue that terrifies me. I hoped that he would sit somewhere else, but no. Turns out, he's nice and asked me some uestions. His voice wasn't as gruff as I expected. It was very soothing, more like someone who should be reading stories to the blind.

These chance encounters only leave me wondering when will be meet again, Mr. Mark Twain? This time there were only words about TABE testing, but maybe next time a high 5?!

Oh When the Saints

2010-01-27T10:05:00.002-06:00

You already know by now that the New Orleans Saints are going to the Superbowl. I know you know this. It is a first time trip for a team that has been around since the 60s. It's been a hard time being a Bears fan in the city, to tell you the truth. It was nearly impossible to watch any of the games. People hate the Bears here. Really, really, really hate the Bears because of that '06 playoff game. I've heard reports from multiple stories about horrible things Bears fans did at that game: pouring cups of beer on Saints, making Katrina comments, etc. So in short, no gives a hoot or a holler about them down here, and so I have taken to watching the Saints play.

There are no fans like Saints fans. I am not kidding. As their record got stronger and stronger during the season this year, you could feel the buzz and the tension everywhere. People who didn't even watch or care about football were getting excited. We won one game, I am certain, by a field goal because a priest stopped into the bar to Brocato's next door to watch the final minutes and say a blessing. (When I served him his ice cream, I thought maybe it was a costume for the game, but turns out it was authentic.)

So as you can imagine, things got p.r.e.t.t.y. crazy down here on Sunday night when they won the NFC championship. We ran outside with a bottle of champagne. People were crying, cars were honking, and you could hear neighbors cheering and fireworks shooting. My co-worker Frank said the lights went out in his neighborhood minutes after they scored the final field goal. I am convinced that it is because there were so many people with their tvs on.

No one celebrates like New Orleans, so what better place to head than Bourbon Street? To be fair, I rarely ever go there. But the city was going nuts, and this was monumental, so we hopped a street car and headed downtown. My roommate Eva was giving out temporary tattoos, and my other roommate Jennie led the street car in several Saints cheers. The street car driver rang the bell the whole three miles downtown. The closer we got, the more congested traffic got, until it finally stopped. People were literally dancing in the streets outside there cars. Bourbon street was packed - with locals.

We stayed out late, but had a hard time getting home. The street car had been closed in the French Quarter because of the chaos. Everyone was in a good mood. Somehow we managed to catch a cab, and finally made it home, somewhere around 1:30 or 2 in the morning. The die-hards didn't leave til 4 or 4:30, and the news said they didn't even leave when cops tried to shoo them home.

As for the Superbowl, it's scheduled for the first major weekend of Mardi Gras. Of course Drew Brees is a Mardi Gras parade king, but they've had to reschedule the parade times...No one will miss this game.

Caroline and Miriam: wish you were here.

2010-01-12T01:13:00.002-06:00

i wish i had myself figured out.
it would make the rest of my life just a little less confusing.
and easier.

i forgot to call you tonight, mom. oops, sorry. i watched the bachelor, and started cleaning my room. lame.

New This Year

2009-12-14T23:09:00.002-06:00

Among the many things that I never expected from New Orleans was flooding. Now, I know that might sound silly. Ok, might is wrong. It is silly. I am talking about that is built on a swamp, next to a river, and at one of the worst points in its history, approximately 90% covered with water.

Yes, I know that. But what I didn't expect was for my street to flood. I have lived here for a year now. I have lived in three different apartments in the same zip code, all less that a mile from each other. In the whole year that I have lived here, it never flooded. Until this fall.

I was born on a farm in Illinois. I know what to do in the event of a snow storm. You should always keep a flashflight and extra blankets in your car, your gas tank full, and your cell phone charged, just in case. I know how to get out of a curb that a snow plow has blocked me into, and I know how to drive on the snow (even if I do drive like a grandma in it).

But when it rains? I don't know what to do. I have never liked driving in the rain. But it isn't even the driving that is the problem. It's the flooding.

The first time it flooded, it was in September. Still warm. I drove to the grocery, without even thinking about it. I almost turned down a flooded street...but turned around when I felt the water lapping at the floorboard. I parked my car when I got home, and the water was high at the curb, but not bad. And minutes later, it was flooding. I ran out in galoshes to move my car, after calling my local friends in a panic. Galoshes and phone calls were useless. My friends just laughed at me and the water just poured over the top of the boots. Afterward we poured some wine and put on our swimsuits and stood out in the rain and sewage. Yes, friends, I didn't know it was sewage at the time. I thought it was run-off, and it was...in addition to the sewers backing up.

This time around, I knew to expect the flooding. I had weather updates being emailed to me from the weather channel. I was keeping an eye on the steady down pour and my poor 1998 Bonneville. I didn't need to move it, I thought, because I was about to go scoop ice cream at Brocato's. I had time. In less that five minutes, it went from being at the bottom of the rim on my tire, to the top. LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES. I threw on a jacket, galoshes (useless again, but it seemed like it would be a good idea), and threw my work clothes in a plastic bag. The streets were horrible- on Canal street, only one of the three lanes was useable in some places. There was no where to park once I got to Brocato's. For two hours, the rain came straight down, with a few rumblings of thunder. It was a long and lonely shift without customers. The customers we did have were only there because they were stranded in the city. Roads were shut down because of flooding.

And now it is raining again. It's been raining for the past four hours. Straight down and steady, making a gentle pattering with thunder that is lulling me into domestic activies such as baking and scrapbooking. No galoshes tonight: I parked my car on high ground when I got home.

2009-12-13T13:03:00.002-06:00

i will pour it
all out.
and i will fill it
up again.

i will seek and i will
find. i will pilgramage
even when
i cannot walk
cannot carry even myself.
i will not even quit
when i think that i have.

After Imaginary

2009-12-10T22:08:00.005-06:00

After (my favorite poem) Lisel Mueller's "Imaginary Paintings"

I. How I would paint the future

A bubble growing bigger and more threatening until
it explodes into now.

II. How I would paint happiness

A surprise that you made for me
on a day when I am lonely.
A letter in the mail on top of the
bills, an invitation; a slayer
of loneliness.

III. How I would paint death

A hole in the ground.
A pit. No light, no shadow.
Just an empty hole and hands
trying, trying
trying to climb.

IV. How I would paint love

I could not paint something I have
only touched. In darkness or

blindness, I have felt it;
Warm, fragile wild. But I have never

seen it, so I would paint with my eyes

closed, paint with my heart for a brush.

V. How I would paint the leap of faith

I would paint you falling
with your eyes closed.

VI. How I would paint the Big Lie

Suits and coats and warm handshakes.
Eyes that should be warm: dying, dead, and shutters
open. Mouths whispering.
Baking pies with vinegar,
stuffed with apologies
and a bitter taste of gossip.

VII. How I would paint nostalgia

Lake Michigan in September, an empty beach.
Holding hands and kissing and not knowing.
The sun in the half afternoon light; it is following
footprints, freezing shadows in the sand.

2009-11-29T22:52:00.002-06:00

spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning
dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy
churn. churn. churn.

something isn't sitting right with me.

2009-11-23T23:05:00.002-06:00

I haven't been so good about writing either on here or in my journal. When I don't write, I don't feel human. All my inside stuff gets all backed up and yucky. And then I get here, to this place of stuckness. It's really quite frustrating. I know the only good way to become a writer is to write. And not just write sometimes, or when you feel like it, or when you're mad, or when you're happy about something. You're supposed to write through all of that bullshit and just get straight to writing. And yet I have a hard time doing it.

I want to write, and I want to be published. I was so excited about moving to New Orleans because I thought it would be a great place for me to be creative in. But I got way out of the habit of writing, and I quit doing it, and now here I am in this stuck place. It's not writer's block; it's writer's purgatory. I'm not even dead yet, and I'm in purgatory.

Is it juvenile to say that I don't know what to write about? I suppose it is. SOmetimes when I feel really ambitious, or even not so ambitious, but like I should be doing something, I try to push something out. It usually doesn't go so well and then I end up getting mad at myself for spiraling out control and landing straight into purgatory. Then I displace my anger by blaming it on the fact that I am no longer in college and don't have the dead lines or prompts that were required in creative writing. I miss those things, it's true. But I set deadlines for myself and gave myself prompts, and yet I failed to follow through. It seems the truest writing that I have is that that has come from self-deprecating my writing skills.

