Dirty Coasting

One swings open, one swings closed

2011-07-11T16:48:00.001-05:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Actually it has been neither, this section of the dirty coast is not really known for its extremes unless you are counting rainfall, heat, humidity, and number of white supremacists per capita Just joking on the last one, I think. My time here has been interesting, boring, clarifying, restful, complicated, chaotic, productive, helpful, and many different things. I feel like I have grown into myself here, in so much that I have truly realized what I don't want out of life, who I don't want to be, and who/what truly matters at the heart of it all.

On my last afternoon in Mobtown, I sit swinging on my porch swing waiting for a good old fashioned frog strangler to come rolling in to dump precious and much needed hydration on my withering azaleas, shriving hydrangeas, thriving herb garden, and confused camellias. I will miss all of these things, but more in a wistful than heartbreaking sense. My heart is full of so much right now; excitement, terror, hope and longing are all swirling around as I poise myself at the edge of life's next grand adventure.

Looking at my mostly empty olde home, I feel as though I am walking away from so much, ditching the American dream as I go seek MY dreams. But I still will find it strange for a “For Sale” sign to be placed on its postage stamp yard. Much of my time here has seemed tinged with familiarity but also with an alien quality I have never been able to capture from the shadows. Fitting in, but not belonging; succeeding without true success. Great big things are waiting around the corner for me, even if they will most likely have to fit in a tiny condo, and I feel mostly ready to let go of here.

My more pressing fear is not on whether I will do well as Doc to be or if I will make friends or if I will have the right clothes , if I will be happy or other things that I feel will work themselves out in a most banal fashion. No, my sweat inducing fears tend to revolve mostly around the fact that I worry about being separated from my dear NOLA, that the umbilical cord can't stretch 2700 miles West and she will forget about me, move on to someone new. As I have always said, she and I have an imperfect and slightly abusive relationship.

I hope that Westest and I will be more comfortable with each other, settle into a more mutual way of being. I know I will have to put more effort into loving her, will have to nurture my relationship, court her, keep up appearances and so on. Until then, it is time to roll up my blue tarp and move on...

Looking Through the Keyhole...

2011-06-09T10:48:00.000-05:00

Sitting here stuck in limbo does not suit me well. I am definitely a girl of action, perpetual movement, that extra degree. As I wait on the cubicle drones in the cog machine of big corporation world, I feel weighed down in a quagmire feeling like my feet are on fire. But it has a silver... platinum....lining as it means the DH will be employed (after terrorism background checks are completed) taking some of the pressure off me to work full-time and be superstar doctoral student. It also means we will most likely not have to make the journey westest in a U-haul that we loaded ourselves.

Now sitting here in limbo, detaching from my life here, I feel like I am peeping through a keyhole (you know you did it as a child) as I get a completely different perspective on things knowing I am leaving here and most likely never coming back to this portion of the dirtier coast. There is a constant Jane Goodall type soundtrack going through my head with the things I observe and I also find myself wistful for things that I didn't even think about missing.

For instance, as much as the old house has been an albatross, she has also been a refuge. And the likelihood of ever owning a 100 year old grande olde southern two story big as all get out house again is nil. So I find myself just listening to it creak and moan in the ever increasing summer heat and humidity and wondering what stories she holds under her eaves. What little feet have taken their first steps on her roughhewn floors? What commanding luminaries may have taken their last breath surveying the town from her porches? Who has fallen in and out of love in her parlors? What dinners have been lovingly prepared and served here?

The thing is, I don't think I want the real answers to that, as the fictions I weave in my imagination are much more romantic, shot in bokeh, able to be manipulated to my whims. Of course, isn't that what history can become if left up to one's own creative devices?

This Time of Year: Part 4

2011-05-20T11:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my last day as a school counselor. Even if I train future counselors or return to a school setting, the plan is it will be as Dr. H, Psychologist. I don’t think this fact has sunk in yet, despite the packing of my office or the farewell parties or graduation last Sunday or the hugs and tears and messages from the ducklings. I am certainly in a state of denial because despite my issues with the mind set of the Dirty Coast, especially here, I have loved my job and have enjoyed most every day at Pleasanterville Prep. One of my great fears in life is of being forgotten and not having left my mark and in the past three short years I have left my fingerprints in the lives of many and have left a legacy I am proud of, what a remarkable thing to check off my bucket list at an early age.

The end of the academic year is one of excitement, renewal, and hope for both students and teachers. The summer stretches in front of you with infinite possibilities and nearly as many plans. Reconnect, renew, finish projects, learn foreign languages, travel, do nothing…endless ideas of how to spend those ten or so weeks of bliss. Last summer I had some grand plans, some of which went more spectacularly than others. And this summer, well it is sure to be interesting and never have I been perched on the precipice of glorious possibility more so than this summer. Everything about the upcoming summer is painted in hope and optimism even if that paint has been tinted with nervousness and wistful farewells.

Some of my wisest ducklings have taught me more than they will ever know about going with the flow and just being, that the universe had great plans for us all. So even if I have idealistic plans of strengthening my mind/body spirit, reading the classics, writing a novel, learning krav maga, moving across country and starting another great chapter in my life; I have learned that most of all I need to just be…because at my heart and soul I am a good person who has accomplished much and will do great things in the world no matter what the obstacles.

This Time of Year Part 3: Commencement

2011-05-15T17:30:00.000-05:00

com·mence·ment [kuh-mens-muhnt] –noun

Origin: 1225–75; Middle English < Anglo-French, Old French.

1. an act or instance of commencing; beginning: the commencement of hostilities.

2. the ceremony of conferring degrees or granting diplomas at the end of the academic year.

Few words conjure up so many emotions for me as the word commencement. These three syllables combine to create a word that holds such dualistic and polar meanings that I feel dizzy as they roll through my mind. For millions of youth across space and time, commencement is a time of limitless new beginnings and joyful endings; it captures the essence of one door swinging open and one door swinging closed. Throughout my life I have been granted many diplomas and participated in many commencements both academic and not. My high school commencement, the one most thought of as an idyllic and happy occasion drenched in joy and hope, is the one I hold in my heart as the archetype of my adolescence.

For me commencement was a time fraught with uncertainty, anxiety, and despondency. While that might seem like typical emo angst that every 12^th grader goes through, my angst flowed through my veins with a inky intensity that threatened to drown any semblance of ambition I had ever held. You see moving to this country during early adolescence in the arms of woefully under-prepared faux-gypsy caretakers didn’t do me any favors in college planning and what they lacked in knowledge my public school guidance counselor made up for in ineptitude. Since I was a seemingly intelligent young woman who took all the right AP classes and was heavily involved in both the school and greater community, it was presumed that I would obtain a “free ride” to college. I, however, was not privy to this key bit of knowledge. So while I did “my best” (to the point of having to be picked up from school sobbing hysterically on the occasion of my first C in chemistry) academically (including for a brief time the National Merit program until they realized I was a fur-ner), grew my social justice resume, worked part-time at multiple places, and obtained not only the coveted admissions letters but also scholarship money…I was still left right before graduation day with the news that my parents had saved not a cent towards my college education and that they had assumed that their expected contribution would be zero for FAFSA and that didn’t smart people in America go to school for free?

My dreams of a “normal” college experience washed down the drain with my blood, sweat and tears while my mother fretted about my having a perfect appearance for the graduation party she had planned for her in between psychotic fits for me to find extra tickets to invite people who would not come anyway to suffer through the too long, too cold and too sterile ceremony in the civic center. At this point in my life I wanted nothing more than to be away, to carve out a tiny shelter of normalcy, to just be who I was supposed to be without worrying about setting off the landmine of my mother or living up to unrealistic expectations. I was ready to fulfill and create my own great destiny. And now I was supposed to do it from a community college or a retail job. Humbling to say the least. This mighty fall might have something to do with my lackluster relationship choices from 1996-1999. It certainly has a lot to do with the incredible pangs of longing and jealousy I feel every time I speak to a young one about their college plans or the feeling of haunting wistfulness I feel every single time I set even a toe on a college campus.

But without this great fall, I would not be who I am today; I probably would have just coasted and been another well bred/fed/read/wed consuming lemming. Perhaps not, but I wouldn’t have the tenacity and drive that I do now, which will serve me well in the future. And without this great fall, I wouldn’t be able to sit as the sun sets gloriously on a bluff in lower Alabama as the names of 51 sweet, blessed, hopeful young adults’ names are called out and know I made a difference in their lives and that I have left a mark on the world that even if forgotten in name, will live on forever.

This Time of Year Part 2

2011-05-09T15:56:00.002-05:00

Bittersweet is certainly how I describe that second Sunday in May which Hallmark Corp. has decided is the day to celebrate those loins from which we came. Popularly known as Mother Day, this is a day known to send me to a dark closet with an anxiety attack and a double. To say my relationship with my mother is complicated is like saying particle physics is a little bit difficult for some people to understand. To say it is fractured is like saying the New Orleans levees had a paper cut in them after Katrina.

So to have an entire holiday with all of the hype surrounding it looming on the horizon every single May is not the most pleasant experience in the world for me. Mostly because (literally) living with an unstable mother who gets caught up in Lifetime Movies like they are representational of real life is not the easiest thing for a rational girl with a background in mental health to do. I understand the desire to celebrate those that have raised you up, nurtured, embraced, mentored, guided and empowered you. It seems like it should be something done more than once in a year in my book.

But when your mothering relationship is one of constant hidden agendas, paranoia, slights and competition; well, see that little bit about the closet above. I would love to have a healthy and stable relationship with my mother and have made attempts to do so, but as I am reminded so clearly of on Mother’s Day, that requires someone who is capable of imparting upon you an affection that comes not from the womb but from the soul.

Not to say my mother has no soul, she has been very maternal…to other people’s children. Yes, she did change me (and far more than diapers) and yes she has molded me (to be the opposite of her) and yes she did contribute to my DNA. Our relationship is much more healthy (for me) when it is separated by distance (not just miles) , protected, and limited. This might not make me sound like the best daughter and certainly not the typical one who sends birthstone hugging angel pendants. But it is who I am, shaped by my mamma who bore me and left her mark upon my flesh and spirit, for better and worse.

This Time of Year Part 1

2011-05-03T15:55:00.003-05:00

There is a song by Better Than Ezra called “This Time of Year” whose lyrics speak to such prototypical things like football in the yard and that girl you stole. These poignant Hollywood-esque moments seem more Friday Night Lights than a pop-rock band from Louisiana. I know much of what they sing about relates to fall, but “there is a feeling in the air” that does in fact come this time of year that the song encapsulates perfectly with it wistful tone, including an aching sense of what could have been springing from the deep rooted desire so many seem to have to recapture the past as though it were a lightning bug that can be kept in a mason jar on the nightstand.

This time of year is certainly like that for me, has been for many years, but this year I feel engulfed in a perpetual state of excited nostalgia, perched on the end of a bold new adventure, yet clinging desperately to my current safe surroundings all while looking through my album of my life thus far and desperately wondering what the paths I did not follow would have led to…

This time of year is one of renewal; the Catholic rites of Easter pound that one into you with a yardstick wielded expertly by Sister Mary Cracksaknuckle. The whole earth metamorphosis from barren winter landscape emerges from its chrysalis with splendor, nature painted before us in a vivid brush that the human eye can only truly only appreciate if it looks at it with the human heart. Little things like forgotten flip-flops become a priceless treasure, a glass of wine on the wide porch with friends from the neighborhood parading past become a reunion of like souls. Spring is certainly about rebirth and new beginnings. But each of these glorious new beginnings is wrapped in the shroud of an ending, inexplicably woven into the circle of life, leaving a bittersweet taste on your tongue stinging with both joy and sadness…

I'm not coming home (yet)...

2011-04-18T09:50:00.000-05:00

After spending a glorious last bit of my spring notreallyabreak in NOLA, I realized just how deeply I miss the city. More poignantly even than the farewell tour of 2007. Probably more so since I will be going even further (in miles) from my velveteen rabbit. As it stands, I am roughly 150 miles from that telling bend in the river where dreams are heavy with humidity and colored with music. I will soon enough be 2,250 miles away with a country in between her and I. There is part of me that believes that even though I am heading far, far, far away that I will be actually closer in mindset, at least in some ways. I know, though won't admit, that I will be on another planet in other ways and may very well be the most exotic thing around other than the DH and Cuz show. I mean there aren't that many Southern Fried Canadians around, especially NOLA hearted ones.

My upcoming journey will be a long one and not an easy one, but I am looking forward to my future metamorphosis, even if it is occasionally with more trepidation than excitement. Much how dear city friend has had to reinvent herself that past 5+ years, I will be reinventing myself somewhat over the next 5+ years. I will go from being one of the most liberal things around to something that may look more (gack) conservative. Or more accurately for both of us, it will be a rebuilding, because much of the foundation will remain the same with a new landscape slowly blossoming on top. Hopefully better, though I am sure sometimes worse. But isn't that how we often learn and grow? Real life paper dolls and doll-houses trying on personalities and careers and beliefs and friends and likes and dislikes and relationships and leaders and supporters and enemies and on and on.

I had a dream last night I was packing in a hurry and was rapidly going through all my belongings set out on the curb before SDT came to haul them away, but they were intermingled with the neighborhoods belongings and so many people were trying to tell me what to take and what to leave and most of what was out there was decorations and toys. I dare you to try and tell me one's subconscious is not constantly trying to sort through things.

In a reading from the prophet Diddy: "And you know you woulda took the bullet if you saw it But you felt it and still feel it And money can't make up for it or conceal it But you deal with it and you keep ballin Pour out some liquor, play ball and we keep ballin". Yes, I am ducking before getting struck from lightning, but I still find a lot of truth in the song...

"Turn on, tune in, drop out"

2011-02-15T15:18:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I wish I could just let things go, be a different person, not feel that rolling boil in my gut when I see others being wasteful, hurtful, or just plain stupid. This is made worse by being surrounded by so many people who actively choose to be close-minded, ignorant, biased and so on AND raise their children to be the same way. Did you know the three biggest stressors in the life of 5th graders is BP, Obama, and homework? Yep.