There are writing groups around. There are millions of publications: journals, e-zines, blogs, magazines, all kinds of things. I am too scared to try publish anything, too scared to show anything that I have worked on, and terrified about what that means about writing. I don't know what type of writing I want to do, or what the point of writing is. The fact that there is someone who is better than me out there kind of stops me from wanting to do it. And that doesn't just hold true for writing. It's why I hate sports, quit singing, and rarely cook. It isn't the fear of failure, although that is daunting, so much as playing second fiddle or being overlooked.

Maybe it is the youngest child coming out in me. I don't think that is it. I can feel myself holding back, but I can't stop myself from doing it. I feel like the only thing that could really liberate me is traveling. Leaving and being completely terrified until I have to earn that confidence back for survival. Logical? No. Increasingly appealing? Yes.

When I don't write, I am cranky. My life feels like it fills up with gunk. I was doing really good about it. Then I stopped picking up my room, stopped writing, and my life turned really blah. Or maybe that order is skewed. It's a theme I have noticed before. My bedroom reflects my general state of sanity - the more clothes on the floor, the more stressed out I am. They are in a giant pile right now. And have been that way for weeks. Weeks. The thing is, I don't have anything to really stress about, other than paying my bills and what I am going to do on the weekends. I just feel like something major is missing from my life, and I don't know what it is.

2009-11-17T00:11:00.002-06:00

I can't sleep.
i.a.wide.awake.
I'm tired. I'm yawning, and I am tired. But I can't sleep, even though I have been trying for the past two hours.

In one hour, I will be going to go watch a meteor shower. I have never seen a meteor shower in my life. And I was pretty excited about it. Until I couldn't fall asleep to take a nap before hand.

Now I am nervous because I know I have to work tomorrow, and I will be up way later than I usually am. Which, whatever, I can deal with that. I have stayed up til 5 before, packed, and been up to catch a 7:00 train, carried a backpack and walked all day, taken a two hour nap, and then gone back out again. It's do-able.

It's not the sleep that concerns me. It's the waking up in time. If I go back to my bed right now, I will most likely make it OUT of my bed for the meteor shower because I will either a.) shut off my alarm clock, or b.) be too cozy to get up, thus continuing my streak of never seeing a meteor shower. The alternative is to risk oversleeping tomorrow, for which there aren't any too major consequences. Still.

There is something to be said about the past days of getting up and running to the train station at 7 in the morning. I had short hair back then, and it could go days without washing. That is not necessarily the case now. I also lived two blocks from the train and could dodge traffic early in the morning because there really wasn't any. But most importantly, I had responsible Cheri to call me and make sure that I was awake. Or more importantly, to call me 15 minutes before the train left to tell me that if I didn't hurry, I would miss the train to Rome would owe her money for the train, for the hostel, and the breakfast that she had waiting for me. That adrenaline is missing from my life.

I like waking up, excited about the day.

Age Ain't Nothin' but a Number

2009-11-02T10:21:00.002-06:00

prime age: (noun) the age that matches someone's personality and behavior

Trina and Britani told me once that my prime age was that of a spastic 23 year old. Right now, I am a spastic 23 year old. Once, I thought that being 23 would be the best age to be. It wasn't too old where people start expecting you to get your life together and maybe settle down, or at least hve a good reason for why you aren't settling down. And I told that to a friend who was 23 at the time. She got the funniest, almost bewildered look on her face when she told me I was wrong.

I guess, maybe I was hoping that I woud be a little more put together at 23. I didn't know myself very well back then. I was scared and excited about the future. I thought that because I loved someone and he loved me back, I thought that we'd still be in love and maybe we'd end up married after a few years.

Now I am 23. I'm still spastic, but I don't think that is ever going to go away. But I'm a little bit more familiar with myself now than I was back then. I knew back then that things don't always go the way you want them to, but now there's a touch more realism in my life. I wish that wasn't the case. Once at a church retreat in high school, the speaker was talking about how we had to put our trust in God and not in men. I don't remember what his illustration was exactly, something about a paper cup, poking it with a pencil, and then trying to fill it with water. But I will never forget this part: "People let you down 100% of the time," he said. I have no idea what he said about God, but I do remember that he told me that people are always going to disappoint me.

For a while in college, I was in this safe little bubble. Everything was going really well. It wasn't perfect. I found things to be unhappy with. I wasn't sure what I wanted, or what things I really wanted. I guess I hadn't really thought about all of this being let down stuff. Looking for the good in people isn't a bad thing. But you just can't always count on it. If they don't know who they are, or what they want, then I guess that is when you can expect to be let down.

This is all rambling thinking about how maybe I've let myself down or people have let me down. It isn't even about a prime age any more. I think that I would be okay hanging on to being a spastic 23 year old for a while. I guess I realize that there is good in people and bad in people, that sometimes there are just things that are nobody's fault, and that maybe you know what you want , but you don't know how to get it. Sometimes we let everybody down, and sometimes nobody knows but us.

That's just kind of what I've been thinking. I don't know if it makes sense, but I'm a spastic 23 year old. I still don't know what to think all the time.

Singing Every Little Thing is Gonna Be Alright

2009-10-29T09:58:00.002-05:00

There's a little bird on my porch, just outside my window. It's sniffing around my jack-o-latern, old cigarette buts, and rotting floorboards. It hops to the edged and looks down, and it hops back. It hops around and enjoys where it is.

We both are enjoying the view. But we both want to know: Does it get better than this?

2011 is going to be the year of the Great Migration Part I. I have lots of planning and work to do until then. More details to follow.

This Could Explain It

2009-10-23T00:50:00.004-05:00

I wrote pages in my journal tonight about how I feel like I am missing something. I really don't know what it is. I can't put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it is intangible and mysterious. But it is essential enough to feel that it is out of place.

But now all I can say, 'Maybe this, maybe this.'

Gold.

2009-10-19T20:41:00.003-05:00

Working with GED students isn’t always as easy or as fun as I imagine that it is. Sometimes I try to glamorize it to others, so that I remind myself that it is an adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. The people that I work continually find ways to humble and amaze me. But the job is not without its hang-ups.

I’ve become irate when I’ve been stood up for study sessions and irritated for assigning homework that doesn’t get touched, or even thought of, until the next class. That is, if my students make it to class. There are days that the seats are not even half full, and on the days when it rains, the only people there are the ones with cars, who live in the area, or were on the bus before it started raining. Weekly there is a death, someone in the hospital, someone else near losing housing. When I get hungry and I eat my lunch, sometimes I eat a piece of humble pie while I wonder who didn’t get to eat at all that day. There are people who get up at six or six-thirty in the morning, while I drive two miles because I overslept that morning. And the only way the to explain positive and negative numbers is to use a checking account as an example.

All of this makes orientation week exhausting. After testing and a whole week of preparation for the next session comes the day I look forward to with excitement and dread. It almost feels like a reunion of sorts because there are students that I haven’t seen for a six weeks or longer coming in and out of the building, and the new students are getting their new schedules timid, but excited about the next session. But it also means having to explain to someone who made it to the 11th grade, who has fed a family, been a manager, or is twice my age that they have been operating on the 5th to 7th grade level. It’s dancing with reality and optimism and hoping that this session will be the one that gets this students into the world with the education the world says they need. There’s a lot of unhappy faces when the test scores come back. It’s easier to deliver bad test scores to a newer student. It’s the students who have been here for a year or more and still haven’t made any changes that kill me.

But today was a very good day.

Because one of my students got his GED.

I have been with Delgado for a year now, only two months as staff. I know a lot of the people in the program, but there are very few students that I felt were “mine.” Mine in the sense that I taught them from when they came into the program and watched them work through. This particular student started his first session with Delgado in June in the first class I co-taught. We were rookies together. Let me tell you, this man has seen me
flounder. He has seen me grasping for explanations and examples the same when you do when you’re about to drop something special and fragile, and then you watch it shatter wondering why you bothered to begin with. I’ve watched him come to class tired, on his way to or from work in his work clothes. I have watched him put his pen to his paper and heard stories about his life in essays that I’ve corrected and made him rewrite. I’ve worried that he was going to drop out and been annoyed that he left early. But I guess we’ve been a support system for each other without actually really knowing each other. I encouraged him to come to class, and helped with what he needed to study (not much really), and he’s thanked me for working with him and encouraged me, despite my bumbling teaching attempts.

He took his GED about two weeks ago. He was worried about orientation day and getting his schedule. He couldn’t come to get his schedule on the day returning students were supposed to come, so he sent a friend. We were closed when she got there. So he came in today, and he sat down at my desk.

“I’m here for my schedule.”

In my zombie like state from telling people their schedules all morning, I started to pull his name up in the system. Halfway through typing his name, I stopped. “You took the test last week, didn’t you?!”

“Yeah, I just figured I didn’t pass.”

I couldn’t recall seeing his name on the test results list that I checked earlier in the morning. But I couldn’t believe that he would fail.

I pulled up his scores and bursting, I turned to him. “You don’t need that schedule after all.

A slow smile spread over his face, his four gold teeth shining in the happiest smile. “What?! You serious?!” He shot backwards in his rolling desk chair almost taking down another teacher.

He gave me a big hug and thanked me. “I did it! I have a step-daughter and nephew in the 12th grade. And I told them that I would finish before they did. And I did!”

His face glowed when I told him that we would be having a GED graduation in the spring time. I knew that there was no need to ask if he was interested in it, but I did anyway. His smile got bigger, and he said that he’d be there.

“You know, I told you to read my teacher evaluation about you, and you said you couldn’t. Well, I just want you to know that I said and I tell everyone else that you have know choice to fail when they have you for a teacher.”

The best part of the day lasted only for a couple of minutes. But it made for the best orientation day ever.

Closet

2009-10-05T23:40:00.003-05:00

My last high school choir concert. The Ice Cream Social. It was just like I had planned my senior year concert to be.

I cried my eyes out when it was over. I sobbed more that day than I did on graduation day. In fact, I didn't cry on graduation day, even though I felt like maybe I should. I suppose that there were a lot of reasons I cried after that final concert. Stress, relief, giving up something that I loved. I don't know what the real reason was, but I think that right then, is when I said goodbye to my high school self. That person that I was, who I always have with me, ceased to be me and has just been with me since then. Mrs. Pearson hugged me that day, and told me that those were not the best years of my life. There were better ones to come. It doesn't always seem that way.

I remember that day with one of my favorite dresses. It's a strapless gray plaid dress that my mom and I bought for Homecoming that fall. I didn't end up wearing it until that concert, and have kept it because I love it so much. Every time I see it or wear it (yes, I still have it, it still fits, and I have worn it in the last year) I think of the ice cream social, and who I was at that time.

I suppose that who you are is kind of like the clothes that you keep in your closet. You know, those ones that you can't get rid of or will never forget because they were so wonderful or you wore all the time. I guess it's like a growing moment. You shed your old self and become your new self and just carry that old one with you. You take it off, fold it up, and put it in your suitcase. You'll pull it out every now and then, and think about maybe wearing it; you'll shake it out and maybe try it on. You'll even take it for a spin around the living room or just around the block. And then you'll remember why you grew out of it in the first place. It will be too small and pinch in all the wrong places. It might make alluring curves in one spot, and then the light will hit just right, and you'll kick it off in a beat.

So a list of things hanging in my closet, that I refuse to throw out for sentimental value:

-May 1995. Third grade, end of the school year. Bad bangs, head bands, and funky jeans. My mom and I were waiting in the car to pick my sister up from school. I sobbed and sobbed that it was the last day of school. "You'll go back to school next year and your friends will all still be there." "But it won't be the same," I said. "We'll all be different." I think I remember this, simply because my mom didn't try to soften the blow of reality. "You're right," she said.

I still pull this out of the closet frequently. I don't try to squeeze into it any more, but sometimes I wish I could.

-Fall 2004. Knitted scarves were so in. So was Old Navy, Clark's on Belmont, Neffertiti's, and the Chicago stop on the Redline.

Thank God I grew out of that.

-Italy, Fall 2005. Nothing ever looked better on me than travel, scarves, and boots. They complimented my newly found charm. That brown hat ruined the ensemble completely, but it was a necessity.

Of all the outfits I'd like to wear again, it would be this. But I would leave the hat behind. We all make fashion mistakes.

-Summer and Fall 2k6. All I needed to wear was a tan. There was no need to comb out my hair.

I'm never letting this look go out. <3

-October 2006. I remember a cold goodbye on a windy and sunshiney day. The colors that season were dark. I retired that green cordoroy jacket after that day. Maybe if the green hadn't clashed with the grass, I would have kept it around.

Bright colors, blues and reds and patterns with hearts were in that summer, but went out more quickly than they ever came in. And who knows if they'll ever be back in?

-May 2008. College graduation, the last day, standing on the bridge over the Chicago River. I have a picture that captures my last moments as a college co-ed with my two best friends. We walked off the bridge, and seconds later, we were gone.

I pull this out a lot. I don't look as good in it any more; fashions change and varies from city to city. Besides, it just doesn't look as good without the rest of the line.

-Fall 2008. I don't need my helmet any more.... I hope.

-Summer 2009. My old brown slippers bought for the fall line of 2006. They were raggedy from walking the floor and through the snow. They couldn't keep up with the heat.

-Fall 2009. Fashion yet to be determined. But so far it has a lot to do with hats, sweat pants (in the air condition), and no shoes for when it's raining.

The best accessories are best friends, old and new.

2009-09-28T09:11:00.002-05:00

Poetry Exercise

Take the phone off the hook.

Find a mirror and examine your
wrinkles, the depth of your own eyes, and the circles underneath them.
In one paragraph, write about all the people that
make you cry and
then delete it.
Rewrite the paragraph. Do not cry this time. Only
write what you learned from each tear.
When stuck, use your favorite word and write
paragraphs and essays about why it is your favorite.
Spend extra time on self discovery, using
action verbs and hindsight. Absolutely do not
forget your first dance, first kiss, and any time you snuck out.
Light a cigarrette, but leave it,
ashing in a tray while you spend a page on your first one.
Pour a glass of lemonade and eat a popsicle to
cure the hangover of memory.
When through,

Eliminate any lies

Strike out any and all unneccesary

chatter, commas, and pages of regrets.

Dew Hushing

2009-09-16T23:39:00.000-05:00

When the sun comes up and you
listen really close, noone’s knowing
the earth’s heart beating.
And just when the light comes over
the dirt, if you put your ear to the sky
hold your breath,
and hush the morning dew on your face
you can hear
the sound of the earth’s heart breaking.
A second or so and then
the birds.
Cacophony and chaos in the streets
and a thousand hands are clapping
and a two thousands eyes are
watching and they hush the breaking
of their own hearts
with the roar they
heard with their eyes.

At the end of the day
and the sun’s falling just so
there’s a soft light that colors everything
in sepia and nostalgia.
No one’s knowing then that
the earth’s heart is being patched
with prayers and dreams
and lovemaking
whispers and salt from the eyes
of the people who
held their breath and
hushed the dew.

2009-09-16T00:04:00.002-05:00

Dear Friend,

I miss you a lot tonight. I don't miss you in the sad sort of eating chocolate and sappy movies sort of way, but in the way you miss a friend. I wish that I could call you up on the phone and talk, but things just aren't like that for us any more. They can't be.

I poured a lot of myself into you, into you and me, and it isn't there any more. It's funny how when you don't have something anymore, you're suddenly shocked that you don't have it, but how quickly you adjust. And then the shocking part becomes realizing that you survived. You are surviving without that thing that you thought you could do alone. It's funny that my life sometimes feels less substantial now. I can completely ignore the voice telling me to be quiet and be still because it isn't personified by anyone. It's guilt free though, this gadding about town and spreading myself to thin. I feel confident. I feel capable. I feel completely vulnerable.