I don't want to be powered by hate, but to that woman that almost ran into me while I was parked because she can't appear to maneuver her giant luxury SUV and her cell phone while putting on her make-up before going out shopping because she had to "escape the kids who just got home from school", I am the freaking energizer bunny. It does not help that the majority of women around here typify this. And I try to be patient, loving, open minded, true it is not the life for me but they seem happy. Except they don't, they are the meanest mean girls of them all.

And while it isn't jealousy or envy, it is something somewhat in the same vein when I see the train wreck of people that bitch about things and then turn around and make choices feeding right back into the the things they are bitching about. I am just trying to figure out how much of it is endemic to here and how much is just Western culture. It certainly seems more magnified and worshiped here in SEC land. Like the waste, oh the waste. Consume, dispose, whine is the mantra of so many and that saddens me. I am not a paragon of green positive thought living, but I want better...not so much for myself but for the world.

Comparisons...

2011-02-10T09:19:00.000-06:00

So there really isn't a comparison between the situation in Egypt and that of post-Katrina New Orleans, but I keep making one in my head after seeing particular news stories or reading my friend LeAnne's blogs from Cairo. Mostly about the not wanting to leave, no matter how bad it gets. Or when she talks about if people want to make real and lasting change they have to DO something. These all ring true to me. And in my perverse mind after reading one of her blogs and hearing an NPR story on how all these small business owners are starving and leaving their camels and horses to die because they can't afford to feed them since the tourism industry has been decimated, my inclination is to plan a trip to Egypt.

Which is why I can't decide between programs that focus on the little individual changes (Clinical and Counseling Psych) versus big lasting changes that take forever if ever (Community Psych, International Psych, Social Policy). But as my wise and no longer island bound hubs said last night, I can always start with one PhD and then add on. Yes, I am OK with eating beans from a can for the rest of my life. Except I can always have a PP on the side.

Another day another blog post another comparison will be about how everyone in my age/social group is focusing on breeding and how this PhD process is my baby. In my mind it is hilarious and poignant.

Keep Calm and Carry On

2011-02-02T09:50:00.000-06:00

With two rejections downs and who knows how many to go and a weird not invited for an interview but you still might have a slightly more than zero chance letter coming in on the same day as a priority interview application to the same school, I feel like my head is spinning and my feet aren't touching the ground.

I don't know why I felt like this process would be easy or that everything would fall seamlessly into place as NOTHING in my life has ever gone that way. But I do feel some clarity in the middle of all the quagmire. I know that I do not want to get a PhD or PsyD from a "diploma mill" unless I go through the process again next year (which I am now discovering is normal) and get only sad results. I also have the clarity that yes, I know my interests are varied and I get bored easily. But I think that is why I am constantly seeking out new opportunities to learn and live and I will find a path that allows me to do such and feel fulfilled at the same time.

I wish I could create a PhD program like ordering off a Chinese menu: I would like an appetizer of International Relations, a quart of Community/Clinical Psychology, half-order of Public Policy hold the mushrooms and extra Public Health Administration, a half-order of disaster management, a side of Trauma Services, and a fortune cookie full of Social Justice. And can I have that cheap, hot, and delivered to my door?

Realistically when I look at job postings for "dream jobs" (yes, I know there is no such thing) I am acutely aware I need more International Experience. I have looked into and have interest in several programs:

Clinical or Counseling Psychology (PhD or PsyD)
International Psychology (PhD)
Social Policy/Public Policy/Public Health (PhD)
Community Psychology (PhD)
International Affairs/Relations (MA/MS programs)

My Jesuit helper roots are showing.

Pins and needles, knees and toes, knees and toes...

2011-01-10T13:02:00.000-06:00

The waiting may kill me. And I should not get on message boards that talk about if people have gotten interviews yet. Why not, you may ask (or you may not care, and if that is the case you should find something else to do with your time)? Because I see things like someone getting an interview invite from one of my safety schools. Argh. Let us hope that I won't be getting an interview invite from them because I am clearly so awesome I won't need to be interviewed and will just get accepted. I also should stay off these board because I am pretty sure most regular posters have a mild case of NPD and like to wax poetic about how fabulous they are. Others scare me as it is their 3rd year applying to programs. Even others scare me because they sound perfect on paper and are still getting rejected. I feel as though the odds are stacked very much against me not being a traditional student.

*Deep Breath*

I can try again next year. I can try tricks to up my quant score. I can actually study for the Psych Subject. I can be less me and more what schools think they want. I can give in to the evil Kaplan empire. I can take the LSAT. I can take my perfect writing score to different programs. I can calm the hell down and refuse to give up until I have 12 rejection letters. I can still GTHOB without it being for school.

*Deep Breath*

This is not the be all end all of life. I am going to remember that even though it appears my whole life is made of chaos when I want it to be made of win. At least my ducklings still love me (even if they show it in odd ways) and the sticky-handed ones still worship me with germ infested hugs (which is a good thing even if it doesn't sound that way).

Spa day planned for Saturday...

Seasons Greeting From The Rock

2010-12-21T11:27:00.000-06:00

Yes, I should be poolside getting that tan that the ducklings informed me I should get to make everyone totally "jeal". But since it looks like the clouds cannot decide what they want to do, I am hanging in the condo happily reading something than GRE prep guides or academic journals and scouring the web to plan the next couple of weeks.

Musings:

Surviving Christmas Forever this year seemed harder than it should have. It was a combination of boredom, too many antsy pantsy children stuck in folding chairs in the lobby, and wistfulness/panic of the thought of giving up the holy grail of counseling jobs. Realization: I might be certifiable.
Since we are on the rock for this holiday season, we had to cram several Christmas celebrations in early.Thus we spent American Turkey Day in Canada, headed to the 'Ham towards the snow (where Christmas was cancelled by TPS) giving up a much needed weekend, overfed S&TT both with food and emotion which was about a good idea as feeding Gremlins after midnight in a hot tub (this was not apparent until the next horrible no good day), and attended way to many fetes in two weeks than one ever should. Realizations: whoever said if you aren't from MOB town you should never turn down a social invite was clearly unpopular and the time has certainly come for us to move far far far away from all FoO again.
I need to become more financially solvent so DH can stop having to work for idiots and either open his own company or look more carefully at law school. At least he is bent on doing the patent bar thing. Realization (continuing): Having a true life partner is the most valuable gift in the universe.
I am overwhelmed by the amount of women around me with this crazed look in their eyes regarding procreation. It is really rather frightening. I am not so much opposed to child bearing for the yearning to have and actively raise a child, but more so by those that are making the choice because everyone else is doing so or they think it is this season's hottest accessory (which is really how many of them are treating it). Realization (I wish others would come to): Children are a lifetime commitment, and I do realize I do not have any from my loins; but of the 750+ I deal with every darn day, I deal with an awful lot of the effects of bad parenting.
Apparently if you rant with some pithy commentary regarding the state of the working world today you to can get a perfect score on the analytical writing section of the GRE. Realizations: Maybe I should think about a more English based PhD and STX doesn't offer a GRE site and I am not courageous enough to go take it in Puerto Rico.

A very merry whatchacallit

2010-12-14T14:36:00.000-06:00

In between running around freezing with the Pre-K savages (who are really quite cute despite their snot and jam hands), debating selling the fourth grade off to a band of gypsies (who would promptly send this bully monsters back) and worrying about high schoolers that are raising purple flags in my ethical ferret I am very ready for a winter break. It isn't that it is "hard" work per se, more that I feel like Stretch Armstrong. Clinically I have dealt with much more challenging things, but they tended to be broken down into easy to manage 50 minute or so sessions and paperwork.

And yes, I did just say winter break. Passing Bible Thumping Church #43589769364 on my way to work this morning, I saw another inane sign attempting to provoke guilt and shame to the passerby. This sign proclaimed something to the effect of "I really miss hearing you say Merry Christmas -Jesus", as though Jesus fully endorsed this commercialized cluster we now call Christmas. I will state I am super biased when it comes to church signs, they seem like propaganda bulletins to me, pushing some malformed agenda and I have many issues with organized religion especially here in along the dirty coast where their beliefs are often oceans departed from my own. But I am Catholic and I enjoy celebrating Christmas and I do note that it is "Christ" and "Mass" smooshed together. And I do want those who recognize and agree with this belief system to have a "Merry" one of them. But...

Well, you see I realize not everyone shares the same organized religion as I do. I realize not everyone comes from a Judeo-Christian background. And thus I act accordingly. I throw out the generic "happy holidays" just as easily as I do a good day the rest of the year. At least I do when I know little to nothing of the person's religious orientation. They could be Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, Atheist, or a million other set of beliefs that don't agree that Christ exists or that there should be any sort of Mass. I am not going to impose a "Merry Christmas" upon them any more than I would force them to think/act/dress/marry a certain way. If I do know something about them I will change my greeting accordingly. Hence why I have been known to inquire about how Hanukkah was for one family, or seeing if another had Kwanzaa plans or if another was going to midnight Mass or wondering what the weather would be like on Solstice. I realize this requires connecting with others more than some may wish to, but my bigger point is that I don't think you are taking anything away from a particular belief system's holiday by not imposing your belief system on someone else. "Happy Not Really Your Birthday Jesus" just doesn't have the same ring, I suppose.

But you don't have to listen to me, I am just some scary socialist fur-ner who is running away to an island for two weeks which happens to encompass December 25th with only one family member. Heathen.

What doesn't kill you...

2010-11-30T14:16:00.000-06:00

I should be stronger than Iron Man by the end of this whole PhD program application process. No wonder the acceptance rate is only 12%, I am pretty sure 85% of applicants join roving bands of gypsies before they complete the process.

But in keeping the eyes on the prize, getting out of here is the ultimate goal and I will find a program somewhere that will help me achieve my yet to be fully defined goals.

Needless to say, NaNoWriMo was a wash this year and that is probably more difficult for me to swallow than abysmal quantitative scores or shredding my past to come up with a statement of purpose (yes, please let me drag up everything I have tried to forget). Writing is my true escape and relaxation and I have not been able to partake in it at all. Heck, I haven't even turned on the idiot box except when trying to fall asleep (Ion and Criminal Minds are determined to ruin my ability to sleep). So I feel like I have all these characters begging to be played with like they are paper dolls. I realize my characters are my children, and I can torture them as I see fit without anyone calling the authorities on me.

Alas, I will keep juggling and will take the GRE one more time (this time on an island) and then just let the chips fall...

Surrounded By...

2010-11-09T13:09:00.000-06:00

I cannot even begin to describe most of the people I am surrounded by each day. Sure, many of them are sweet as a 5-pound bag of sugar (however their intelligence level seems that high as well). Those that have a "lick of sense" tend to make up for this affliction by ill-advised ramblings in other areas. And then there are those in the bubble of Pleasanterville who are just happily clueless and wish to remain that way. So much so that if you even attempt to educate them on the scary world out there just off the horizon line (and I sometimes feel they believe that is the end of the world), they backlash at you. I am increasingly saddened by their version and vision of Utopia and their feigned or forced ignorance regarding how the rest of the world lives. I am deeply saddened that they have no desire to make the world a better place and would prefer for me to keep feeding into the cycle of spoiled, sheltered and pampered existence in which they are accustomed.

I am also losing the ability to feign empathy toward those that feel so powerless or unimportant in their own lives that they attempt to make me look/feel like an idiot. This does not work if it is your lack of attention to detail that caused the issue. I am the terrifyingly efficient one, after all. Nor is my tongue biting ability getting any better. In fact, confrontation and assertiveness are becoming a game for me. In a therapeutic, attending way of course.

However, in an effort to not be a whiner (be a winner) I have to say I am increasingly grateful for my life experiences, for the fact that I know what hard work is, for diversity and culture, for wanting to leave a mark and make a difference, for understanding the concept of the greater good and I am most intensely grateful for those in my life that actually support my desire to continue on with all of these things.

Can't always get what you want...or need!

2010-11-04T09:20:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been feeling like Maslow's Hierarchy has been composed of a bunch of cheerleaders who preloaded a little too much at the morning's tailgate and perhaps are also still hungover from that hunch punch at last night Frat Ho' soirée. See, this is what living on the dirty coast has done to me, I am one step away from sports metaphors.

My point is, I feel like neither my wants or needs are getting met. I know this is bs, as I have a roof over my head, a warm bed at night, clothing on my back and food in the pantry and I should probably STFU, but since nerds gave us the interwebz any blowhard can blather on and on, so why shouldn't I?

The US had these nice little mid-term elections that reminded me of 1994 and also a little of 2000 and 2004 in that they disgusted me but did not surprise me. I cannot claim to be a blue dot in a red state because I can't vote nor can I claim to be a Democrat (I am much more insidious than that bwah ha ha ha, fur-ner). However, I feel I can be an observer and aver that the majority of the public does not have a clue about civics, government, or politics. They do not understand the system, and many times I do not think they want to put the effort into understanding. Old people vote. Fanatics vote. The young don't unless it is fashionable and/or convenient. Thus, the people get what they deserve and the few punish the whole. Actions and inactions both have consequences "we" must live with. So now I spend a good deal of time rolling my eyes are my Facebook feed, diminishing a few more people here and there in order to preserve my sanity.

Other things needed/wanted to preserve my sanity: my father to obtain gainful employment in order for my vexation to cease (and also so they will have a habitat somewhere other than with us), a break from the grind (which will be spent up in the Attic with my elderly grandparents, which is an additional source of concern), a score higher than a simpleton would obtain on the GRE quantitative section, a night or weekend not spent trying to trick my brain into thinking like standardized test makers, the realization of our next big adventure such they we can start actually planning to make it a reality.

After my last big lightbulb moment, I realized I need to do something a little bit rash, still a calculated risk mind you, but rash. If the real estate market can become a little less abysmal (really, breaking even is all we want), with a lot of debts paid off on my end, no plans for children, the energy and vitality of our remaining youth, etc.; I do believe the hubs and I could take off for a myriad of places as long as one of us has gainful employment paying us enough to live in an order we are (perhaps not accustomed to) willing to adjust to. It may or may not require a container to get our belongings there...the world is out oyster but I am thinking more and more that oyster is pointed either West or very very West.

Damn the man, save the empire!