Survival is the only instinct we have. I shoot to kill when I speak. And I killed something that shouldn't be dead, but I put it, us, out of misery. Sometimes, even though I'm mostly grown, all I can do is throw a fit. I huff and I puff and I stamp the house down and it makes me feel better. And it makes me look selfish and childish. If I could control the bull in the china shop part of me, maybe, maybe....But if I didn't have that childlike faith and hope that the silver lining is going to pull through, there might not have been as many songs about rainbows as there were.

I'm mixing my metaphors and sending this into space tonight, hoping that you know what this all means. I'm walking in the sun and I'm walking in the swamp and I'm not holding anyone's hand but my own. And we're both going to be just fine.

Tip-Top

2009-08-31T09:19:00.003-05:00

I live on a porch now. I don't meant that I have a porch; I mean I really live on the porch.

I left my basement apartment that was nice and close to work and two or three blocks from the park. It was just not well suited for me. Basements here are different than back home because you can't dig into the ground here. The apartment was just on the ground level, but it provided all the amenities that a regular basement does. Poor natural lighting, cool, plenty of bugs. I am unrepsonsive to two out of three of those words.

So after deliberation, I made the decision and commitment to move. I heard a sermon once about commitment, and the pastor said that if you make commitment, you'll be surprsed at the outcome. I don't know if that is true in this case or not, but once I made that decision, I texted my friend Jennie that she should move down, do Literacy Americorps, and be my roommate in her spare time. And guess what? She did.

So now we have a three bedroom shotgun apartment with our third roommate joining us in the next week.

Let me refresh your memory about what a shotgun is. It's a house that you have to walk through everyone else's room to get somewhere. Two of the rooms are pretty private, being in the front and the back of the house.

My room is my favorite. It is in the front of the house, off the balcony. There is a door made entirely of windows, and two floor length windows next to it that can open like miniature doors. I've slept better here, even though it's brighter and noisier than I ever did at the basement on St. Ann.

The street outside is a parkway with a nice wide neutral ground (median). There's a playground and a bikepath. If you follow the bike path, it leads to Bayou St. John, a sort of park on a canal.There's huge live oak trees that shade us. There's people running or walking by, and always cars driving by. I haven't eaten but two or three meals inside. I make my food and carry it out to the porch, so I have something to watch while I eat.

My neighbors are great, too, albeit a little eccentric. That's another entry entirely though. For now I am tip top shape, feeling better about myself than I have for months. I won't attribute it all to the natural lighting and porch sitting, but it probably has something to do with it.

2009-08-03T00:42:00.002-05:00

Al Gore, why make web?
Hunt and gather easy way
So boring; make fat.

LD

2009-07-30T11:52:00.002-05:00

I'm pretty sure that I have an insurance learning disability. I just don't get it. It doesn't matter how many times someone explains it to me; I just don't get it. I can't understand how it works. I am so frustrated. I feel like a freakin' idiot. This is absolutely ridiculous. How do I keep ending up having to pay for more and more stuff?

i.hate.this.

Time

2009-07-27T01:33:00.002-05:00

I don't knwo what has been up with Time lately, but it seems like every time I check the time, it is waaaaaay faster than it should be. Like just a little bit ago it was midnight. And then a little bit later, and I am talking what seemed only like minutes, it was 12:38. I made a mental note, and planned on getting things wrapped up with my Facebook stalking, and go to bed. Then I looked down at the clock and it was 1:32.

This has been happening a lot of the last week. It's kind of really annoying. Especially because time goes slower when I really want it to go faster.

Tuesdays at the TT

2009-07-25T14:12:00.002-05:00

All the crazy things happen on Tuesdays at the Tulane Tower, or as I affectionately call it: the TT. The Tulane Tower is another one of the sites that houses Delgado's GED program. It houses a very interesting mix of people. It is just up the block from the City Hall, around the corner from both the men's and the women's prisons, and across from the Sheriff's Offices and the county jail where two of our teachers teach. If you have never been to the prison district of a major city...It isn't maybe the most, uh, beautiful place to be. If you like the flashing neon of signs reading "Bail Bonds" and the raving red and blue lights, then this is the place for you. Once I went to the corner store to get a snack and man showed me how he could cut the top of a beer can off with his remaining teeth.

The inside make up of the building is a rather unique mix of people, quite of representative of the city itself. There are two GED programs, ours, and another that is geared for 16-24 year olds, many of whom are court mandated to be there. In addition, there is the New Orleans AIDS Task Force, probation officers, the DA's office, and drug counseling, among other things. There is secure parking lot, where the manager of our GED programs had her Lexus stolen, and my bike was stolen. There is security at the front door and a police officer on our floor.

Everything bad that happens there happens on a Tuesday. Which coincidentally happens to be the day that I am usually there. My bike was stolen on a Tuesday. There have been screaming matches between two flamingly gay men, one our student and the other a schizophrenic that goes to the other GED program. One of the people from the drug counseling program upstairs followed one our female students around. 3 of our students were arrested and threatened by the police. Always on Tuesdays.

The worst things happened this week. Apparently it is the season for break ups. Myself and apparently a bunch of our students decided that it was time to break up. We had two extreme cases of crazy exes come to the Tower. I have always heard the myth of a crazy ex, but I had never truly experienced it for myself. I hope I never have to experience it again. It seems pointless to explain the situations and, perhaps, a breach of privacy. Long story short, one crazy ex, a female, showed up and threatened our male student. The other crazy ex threatened one of our female students .

The thing that frustrates me the most is their lack of trust in the justice system. Both of the students spoke with our police officer about the situation. But because both of them refused to ask for ask for help, the police officer could do nothing. Both students are minorities that come from a background that traditionally has not been helped or supported by the system. They come from a background where they can't trust the people who are supposed to help them. I worry about them.

Blah, blah, blerg. Just more ramblings.

Homesick.

2009-07-20T22:58:00.003-05:00

I haven't been good at keeping in touch lately. And by lately, I mean the last six months. Life is too busy.

A brief rundown of all the things happening.

-Fourth of July consisted of cover bands at an overly priced fest in a homey town. It would have felt like home if I hadn't been with a bunch of uppity east coasters.

-Kyle was here for a week for a much overdue visit. We saw gators giant spiders that were the size of my hands in the swamp, Kermit Ruffins, Public Enemies (the whole time I kept elbowing him saying, "that's such and such street! I saw this set!"), and the great state of Louisiana via river whilst tubing. We even had a movie moment when we got in my car and a roach flew out of nowhere; we both screamed in unison. It might still be in there.

It still fascinates me how people come into your life and become a part of you. Most of the time, I think you don't even know it until all of a sudden you say something you never thought you would or you do something you never thought you'd do or you feel a feeling you didn't know you had. Good byes are hard.

-We spent this last weekend in Florida at the beach. GLORIOUS. The good news is that I did not get attacked by a shark. We saw dolphins and white wales and caught one little crab with one pincher named Shirley. We were hoping to catch enough crabs to have a crab boil, but Shirley lucked out. She was set free. BJ was sure she was going to take one of my fingers with her, but I decided to keep it. We went swimming off the pier and sailing on the SS Molly with the Elks Club, and even took in a stowaway. My friends here make me not so homesick when they can. And so does watching the sun go down. I should do it more often.

-I have plans now for post-Americorps, but I'm not sure I'm happy with them.
a. Finding a new apartment.
b. Working at Delgado part time as an assistant to the program effectiveness person (that sounds way more complicated than it is) + still scooping ice cream
c. Making a writing contract with myself to write consistently and working up the courage to start submitting stuff.
d. Saving money.
e. Waiting for my litigation to absolve itself.
f. Trying to ignore the Chicago shaped hole in my heart.
g. Planning where I'm going next in the world.

-I'm disgustingly homesick.
a. There aren't oceans at home though.
b. But there aren't sharks in Lake Michigan either.
c. I'll have to think on that.

ankle-bitten

2009-07-07T00:12:00.001-05:00

this is just a friendly neighborhood warning not to get an ankle-biter. today i got bit by a chihuaha while going for a walk through the neighborhood. i have a blood blister on my thigh because of it. i hate those things. chihuahas, not blood blisters.

maybe tomorrow.