2010-10-22T09:23:00.000-05:00

Dear Self,

Stop with the tunnel vision!
Thnx, Me

I am trying to find my inner Zen, a slight sense of peace, that Xanax my mother left me...indeed, folks, it is that time again, GRE day!!!! Strike up the band and throw out the ticker tape (side note: had to explain to student what ticker tape was)! I am on course to raise my already 88+% verbal score another 100 points. Too bad my selected programs don't care if you have a vocabulary higher than the fourth grade, or that I need to raise my too abysmal to post quantitative scores about 200 points.

But thanks to the help of others (to whom I think I would owe my first born if I ever considered birthing babies), I feel a lot more confident. A further buttress to my self-confidence was my light-bulb moment in the car yesterday: Yes, hi, hello, it is me. Yes, that LPC you worked towards for 2 years in a Master's program that was supposed to take 2.5-3 and then those 3,000 clock hours you put in after that at slave wages, remember me? That professional and portable licensure that allows you to provide therapy in all 50 states now that California has picked up the clue phone, ringing any bells? This means you can get a PhD in Dev psych or Social welfare/policy/work and still be a researcher, a professor, a candlestick maker AND still do that clinical therapy thing you enjoy so much. So stop pigeon-holing yourself into Clinical Psych programs. I mean if you get into your top choices, then fine, but don't think you HAVE to spend $120K on a pay as you go PsyD just to be called Dr. H. Now quit your belly-achin', you lily-livered summabitch and get out there and win this game for your momma, Jesus, and apple-pie!

Sorry about that last part, my LPC has clearly been in Alabama for too long. Speaking of which, the in-laws made another surprise drive down here (which raises Hawaii's standing infinitely in my book) as they "needed to get out of the house". We had mentioned forever ago that we would like them to come visit and weekends X & Y would be best, but to let us know. They did not let us know until the voice mail telling us they were on the road. We were thinking we could include them in our "cultured" plans this weekend including Opera things (that is Oper-ahhhh not Oper-eeee), but since they did not call they "only brought jeans since we didn't know". *Facepalm* I feel like living 4+ hours away should not still be in Everybody loves Raymond territory, but I am woefully misinformed.

Cookies to whoever knows my subject line. Which inspired me to snap "My name isn't fucking Warren", to the photog at a friend's wedding this past weekend...but that, my dears, is a story for another post.

A million thoughts but no words...

2010-09-28T17:25:00.000-05:00

I feel like my head is a swarming jumble of stuff trying to get out, but I don't know how to make my neurons fire in the correct sequence. Perhaps I am a little stressed out, a bit like those "Bing" commercials; to wit last night I caught myself sleep wandering three times and on one of these occasions actually stopped to debate what stage of sleep I was thus in and what brain waves were connected to said stage. Needless to say, I am so ready for it to be October 10th with the dreaded Pysch Subject test behind me. Random thought bits for now so I do 'splode:

I don't see what the big deal about Katy Perry and her video with Elmo. Yes, she has breasts but I am assuming plenty of wardrobe people were around and they kept her in that. Also, children do no associate cleavage in the same way the pervy parents are. Speaking of which, give Mom or Dad a little eye-candy when they are watching Sesame Street for goodness sakes! I think it was cute. And their take on True Blood (called True Mud) made my day/week/month. People for reals need to get over so many hang ups.
I seriously wonder how fat I had gotten, but I do know that things that haven't fit me in forever (if ever) are now looking smoking if not too big. I enjoy this, even when I bitch and moan about going to the gym. I would say it has been hard work, but it hasn't really. More of a cognitive shift to not be just another consuming American monster fat ass and the desire to feel healthy and stronger. Muscle, I had them, who knew?
I would be much happier if we could purge belongings until they fit into a one-bedroom apartment with a small storage locker for seasonal things. Said one-bedroom apartment will be located near: transit, crunchy grocery, a gym or yoga or pilates studio, some sort of green space, good food, and people similar in thinking to me. It will also contain a stylish yet comfortable sleeper sofa (which may be the hardest bit of all). The DH who is back in Neckville agrees, or at least I think he does, it isn't as though I am getting to see him much.
I am having a block about contacting old professors and mentors about rec letters, it is part fear, part change, and a lot of anxiety. What if they don't think I am as awesome as I think they think I am?
Mulligan, that is all.

Apparently I want to buy the world a Coke

2010-09-21T15:27:00.000-05:00

I'd like to buy the world a home

And furnish it with love

Grow apple trees and honey bees

And snow white turtle doves.

Really I just want to live somewhere with educated, open-minded people. This place will also: have something akin to a Whole Foods type place, have a recycling center that takes more than it puts up on its wall of "no-nos", have more than 2 ethnicities, more than 1 favored religion, be able to perhaps understand the concept of truth vs. Truth, won't cringe at the words "social" and "justice" when put together. And since I am apparently asking for the crazy, how about we throw in transit or a walkable city or not getting looked at weird for not having 2.5 kids by 30 or not wanting to drive a pick-up or Suburban or for being fur-in.

I am not asking for a unicorn farm or candy mountain, Charlie.

Or maybe I am.

Ennui Not Just A GRE Word...

2010-09-02T09:52:00.000-05:00

After "disconnected" which actually meant attending a train wreck in Sin City with 10 "Southern Woo! Girls Gone Wild", I have begun (or maybe continued) an existential tailspin of epic proportions. This mostly has to do with the fact that I realized that I have been ensconcing my inner hippie as I have acquiesced to the conventional system in place for "people like me". Who I now fully accept are nothing like me. Not for better or worse, just not what I want out of my life.

I know I have always been a little unorthodox, but I suppose because I can play the archetypal role so well, I have acquiesced to conformity. I struggled moving around, but remained malleable to my constantly changing surroundings in order to survive. I got caught in safety nets but was hesitant to become to much of an iconoclast. But I had my little rebellions in relationships and moving away and eschewing the concept of marriage (for what seemed like a long time, but I realize really wasn't) or other decorous trappings. However, I never really permitted myself to just disengage and be whoever and whatever I wanted to be. I still clung to the idea of being accepted and normal and conformed.

Which has brought me *here* to a very traditional, Republican, conservative, homogeneous and sterilized place. On paper it is the American Dream (tm). A glance in the mirror would give you the outline of the typical country club wife, a mini-suv, a grand old house in the right neighborhood, a doting husband with the right job, in the right clubs, know the right people, well educated, blah blah blah. To me the American Dream is all about profligacy over substance. And I crave substance.

Now my background has me value human life and appreciate the tenacity of the human spirit, but my ideals are not that of the creepy churches out here with their scare tactic fetus gardens on one side and the line for the electric chair on the other. I am certainly not Republican and while I am horrified at the behavior of some, I wouldn't really even say I was conservative.

What this all boils down to is that I think I am going to have to embrace my inner hippie before I lose my last grip on sanity.

Detach...

2010-08-27T09:38:00.000-05:00

So, I am going to detach for the next few days. Spending time with a good friend and trying to emotionally be away from it all. We shall see how it goes. And despite a constant stream of wayward "yutes" that past couple of weeks and mounting frustrations, I am eternally grateful for the clarity. Even though I don't know how I am going to get "there" or where "there" even is, I have a renew hope for myself, my partnership, my future, and even for humanity. I had lost that along the way (thanks a lot the other other L.A. for sucking hope out of everything with your racist, backwards, self-important, inflated opinions/hot air). To better things on the horizon...