2009-07-01T22:17:00.002-05:00

i've been mia lately. mostl because it's been the only thing i've been able to be lately. i'm a hurricane of emotions. it's hard to keep my sanity in the heat. i've never been good at being rational anyway, but this oppresses me.

my americorps time will be up in a few weeks. i think six. i don't know what is going to happen to me after that. it has been a really unbelievable year. when i think back on everythign that i have experienced this year, i am overwhelmed. i want it to be over with, but i cna't imagine saying good bye to the students who have taught me so much. i can't imagine working with the staff that has become my family this year, taking me to the hospital, dealing with my craziness, laughing til we cried, and sending me when home when i needed to cry. i've invested a lot of myself to that place.

i have an option to stay on with delgado part-time as an administrative assistant if i choose. i wouldn't have to start over. the program is going to making some big changes, and i would get to help make that happen. it would be only part time because adult education is based on grants and state funding, and it would only be guaranteed til december. to a normal person, that might not sound like a good deal. but to someone with commitment issues and doesn't know how much longer they are going to stay in this place, it's tempting.

what are my other options? americorps? another year of insanity. another year of health insurance. another $5000 towards my loans. another commitment to a place i'm not sure i want to spend a whole nother year in. another place to live. another year of poverty and too many bills and two jobs.

this is so HARD. i know when i move, i'm going to miss this place. it's crazy here. the people are special here. but i am homesick for CHICAGO.

god. this is like reverse seasonal depression.

this isn't as crazy as it gets, but pardon my ramblings. it's the stress and the heat and the frustration and the exhuastion setting in. maybe tomorrow i'll know what to do.

2009-05-19T23:12:00.002-05:00

my big sister is getting married this week.
i brought a boy home for the first time in a long time.
there's been some extra other things going on outside the fam.

everyone's a little insane right now.
it's a little too weird for me.

The First Saturday in May

2009-05-02T20:20:00.002-05:00

I always love the first Saturday of May. It's Kentucky Derby Day; it's magical. It's better than a holiday because it's a normal day. But something about it is spectacular and magical and wonderful. I love it.

This year's magical Derby Day, I volunteered at Jazz fest, and after volunteer time was done, this was my day....

-fresh Louisiana strawberry ice (Brocato's of course.)
-Aaron Neville
-crawfish streudel
-Rod Romero and the Hub City All Stars
-Cowboy Mouth
-Preservation Hall Brass Band
-Kings of Leon
-New Orleans Kelzmer Allstars
-crawfish and crab stuffed mushrooms (don't be excited. they were a disgrace and a waste of $5.)
-Franklin Avenue Baptist Church Choir
-Bon Jovi

I'm pooped. No time to rest. It's Nick and BJ's birthdays tonight, and then tomorrow I have another free ticket to Jazz Fest to use before I have to work!

Never a dull moment!

And then.

2009-04-28T14:25:00.002-05:00

The Story of my Insurance

This is a very long and irritating story. I will spare you the many details, as well as the weeping and gnashing of teeth. Here is a brief outline.

I. I hate them
II. They're stupid.
III. They are slow.
IV. The website they supposedly update weekly for changes still has two doctors listed with phone numbers that are out of service at a hospital that has been closed for three years because of Katrina.
V. I hate my insurance company and think they are stupid.

The very thought of my insurance company makes me want to either burst into tears or rip things to shreds. I wish I could type out the sound of annoyance to the extreme of agony.

oh!

2009-04-25T12:59:00.002-05:00

It's like summer here. I think it's love. So now I am bragging. Every other time I've talked about the weather was just commentary. This time I am out and out bragging. It is unfreakingbelievably beautiful. I can't remember when I have seen bluer skies or greener grass.

It amazes me every spring that this spring is more beautiful than any year ever before. The sky gets bluer, the grass gets greener, the flowers bloom with more grace than any other year. I am always most hopeful in the spring time. I can pray a million prayers of thanks; I can smile with genuinity. Any awful thing doesn't seem as awful any more when the sun is out. Even the list of one million things I have to do isn't long any more. Everything reallyis sunshine and lollipops and rainbows every day when it is spring time.

Spring time always makes me nostalgic though. I want to study on the Green Space, Angie's ice cream, and free North Park black bean burgers. Chicago downtown is an adventure when it starts to get warm. I want summer to be a looming event, instead of knowing that I will be working every day and sweltering through 99% humidity. I am so nostalgic and starry eyed right now; it's disgusting.

commentary

2009-04-22T15:26:00.002-05:00

Weddings

Every time I have stood up in a wedding (ok, a whole 2 times), I have been frustrated because I couldn't see my friend's face beaming while she said her vows. I could only see her profile, and the groom's face. It's not like I have something against grooms, but I am standing up for the bride, and I want to see her.

I had an "aha moment" when Katie and Andy were saying their vows. I couldn't see Katie's face, but I could see his face. I could see him looking into her eyes and promising to be there for her for the rest of their lives. I realized that we were standing up there to be more than witnesses for the two of them. When Katie said, "I do," we were there to say, we will be there to support you, and we will hold you to that promise. When he said, "I do..." we could see the love in his eyes, so that if a day ever comes, we'll be able to remind Katie that there is love there. We can say to Andy, "we were there, and we are going to hold you to your promise."

I suppose that everyone else knows that, but it was an epiphany for me. I never really understood it, until then.

Money, money, money

I will trade only in furs. I will have
children only for bartering purposes
(kidding). I will start
evading my taxes,
losing my bills,
maxing out my credit
because what good
is paying any of it?

I'll sleep in a tent on
the side of the road
and I'll ride a horse and
drive a buggy to avoid
fuel tax, and I'll work only under
the table and take my cash
as monopoly money.
Forget Mr. Money bags.
I refuse to be like him
because I can't be him.

One-der
There's lots of different types of One.
Isn't there?

do-over

2009-04-16T00:55:00.003-05:00

remember when we were kids and every time your team made a mistake in a game, you called a do-over? i wish you could do that with real life. every time something happen that i don't like, everytime i do something stupid, and every time i open my big mouth, i wish i could cancel it with a do-over. the thing is, do-overs don't even really cancel out your mistake. sometimes the do-over is everyone's fault. sometimes it's just an accident. regardless, the mistake is still there. the other team is still mad at you for calling a do-over, but they are going to do better next time. you are going to do better. everyone stops, accepts the mistake, and keeps going. there is no shame in a do-over, no having to apologize, or letting the accident stew over night. the best part is that the do-over is a fresh start. what happened is in the past, and you can put your best, or at least better, foot forward.

i wish it was still acceptable to call a do-over.

2009-04-06T20:28:00.001-05:00

just in case you didn't know,
i'm the office farter.

does that surprise anyone?

2009-03-29T00:30:00.001-05:00

the person next door

is playing their

piano, and

i can hear it.

it's very

nice.

bad news:

for my computer.

the backspace button is broken

and

it looks like it won't

be long til the

spacebar goes, too.

cross your fingers for

a baller tax return.

Where I Been

2009-03-22T14:49:00.003-05:00

What ha' happened was...

I had a big plate; took a li'l
more than I could take
a li'l overwhelmed,
and a li'l undermotivated. A li'l
too much suga' and not enough coffee'll
make ya late.
Ima be there for 9 but show for ten
I'm up to my ears and
under my eyes.
What that is?
Ima beaucoup hot mess. What time
it is? Girl, lemme tell ya,
yes indeed.

2009-02-20T13:59:00.001-06:00

I removed the last post.
I don't want to disclose my student's information, but that doesn't change my anger or outrage.

Remember that you have a voice. Remember to have a voice.

A Very Brave Man.

2009-02-15T23:46:00.002-06:00

I met a Very Brave Man last week at physical therapy. He was in a house fire and was burned all over. He doesn't remember most of it. He was burned so badly that the doctors induced a coma. They didn't really think that he would recover to the extent that he has.

But there he was. Living, breathing, and walking, even if it was slowly and uncertain. He was a Very Brave Man. I am more than thankful to have met him. His gentle spirit, but determined spirit has left an impression on me that I can't forget.

2009-02-10T12:03:00.005-06:00

all those bittersweet things
won't be so bittersweet one day.

"peace train sound it louder...."
-the man, cat stevens.

Forrest Gump

2009-02-03T22:23:00.002-06:00

For the record: I am calling this student J-man in this blog because it as about as appropriate as I can get. There is actually another student that I call J-man because his belt buckle is a giant J with rhinestones all over it, but since this story is not about him, I'm ok with it.

Every Monday and Wednesday I get to work around noon or one. Every Monday and Wednesday, the first thing I see is J-man waving all crazy like at me. That is really what I hope my welcome to heaven is like because, on a day-to-day basis, no one ever is that excited to see me. It makes me feel pretty good.

Every Monday and Wednesday, I say, "Hey J-man, how you doin'?" and look down to see what he's working on. And every Monday and Wednesday, it is the same: basic multiplication. I'm not sure how long J-man has been trying to get the concept of multiplication, but one thing is for sure: he has been dong the same work sheets for the last three weeks. Every time starts off the same. I remind him that 3x2 means that you have 2 groups of 3 or 3 groups of 2. He gets it for about 2 seconds. I walk away, and then things really fall apart.

Even though he doesn't get the multiplication, and I am positive he had some sort of undiagnosed learning disability or special need, it isn't discouraging for the J-man. He "don't let life get 'em down" because he "go to church every Sunday, Molly, every Sunday." Plus he got himself a fine "baby girl" [girlfriend] to talk to on the phone about the new Hannah Montana movie that is coming out in April (it's already marked on his calendar).

Today J-man was in rare form.

Fidelity

J-man: I saw you at the store this weekend, Molly.

m: Oh yeah at the grocery? Why didn't you say hi?

j-man: I was in my friend's mom's car. I couldn't get out. (Brief pause where he only looks at 5x1) Did you take that survey?

[The survey was about Katrina, and was being solicited by some pretty college-age girls.]

j-man: Yeah. I did get out the car for that. Axually, my friend's mom told me to get out of the car for that. They were....

m: They were really pretty, weren't they?

j-man: Yeah....I...I...I flirted a lil bit. And it's okay because I'm only partially attached. So I flirted.

m: [quizzical look] You mean...?

j-man: My girlfriend lives in California, so it's okay.

I was laughing so hard that I couldn't sit up straight. His relationship advice was off the chain.

Forrest Gump

J-man: Molly, you got 50 cent?

M: No.

J-man: I gotta walk home. I was hoping to catch the bus. But....I be like, like the black version of Forrest Gump! I loooove Forrest Gump!

The J-man didn't know how dead on he was. Or maybe he did. But that's exACTly who he is.

myspace

J-man: Molly, you on myspace?

M: [not feeling guilty for lying] No.

J-man: Man. I got soooo many friends. I got about 800 hundred friends. Lots of really pretty girls, too. Reaaaaal pretty girls!

M: [really not feeling bad any more. obviously, i'd only be a number.] Wow.

J-man: Yeah, when I was in school, people used to call me stupid and retarded. But NOW LOOK AT ME! Where were they back then?! I bet they're sorry! [pops his collar a lil bit.]

Forrest Gump Cont'd or Are you Trying to Impress Me?

J-man: You know what I did today?

M: [frustrated that he has not been doing his multiplication] What?

J-man: This lady came up to me, and she wasn't around here, like she didn't sound like she was around here. And she said, "'scuse me, sir, you have a dollar?" So I gave her a dollar. It wasn't like it was anything. I mean, I'd probably go try to buy something I didn't need. It wasn't anything to me.

M: [if you had kept your dollar, you wouldn't be asking me for 50 cent.]

Breakthrough?

I really enjoy working with J-man, and today I really think we made a break through. I think he is finally starting to understand the concept of multiplication. I gave him a pile of paper clips so that we could count out the answer to each problem. It seemed mildly successful.

We'll see what the self-proclaimed black Forrest Gump will bring for me on Thursday.....

transport.

2009-01-29T23:28:00.004-06:00

my bike gotten stolen on tuesday.
but on the plus side, i can bend my finger four more degrees than i could last week.
that really makes up for it.

good thing my parents are bringing my phat ride down this weekend (aka a 1999 bonneville).

so sometimes i see these cars around that have these huge details painted on them. i always thought the drivers were paid money to drive around with a Monopoly board or Nerds candy advertising them. wrong. WRONG. these people pay thousands of dollars to get things like cinnamon toast crunch detailed on the side of their car. apparently a lot of drug dealers do it. ("so do different drugs have different types of cars?"my friend isabelle had asked one of her students. "like is snap, crackle, pop, code for crack? (no, it is not.)).

isabelle told me tonight that there was a shooting recently on the interstate between two of these cereal cars. it isn't quite clear if it was drug related, or if it was because they were competing to see had the faster cereal car. either way, one of them turned out to be a cereal killer.

seriously though, i'm not kidding: today i saw a purple nerds candy car, and then tonight i saw a pimped out monopoly car (that was actually kind of cool- in a 'i''d never want to drive it, but if the dude offered me a ride, i'd totally accept).

farthest.

2009-01-28T00:05:00.001-06:00

Farther.

Imagine the farthest place you
think you can.
You’re not there.
Farther. Think farther.

Farther than lost
farther than never
farther than dead.

That’s where you are.
Farther.

It’s not lonely when you’re farther
but you’re alone.
It’s not cold when you’re farther
but you shiver.
It’s not bad when you’re farther
but somewhere else seems better.

You’re a face in a frame,
trapped in a locket,
printed in the paper,
you’re put in the ground.
You’re all of a sudden
would’ves and could’ves
I’m sorries
and under the stars.
You’re farther.
than ever.

You’re so far
that the eyes in the back of your head
can’t see the tears they are crying,
so far that tears don’t
exist any more.
You’re farther away than a voice can
call, and even prayer can’t reach you.
You’re far enough to know
there’s no coming back,
and still near enough to hope
you can.

Farther doesn’t get any nearer.
Not even with a map,
or a Bible. And even if you tried
moving nearer you would have gone
farther. Anyways, you might not want
to be nearer.

It’s lonely when you’re nearer
because you feel a space.
And it’s cold when you’re nearer
because warm is colder than before.
It’s bad when you’re nearer
because you remember farther.

Telephones don’t operate between
farther and nearer. And they say nothing
can. With you so far, all I want is
you near,
nearer than ground and gravity
nearer than skin on bones
nearer rather than farther.

Pack Your Bags

2009-01-19T14:12:00.002-06:00

I realized last night that in the past eight months, I have not completely unpacked myself in the places that I have been living. During the summer, I didn't have all of my stuff because I knew I'd be leaving. The last four months, I never even bothered settling in because there was an immeninent move looming in the future.

There's the difference between living and staying.
It takes time to live instead of staying. Maybe it takes less time to live than it does to stay.
I've become awfully neurotic, a likely side effect from trying to live and stay at the same time.

I'm going to unpack all my boxes this time. I'm going to throw them all away so there are no cardboard question marks asking what's going to happen next.

2009-01-17T17:23:00.003-06:00

i have no best friends here to snuggle and watch movies with.
i feel really far away and lonely today.
that's all.

2009-01-16T08:32:00.002-06:00

i m.i.g.h.t. have met some guy who has a tv show last night.
and i m.ig.h.t. have gotten in a fight with him.

but i don't really watch tv, so he could have just been a regular jerk after all.

My New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-10T18:59:00.002-06:00

Usually I don't believe in New Year's Resolution. Most of the time, and almost anyone will tell you this, they fall to shit in mid-January. Consequentially, I generally avoid them as tools of the weak. However, this year, I have realized that I do, in fact, have some New Year's resolutions that I believe would be beneficial to my existence.

(Item #1)
For instance, when I went to the dentist over my break, I had a new hygenist (which was a little trying for me because Cheri has been cleaning my teeth since I was in jr. high). I am not a chronic flosser, but I would like to argue that I argue more than the average bear, you know, something like 3 times a week. Because I was on my break, my consumption was in overdrive, and I was verily refusing to do anything I did not want to. Like flossing. Half the time I forgot to brush my teeth. (Disgusting, but true.) Anyway, this new girl spent something like 20 minutes going at my mouth with her little metal stick, all the while giving me a lecture about how the food sticks to your teeth and then gets stuck there, and then you have to go through all of this at the dentist. Because of that, and the fact that my dentist insurance isn't as miraculous as I'd like it to be, and because I want to have teeth for a long time, I decided that I am going to brush my teeth in the morning and before I go to bed, and NOT forget to floss. So far, it is going well.