5 Years On:

2010-08-25T14:07:00.000-05:00

The calendar lays where it fell after being bandied about by the gale force winds; the winds that drove the tree limb through the plate of safety glass (which is a total misnomer btw). Its pages have curled in the humidity; still moist in the heavy air as the sickly brown water spots turn slowly into a mottled mess of green, blue, and white fuzzy mold (the same colors that magically make cheese worth $20 a pound down at the Whole Foods that now looks like it has been hit with a RPG). This calendar is forever stuck on the month of August in the year of our Lord two-thousand-and-five.

Cut to a haphazardly yellow painted office (by sixteen-year-olds, is there anything other than haphazard?) with bright cushions for lounging and a striped rug for crafts and another calendar adorned with the cheerful drawing of sea creatures hung on a bulletin board that is weighted down with thank-you note from former students, letters of recognition from local non-profits, an always changing list of colleges coming to visit and random notes and drawings that could be from a five-year-old or a seventeen-year-old. This calendar is also on the month of August, but the year has magically jumped through some sort of time/space continuum to two-thousand-ten.

There is a piece of me, and I think to some degree will always be a piece of me, that is stuck with that calendar on the floor in that office among the fallen oak trees in Harahan, LA even as I sit in this office in this historic building nestles among thriving oak trees in the other other LA (Lower Alabama).

So much of my life is different from then, but I have trouble figuring out how it has gotten to be five years later and I feel like I have done so little. This is despite severe evidence to the contrary. Since that fateful day(s), I have gotten married, made an international move (and back again), considered moving to the other L.A., been named one of the 40 under 40, made fabulous new friends, reconnected with old friends, changed jobs, lost myself and found myself again. While hardly the plot to the next Eat, Pray, Love (or Whiny, Wealthy, and White), I feel more in many ways more centered that ever before. But in others, I feel like I am at such a distance from my true self. I used to be much more of an activist, an advocate, a social justice rebel if you will. But now, I live in fear of rocking the boat because it is just not worth the backlash. To soothe the self-loathing that is the consequence of this detachment, I try to convince myself that the reason I don’t rebel is that those around me (for the most part) are not worth the effort or energy that would be involved, that they are so close-minded that they probably wouldn’t even comprehend my insubordination.

As we inch ever closer to the anniversary of this Great American Tragedy, and continue to debate the nature vs. man-made disaster, I spend a lot of time pondering if I should be looking to the future or the past. Both have their merits, but both also have serious drawbacks. This applies to the entire devastated region. If you expend all your energy wallowing in what has happened, you are doomed to never move forward. If you focus solely on what is to come or what should be, you may miss something vital in the present.

Swallowing the acrid taste of stagnation of my current circumstances, I find myself living an imaginary alternate reality; hence I find myself spending too much time researching the foreign service exam (for a country I am not yet a citizen), wondering if I could learn Hindi/Urdu/Arabic/ quickly enough to be hired by the CIA before I age out (once again from a country I am not yet a citizen of), considering if I could live in a dung hut in Africa while immunizing children, debating what would be the best dissertation topic at a university I haven’t even applied to yet.

Hence in many ways I am a calendar both stuck in the past with my pages glued together with the tears of those left abandoned by their country, cheerfully reporting the present with the optimism of a child, and waiting to show an unknown future that remains blank for the time being.

Soon Come

2010-08-15T14:37:00.000-05:00

So I spent a month on a smallish tropical island. It was idyllic to say the least. We met some great people, we had some great food, spent a lot of quality time together and enjoyed the hell out of life. Needless to day I did not want to come back. Now I am aware most people feel this way about vacation, but being there a month instead of a week and doing more than just hanging out at a resort means it was more living than vacation. We had to do things like grocery shop, cook, do laundry, find a plumber, attend functions etc. etc. But you know what? All those life chores that often send me into a tizzy here on the dirtier coast...there I handled them with an inner zen that was very unlike me.

I am currently trying to hold on to that little bit of island time in my day to day while still struggling with being back and temporarily husband-less. Made more difficult by the fact that we met a lot of really nice, like-minded people that taunted me with ideas for jobs on Small Island and did not once make me consider stabbing myself in the eye with nearest pointy object. Thus I find myself spending a lot of time at home or with the two other people that are like me in this town and try to muddle through my existence while pretending I am making some sort of difference.

Being away gave me a lot to look forward to...like permanently being away. Being back has also given me clarity. One afternoon while watering my stereotypically over-planted window boxes on my stereotypical Southern home in stereotypical afternoon heat and humidity while watching the ladies who lunch zip around the corner in their luxury SUV's wearing designer gym gear, I realized I despised who I was at that moment. My overbearing thoughts kept landing on the regions of the world that crave clean water so their children won't die some horrible disease that no one in the good ol' USofA even knew was still around and here I was trying to make sure that my sub-tropical flora and fauna didn't look to wilted less mommy dearest fly off the handle when she gets back from her government sponsored tummy-tuck. While I contemplated throwing myself in the path of the next gas guzzling swagger wagon zipping down my street, I felt a little closer to all the people I met that did not so much run to Small Island as much as they ran away from something else.

I realized that even though I had adamantly refused to believe I could ever be a dung hut dweller, I was washed over with the sudden hope that the CIA or some other clandestine service organization would break into my house in the middle of the night and offer to relocate me with a completely new identity in exchange for my ability to debrief traumatized field agents (or whatever other paltry ability I may have that they would find appealing). I feel like I am living a new season of my own personal Prison Break. And yet I feel guilty over this. I wasn't beaten severely as a child, any torments I suffered could be laughed at by millions who have had real suffering. I am well fed, bred, read, and wed...but I would leave most of it behind in the blink of an eye (except the DH, but he has a lot more skills to over clandestine service organizations than I do anyway). Sure there are parts of my life I would miss, and some people I would wish I could keep in contact with, but overall, I could sincerely see myself living in a dung hut if given the proper tools and attire.

Seeing as the next big thing is much more likely a PhD than tactical ops training, perhaps I should get back to Pythagorea and his merry band of algebraic misfits. Le sigh.

Everyone's a critic

2010-06-10T09:42:00.001-05:00

So The New York Times has a very interesting article on media officials being denied access to information about the BP oil spill by both BP officials and the government. This often includes not being allowed to accompany politicians visiting effected areas or access to public beaches. It was the last one that got me. Of course, I still don't understand all the 'Necks taking their kids out to the beaches still despite all the warnings and then freaking out when they wade out of the Gulf with oil stuck to them. Or the ones who let their kids play in the oil. I hope you let Jimmy Sue and Cletus lay underneath the oil pan at the Jiffy Lube and shower them in gasoline at the pump when filling up your truck because it is the same damn thing. "Hey y'all watch this".

Can I tell I was forced to go on a useless visit to the DH's native parts this past weekend? Dear Lord, you do need a passport. It was also a pointless visit since certain family members couldn't be arsed to drive down 40 minutes from Methland to visit even though we had driven up 4+ hours on the most boring Interstate known to man. Also, there was more interest in how the cat was doing than we were. A stay at the Aloft with many rounds of cocktails stopped me from stabbing anyone in the eye. The hotel would have lived up more to its hip rep if people would have kept their pie holes shut. Ears, how they bleed.