(Item #2)

When I studied in Italy, every day was an adventure. While I drank my tea and ate my cookies for breakfast, I wondered what the day would bring. Not every day was perfect. There were days that were even boring. But because I was out of my own context, I was able to find adventure were there was none. I was able to look on the bright or the funny side of almost of every situation because I knew I was in Italy, and my days were numbered before I would return to the states.

I remember one day, it was in late October some time. I had been looking for schools to stay in, and looking for a way to stay in Italy instead of coming back to the States. After one of the most disappointing and unsupportive conversations of my life (which was certainly not from my parents), I realized I would be getting back on the plane to go home. After all this realization sank in, I walked through the city, eyeing every detail on every church, every crack in the cobblestone, every pigeon and gypsy. I remember saying to myself: You've got one month left. Do not waste it.

That's how I intend to live now. While work is important and all of that, I am not going to waste my time that I have here in New Orleans. I'm not really sure what's going to happen when my contract is up, but should I decide to move, I don't want to move with a list full of I-wish-I-would'ves.

Which leads me to.....

(Item #3)

I did not want to read the book Eat, Pray, Love. Mostly because it was on Oprah's book club, and every woman I saw in the El this spring was reading it. My old friend, Hop-a-long Jen, insisted that I read. She insisted so hard that she bought me the book. Appreciating the gift, I read it. But not in public. I took it with me to Europe when I left on the graduation trip I bought for myself. And even THERE, in Italy, I couldn't get away from that book. People were reading it there! (Ok, true, part of the story takes place there, but still.)

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Elizabeth Gilbert was writing this book for me. I'm quite sure there are many other people out there who feel the same way, but I like to think that she and I have so much in common. You know, except for the fact that I will never be bendy enough to do yoga, and I have no idea how to meditate. Minor details.

The first section of the book takes place in Italy, and Liz is learning to experience pleasure. She talks about il bel far niente, which is Italian for "the beauty of doing nothing." She explains that in the Italian culture, that is for which everyone is striving. Doing nothing and enjoying yourself along the way is life's goal.

I am absolutely terrible at that. I can't sit still. Especially these last six months, I've become more and more wound up. I have to know what's going to happen next, and in fact, I need to know so badly, I can't enjoy what I'm doing currently (no matter how marvelous it is) because I have to know what is going to happen next.

Dead or Something. This is Incoherent.

2009-01-05T23:26:00.003-06:00

disclaimer: i shouldn't have to feel like i have to defend this post. but i do. what's wrong with that?

I had a phone call from a friend. When we were nothing but kids, he kissed me, and he’s been nothing but a true friend ever since. We talked about drugs and guns and why we wanted to die. If we had the courage to kill ourselves, there would be a remarkable freedom. And here I am, minutes later, with a larger than usual glass of red wine. Listening to John Denver. And wondering what it would be like to die, and would I even wonder if some I loved hadn’t tried his hand at it first. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to talk irrationally with someone who needed to throw away the boundaries of everything completely rational for a while. I would still be listening to John Denver.

I’m still sitting here. My Dead Friend died two and a half years ago. It seems probably to you that when he died, so did our friendship. You’d be wrong to think that. The truest form of friendship keeps on giving, even when the person is gone. With time there’s more investment than before, and even though the memories are fading, the feelings aren’t. Conversations are now memorized pieces of scripture. Feelings are cemented into my soul. No matter how many plastic surgery words I’m given, guilt is branded into and it won’t come out. I’ve prayed Mary and Martha’s prayer, and as it turns out, my Dead Friend wasn’t Lazarus.

In this far from perfect world, there are moments when our humanity is exposed. We’re ashamed of our nakedness, those imperfections that, like freckles on skin or wrinkles at the corners of our eyes, don’t fall into what we think are supposed to look like.

But, you know, that’s not the fucked up part. This is, I think:

If it had all been perfect, if my Dead Friend had been Lazarus afterall, I would have been nothing to the Friend On The Phone. I would have been another number he scrolled past. Another person who just wouldn’t understand. And goddammit, I hate that I have to understand. I hate being the one that my friends call when their grandma dies, or their brother dies, or their cousin’s sister’s hamster’s dog dies (which hasn’t happened yet). But I have to be, don’t I? Because when I scrolled through my own phone book, there were startling few people that I actually felt I could call. And if my Friend On The Phone can call me, then isn’t the world a little bit smaller, and a little bit better? That’s cliche, but please, understand that some cliches are what you need to hear. When they’re from someone who has prayed the Mary and Martha prayer.

It’s all completely irrational, isn’t it? There isn’t anything that is rational. The very idea of rationality is completely irrational. Thank God for red wine and John Denver.

Rocky Mountain High
-John Denver

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin' home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door

When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin' by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changin' fast and it don't last for long

But the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high

He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory

Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake

And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high

Now his life is full of wonder but his heart still knows some fear
Of a simple thing he cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more
More people, more scars upon the land

And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
I know he'd be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly
Rocky mountain high

It's Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
Friends around the campfire and everybody's high
Rocky mountain high

In a Blizzard

2009-01-04T21:21:00.002-06:00

Chicago welcomed me back with a blizzard. Instead of going down in a blaze of glory, I came home in a blaze of snow. I kind of felt like a blaze myself. I was a blaze of Molly. As a result, I am now exhausted. Being a blaze of yourself takes a lot out of you. I've been trying not to indulge in the binge eating that I subconsciously will restore all of my burnt out energy.

And now what you've all been waiting for:

Why I'll Never Sit in the Emergency Row Again.

If Chicago missed me enough to welcome me back with a blizzard, New Orleans missed me enough to welcome me back with a rain storm. The day just did not start off right. The day started off a little if-y. I got to the airport with enough time to get checked in, grab a bite to eat and get to my gate. I had taken careful precaution to pack my suitcase so that it was not obviously overweight, since it would cost an additional 40 bucks had it been overweight. I put it on the scale, and there it was, my worst nightmare: 50.5 lbs. A half pound overweight. Thank goodness the girl behind the counter had the presence of mind to adjust the scale, and save me $40 I didn't have to spend.

I got to my gate. And waited. And waited. And waited. I had to reschedule my connecting flight to New Orleans because there was no way I was going to make it. "Is the emergency row ok?" the man behind the ticket counter asked. "Sure, sure, no problem," I answered.

After sitting on the runway for about another hour, we finally made it to Atlanta. My flight to New Orleans was delayed. I ate a cheeseburger and talked to the people waiting next to me. Finally, we were able to start boarding. And then we sat on the runway and waited another hour.

"You realize that you are in the emergency row?" The flight attendant asked. "You are familiar with the procedures and are willing and able to perform the duties required?" After we all agreed, he walked away. No one looked at the flyer. Finally, I couldn't stand it any more. I had to look at the flyer. I never do because I know how to fly. This was my first time in the emergency row. It seemed easy enough. I put my head back, and fell asleep.

Up in the air, the first 45 minutes were smooth sailing. I woke up at snack time and read my book. The turbulence started out gradually, and I was unalarmed. And then it started bobbing so uncontrollably that my stomach started queasing, and I had to put my book down. I watched the plane drop in the front and move from side to side. It felt like a child's play toy that was being jerked from side to side. At any minute, I fully expected the forces that held the craft in the air to disappear.

"It's ok," I told myself. "I read a book about a plane crash in junior high. I've totally got this. I'll be okay. I'll just call 911."

And then, "Oh my God. What if we land in a swamp? Alligators? There's no solid ground. I'm going to be the first one to go." I was breathing hard. I started forming a plan in my head about what to do first. Then I decided that was stupid. I would have to wait and scope out the scenario before I could really formulate the plan. Which stressed me even more. Finally, I just prayed myself through it, and reminded myself, while bolts of lightning flashed next to the window, that the pilot had been trained to deal with situations such as this.