Back to media disinformation. My thought upon reading this fun ditty is this: in this the age of smartphones and twitter and facebook and blogging and cameras on just about any electronic device and the increasing propensity for people to over share everything...does it not make anyone on that public beach a pseudo-journalist? If I got to P'cola and take some pics and then post them on my blog talking about the evil tarballs, should I expect some Suit in his shades to come knocking on my door requesting me to turn over my netbook? Oh the times we live in.

Also to restate, the seafood and beaches (along with the close proximity to NOLA) were just about all keeping me holding on. With that gone, let us say my island month in July will be spent with my nose in my GRE books learning math and junk. Mind you it will be on an idyllic beach with a rum runner in hand, so don't mind me a bit.

Please note:

2010-06-01T16:18:00.002-05:00

he good ol' US of A has no official language at the Federal level. So please kindly take all your racist "this is Uh-mer-ikuh, I shouldn't have to push 1 for English" and all other related Facebook pages/groups and shove them.
In the same vein, the test to get a driver's license in the state of ~~Backwards Rednecks~~ does not cost the state a dime. The federal government funds the test and the computers it is administered on. So why the hell do you care if it is given in other languages than English? And B to the T to the Dub, the actual driving portion...only in English.
Whining about how you haven't been able to keep up with Joneses or how horrible Nice is without a yacht does not make you cool, it makes you a DB.
Facebook profile pictures that are a picture of your 4-D sonogram are freaking creepy. They also depersonalize you. But if you are OK with that, I just feel sorry for you. And I am diminishing you as I type.
Anyone questioning why people are still living in Haiti post-earthquake shall be treated the same way people asked about people in New Orleans after Katrina. Unless they are willing to sponsor a person from Haiti and pay the way for them to live somewhere else.
Tom Quinn was set up by that bitch from the CIA, I bet my library card on it.

OK, so the last one was just for fun, but my gut was rolling from the other bits. Summer is upon us and I find myself trying to tie up loose ends so that I may escape.

"I think the finish line if a good place we could start"

2010-05-19T10:16:00.000-05:00

I have tied a knot at the end of my rope and lord knows I am holding on with all my strength.

In my mind, I am standing on the tallest (invisible and non-evasive) condo tower you could ever imagine on a beach and I am watching this great black and mighty storm that is approaching at a snail's pace. In many ways, it will prove to be more devastating than that bitch Katrina. And I think to myself, what is my tie to this place, this dirty coastline about to be even more marred? I am not a fisherman, a shrimper, a wayward maiden praying for her sailor at sea. I don't even come from a line of these people (as far as I know), but still, the sea tides echo the beating of my heart.

Things are not good here, and I am not sure when they will be. But as I hang from this knot, I am even more struck with the fact that for all I gave up and left behind in order to move on, I am not sure I have. Or that I am really better off. In the attempt to kill off the what ifs, I learned that I don't want to live in a place that smells permanently of curry, that I need a pre-War building and that I need a whole new wardrobe to deal with snow. Cost of learning this: $15,000. Saved: my liver In an attempt to emerge I have learned that a security system doesn't really help, I will go homicidal if forced to listen to the 'necks for too long, my bubble may strangle me and house/yard work will never be my forte. Cost of learning this: $250,000 (though resale value may help this).

I left my "home" to save myself, my marriage, my sanity but I am not sure how well I am really doing on two out of three. I miss her every single day, and I mourn for her even more now as this toxic salad dressing comes oozing our way. And I am getting more and more angry with each tick of the clock. For myself and for her. And here has none of the redeeming qualities of her. Which will only worsen as you strip away the beach tourist trade, the future of the amazing aquatic life, and so on. Let us just hope we can get the damn house sold before crude-mageddon rains down upon us in fat, black, oily drops.

I am unsure where my next adventure will take me, except it will be near the sea and in late summer/early fall of 2011. Hopefully said sea will be a little less effed.

Get through and get on...

In other randomness, I am overly amused by fat, pathetic, stupid Americans who cannot handle European travel without whining constantly about how gorgeous historic city X does not have all the creature comforts they are used to. If this applies to you, please drink a bottle of Drain-O.

Bitter Medicine

2010-05-13T11:42:00.000-05:00

So today, like most days, the Odd Ducklings waddled in (they are by no means fat btw, I am just trying to keep the metaphor going) to my campus bubble during their study hall. I dispensed advice, since I don't have an Rx pad, as usual but it struck me a few moments ago that I should take my own damn advice every once and a while. It revolved mostly around these points:

"You don't need that to survive, H, remember to separate wants from needs".
"I highly suggest you explore higher educational opportunities far, far away then. And California has a lot of coastline/ocean."
"It take a lot more energy to hold on to negative emotions over choosing positive emotions".

I should probably take a long look at my own life for the first one, I have a hard time telling one for the other these days, but I blame a lot of that on living on the Dirty Coast (now even more dirty!). Which ties nicely in to the second...though the Northeast is just as much an option at this point. More so unless I find someone willing to finance an West Coast PhD. And the third...jealousy is not a constructive emotion. But when I get the Yummy Mummy brigade running me over with their luxury vehicles, the Vacuum in Pearls Society flaunting their Birkins and red soled shoes at me, and the BookFace faux friends (think that old adage about frenemies) flaunting their ignorance about a credit crisis whilst they prance around the globe at me...my green eyes get greener. Made worse so by my contract renewal with a whopping 2% raise. Circular reference back to points 1 and 2...

Eyes on the prize says I am healthy. So is the DH. My father is currently fixing the hell out of the Grande Olde House so we can make bank. Mommy Dearest is on her bestest behavior. DH is currently pushing so I can spend the summer lying on tropical beaches while sipping rum runners and studying to boost my GRE score. I have a job next year guaranteed with ducklings who worship me. A job I can do blindfolded. So I should probably just STFU. But I want so much more! /whine

I need something far beyond Calgon!

2010-04-25T16:20:00.000-05:00

Dear Children,

Please stop killing yourselves or getting yourselves killed!

Thanks,

Frazzled

So after the car accident two weeks ago (seriously it was only 2 weeks ago), I walked onto campus to be informed I needed to check in on one of the teachers since his younger brother died "unexpectedly" the night before and his death was under investigation. Still unclear if it was homicide or suicide. Was going to lend my support at the wake...or whatever the Jewish version is this morning, but overslept as I was up most of the night dealing with children freaking out because a former student (who left the Pleasanterville bubble for the big, bad public school world at the end of last year) had shot herself in the head. The "reasoning" coming out is that daddy said she couldn't go out and play with her friends, took her cell phone and so she shot herself in retaliation.

Clearly this is a tip of the iceberg type of thing, but seriously?! What ever happened to just getting a bad boy as a boyfriend? Or piercing your nose? Or getting a tattoo? Or sneaking out? I am having to work through all kinds of my own anger issues on this one.

My father believes they need to make an Advent style calendar for educators to the end of school I believe instead of chocolates, mine will contain Vodka and Valium.