The difference between flying in Europe and flying in America is this: After the plane touches down in Europe, everyone bursts out in applause for the pilot bringing it safely to the ground. In America, everyone immediately whips out their Blackberries with the "what took so long" attitude, and begins to strategize who they can climb over to immediately exit the plane. After a flight like that, the pilot certainly deserved a round of applause. Tests have shown that individuals will rarely go against the crowd, even if they know the crowd was wrong. I am ashamed to admit that I did not initiate a round of applause for that wonderful pilot who made it possible for me to decide that I will never ever sit in the emergency row ever again.

2008-12-21T22:46:00.000-06:00

it's good to be home.
pizza, wine, good friends.
up all night, snow, mulled wine, and downtown chicago.

it's good to be home.
my own bed, board games, and blizzard conditions.

yes, it's good to be home.

where the lovelight gleams

2008-12-18T10:03:00.002-06:00

mother nature sure doesn't like me travelling.
when i moved to n.o. i had to drive through the tail end of a hurricane.
now i'm heading north, and there's an icestorm waiting for me in chicago.

if i don't get make it to the windy city tonight, there will be a tidal wave of tears.

Talking to T

2008-12-18T09:35:00.003-06:00

I wish I could tell you T's story.

But I can't.

We were reading City of Refuge by Tom Piazza in our class earlier this fall. T reacted very violently to the story. "Why we reading this?" We explained about the purpose of One Book One New Orleans. That wasn't good enough. He wanted to know why Piazza wrote the book. The teacher and I talked about the grieving process.

"T, maybe not for you, but for other people, this is part of the grieving process. It's something they have to do in order to heal."

He shook his head.

"Honestly, T," I said, "I don't think he is telling this story for you. I think he is telling it for people like me who aren't from New Orleans. He's trying to tell your story, so that people who aren't from here will understand why New Orleans is important, why it matters." I meant you in a collective term for all of New Orleans, but T didn't understand it that way. He took it personally, which told me without words, what he went through during the storm.

"I don't appreciate it that. I do not appreciate it."

The conversation ended there. I cannot forget his words or the emotion that shook his voice.

Throughout the session, I continually found myself at odds with working with T. He was great with numbers and was a huge help in helping others with their math problems. His vocality increasingly frustrated me. If T didn't like something, he felt no qualms about expressing it. He spoke relatively freely, asking whatever was on his mind.

When I asked the students to write a short essay about what they would suggest a tourist to do in New Orleans, he quietly leaned over to ask me some questions. Knowing I was a newcomer to New Orleans, he asked, "So, lemme just ask you. Whatchu think about all the murders going on in this city?" I'd like to imagine that I kept my face straight holding a steady expression, but in my memory, my mouth gaped open like a fish and I could only blink while drawling out, "Weeell..." Thankfully the teacher distracted us, and the conversation was lost.

T came in one day after Thanksgiving, asking for make-up work because he would miss class due to a funeral. He didn't say much, but I knew it was a death that could have been prevented. After that, T's attendance was spotty.

Last night we handed out the post-session test. T called me over during the test to argue about one of the math questions. "Just look at that. None of those answers are right. I'm not asking you for the answer, but how'm-i supposed to answer that if none of these answers are right? Just look?" Mind you, this test, the Test of Adult Basic Education, is a nationally recognized test. There's really no arguing with it. After he handed in his test, T said, "I just gotta problem with a coupla things on that test." This came, of course, as no surprise. I followed T outside the classroom to talk about the test. Some of his complaints had to do with criticism of the class, the teacher, and myself, and I wanted to address it.

After his short tangent was done, I asked T how he was doing outside of the classroom. And not everything came out, but an awful lot did. He told me about things that were going on in his life, things about his past, and who he used to be. His story astounded me. As he continued to talk, I kept hearing the voices of criticism that tried to prevent me from moving here. But T's voice stilled all of that worthless prattle, with a powerful message that said, "I am here for change. Don't give up on me. I'm not worth giving up on."

I wish I could tell you everything he said here, but I know, based on his reaction to City of Refuge, he would not care for me to share. In fact, he'd probably be angry if he knew I'd written this, even though I haven't used his name. Change can happen. T is proof of it.

A Series

2008-12-16T13:01:00.002-06:00

***********
Cultish.

Saturday I waited for the Canal streetcar to take me downtown. Usually whilst I wait, I have nothing to watch but traffic. Not true on Saturday. There was a man standing near my stop with posterboards. He wore a stocking cap, a fumanchu, and an orange county choppers tshirt. The first poster had an arrow and said "Cult this way." As I approached the streetcar stop, I was a little concerned I would be solicited to join a cult, and maybe kidnapped, and forced to call someone "master." The 'Cult this way' sign didn't seem to be a very effective measure of recruitment, if you asked me (which he didn't) because I found it unlikely that someone would turn their car down a side street to hunt down the meeting place of this obscure cult.

The next sign read, "HONK IF YOU HATE SCIENTOLOGY." This confused me even more. Was his cult a rivalling Scientology? Several cars honked. Mr. Fumanchu crossed back and forth between the boulevard waving the sign at the traffic. Finally I saw the Scientology office across the street. His signs made sense then. I must admit I was a little disappointed that he wasn't advertising his own cult. :-/

**********
Dinner.

My roommate and her friend went out for oysters that evening. None of us had ever had one, and since Chrissy and I celebrate the days of our birth in December and her friend was leaving town, we agreed oysters would be a perfect way to celebrate.

We ordered an appetizer of charbroiled oysters, and were looking at the other oyster options. "OOooh, oyster shooters!" Kristen said. "Let's get one." Fine. Let's get oyster shooters when there are no descriptions of what they are. I assumed that they were raw oysters on the half shell. It made sense to me.

I was a little thrown when the waiter asked how old we were (No one ever asks for your i.d. down here, just how old you are). "I didn't know you had to be a certain age to eat oysters," I said. "Maybe it's because they're natural aphrodisiacs."

WRONG.

The waiter brought oyster shooters for the three of us. My stomach flipped. It was a shotglass with orange, brown, and clear. "Oh no. This can't be good." And it really wasn't. How do you gulp down vodka, oyster, and cocktail sauce? It is very difficult. I almost didn't make it. It was the most painful thing I've ever put in my mouth, even worse than the goldfish I was dared to swallow in college. Even at this moment, I still feel squeamish about that shooter.

Let us speak of this no more.

*********
Bears Game.

I haven't watched any Bears games since I've moved to N.O. I know full well that I could go to a bar and watch the game by myself and meet other Chicago fans, but that just has little to no appeal to me. I looked forward to December 11 since I found out in September that was the date of the Saints/Bears game.

My friend Caitlyn picked me up. We were going to watch the game at my favorite local establishment, Finn McCools. "What is that?" Her voice pointed in disgust at my hat.

"A Bears hat."

"Molly, this is New Orleans."

"I know. And I'm a Bears fan."

"I'm not walking into the bar with you."

I got looks from strangers as I made my way through the bar. "Are you really from Chicago?" someone asked. "And they still served you?"

Our friends had seats at a table underneath the tv. There place was crowded and there were no more stools left...Leaving me to stand directly underneath the tv. The man next to me kept shouting at the tv. Then he'd look at me. Then he'd shout at the tv. On commercial breaks, he would tell me just exactly what the Bears were doing to foul it up for the Saints. After several beers, his anger at the Bears started to melt, and he started to hit on me.

"Uh, your girl sent me over here to talk to you. She said you liked me."

"Oh she did? I don't think she did." Caitlyn and I had just finished a conversation about how he was staring at me, and how I was not interested in the least.

"Yeah, she said she knows you real well, and that you would want to talk to me."

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Yeah."

"Well....I have a boyfriend."

"Why would she do this to me?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, now I feel stupid."

(And I thought: good mission accomplished.) And after all of that, he bought me a beer, and we quit talking.

As the gamewent into overtime, everyone was biting nails. The Saints fans waited for the team to blow it, while I waited for the Bears to screw it up. After the game was over, I tried not to smile too big....But it was still a little too much because I got booed at on my way out of the bar.

I <3 Chicago.
(only two more days until the windy city....)