Thank God the DH is going to get to go to Island #2, because I need a rum runner and a pool boy stat!

For The Record...

2010-04-11T19:04:00.000-05:00

I already HATE tomorrow with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. And that isn't going to change.

I am going to have to bite my tongue so many times tomorrow and once again not be able to do all I think is right because I don't have the proper authority. One day this will change, or at least I won't care as much and will just do the right thing anyway. At least I have pawns to take some action for me.

The bubble over Pleasanterville has finally been popped, and of course it is happening on my watch. This has sort of been a shite year, partially because I have been a woman of action (what was I thinking?) and partially because of the Fates playing with us. But it is what I have been trained for, and oddly what I am best at. Crisis happening? I am your girl. Calm, cool, collected, ready to help.

In other news, Philly was great. It isn't New York, but I did not expect it to be. It is damn close and a hella lot cheaper with great programs to boot. And most importantly it didn't have much of an Attic vibe either. I could be loud most places, as were others. Though we realized we totally could not live in the neighborhood we stayed in as there were too many people being wheeled about on both ends of the age continuum and that made for a creepily quiet weekend nightlife.

It was great to be in a place where everyone didn't sound like that effing "I'm a pothole" ad, with good food, and look honey, transit. You know, a real city.

Guess I should get back to studying for the GRE at some point in the near future (after crises pass).

And as I will be saying until the end of next month: Is it freakin' summer yet?!

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." ~William Shakespeare

"Huh. That's weird. I usually don't get get the stigmata until Easter."

2010-04-02T11:36:00.000-05:00

But I'm not even supposed to be here! /whine

Coming to work on Good Friday whilst the DH gets to sleep in is torture. Though he did still bring me coffee. Most of the children have already jetted off to Vail or St. Tropez or wherever else these little Posh and Becks lovelies vacay. So I am counting down the minutes until Spring Break and hoping I get a chance at one.

We are heading to the land of cheese steaks and brotherly love for a long weekend, but it is more of a scouting/working vacation. I am ready for my next great adventure now, something made worse by my ducklings planning for their first big adventures, and I have the patience of...well something with very little patience. Even my metaphors are failing me today.

At least I am getting paid to find the end of the interwebz today.

Ciao! And happy easter/passover/peep fest

Face Palm of the Day Pt. 2

2010-03-22T15:22:00.000-05:00

Fuck "Treme"
Wanted to post this on the FB, but figured I would get fired. I agree with Doc Brite that if I EVER see a Hollywood Katrina fridge, I will kill it. Kill it dead. Also, last time I checked, a letter is not going to stop someone from having a PTSD flashback, otherwise the VA would have already brought that milkshake to the yard.

Dear God, I agree, how do I stay sober?!

Stepping away from civilization commencing now...

The 'necks may be the death of me...

2010-03-22T13:04:00.000-05:00

"Now we will be paying for their healthcare instead of just their sneakers"
First racist line of the day, for the win.

I also love the "Well I'm just gonna move somewhere else where I don't have to be told to pay for insurance" or "Uh-meri-kuh is now gone down the drain, I need a new kuntry". Pleased to be enjoying your sub-Saharan African country will you? Send me a postcard if the malaria doesn't get to you first. "As if paying for social security wasn't enough". Really, go ask your Meemaw how she would be doing without her Social Security and Medicare, because I am pretty damn sure you aren't footing the bill for her daily doctor visit and 14 medications. I had to hide a good 2/3rds of my "friends" list on FB before I had an aneurysm. Luckily, I would have access to care.

For all those people bitching like this is all some grand conspiracy new idea thought up by that *insert racist word here*, please take a ride in the way back machine to Nixon. Also, I would like to mention that all the people I have heard acting like it is Armageddon, not a single one of them will really be impacted in any way (other than those that may come down with a disease and now won't get dropped by their insurer). You already have a job and insurance, you don't make $250,000 a year, you have a boring run of the mill policy that won't be considered under the Cadillac tax. S to the T to the F to the U.

Have a mentioned that I am over it? And after reading the New York Magazine article on Liz Cheney, I weep for humanity.

Totally going to need an after work cocktail and to not turn on the tv/radio/interwebz!

Friday Banality

2010-03-19T12:25:00.001-05:00

I watched 1st graders perform Shakespeare this morning. In 1st grade, I am pretty sure I was being reminded to not eat glue. Of course this is what beau-coup tuition will get you. It also gets you very...um..."seasoned" parents. I shouldn't be shocked considering most of my HS ducklings have parents close to my parents' age and I ~~did that walk of shame~~ got my first "real" diploma *# years ago.

I was pondering exhaustedly this morning in the shower about how I, a dedicated night owl, ended up in a very morning person "profession" (I am over using quotes today it seems). Every single stinking morning I feel like I am swimming upstream against my internal clock. I have been a night owl since infancy and I don't like changing it now. I climb under the covers at 10 but I really want to be up still, my brain revs to high gear right after The Daily Show gives me my moment of zen. It has been exacerbated this week by the absence of the DH snoring beside me reminding me that I should be asleep. I also blame USA network for their copious amounts of Badass Eye Candy late at night. Which brought me to too many hours of Neal Caffrey and a sudden sense of deja vu. Seems I have a type when it comes to my tv boyfriends. Or maybe it is something about dark hair, blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a black turtleneck. Either way, it is some nice eye candy:

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with my baby faced, tow headed husband. ;) I love him to bits though. /girly post

Cursed be the Blessed

2010-03-15T13:52:00.000-05:00

Spring is very springy here on the Dirty Coast. I am barraged daily with signs and sneezes of this change. And while I love (LOVE) being able to throw on flip-flops and have lunch on the beach (as I have the past two weekends), there is part of me that wants to give it all up and run away even if I am running to somewhere that requires regular use of a snow blower. Call it pennipes.

Given these itchy feet, I like to utilize this little coping mechanism called escapism. Not having the money, inclination or liver for drugs and (obscene amounts of) alcohol, I prefer to: write, read, and watch too much tv. White Collar has given me both extreme eye candy and the reminder of the curse/blessing:

May you live in interesting times and may you find what you are looking for

Well, I sure have got the first one covered, and they continue to be interesting. I just need to stop being such a racoon and focus for a bit so I can move on to the second half. Unless of course on Wednesday, I can find the Crichton Leperchaun. Say Yeah! ;)

When I am not w/r/w-ing, I have been trying to get myself less sick and back into the bubble through visiting new restaurants, making new friends, tearing down non-historical bits on the new old house, and keeping my eyes on the prize. I have not, nor will I, had anything to do with March Madness. I'll still take the Super Bowl/Stanley Cup any day, brackets or not.

Until next time!

Vacuus Parvulus: Notes from a non-breeder

2010-03-04T10:17:00.006-06:00

While not as good as "reparo porta accipi veho" it is what I am bringing you today. And I am bound to agitate some with my following opinions, but you should know by now what they saw about opinions, this is not a personal attack on anyone, but merely some anthropological or sociological observations I have made (and I am a social scientist always, even if I can turn the psychotherapist off).

I have reached that life stage where those without children (childfree, childless by choice, childless, or whatever lingo you subscribe to) are quickly being snuffed out by those who have made the choice (I use this term loosely) to procreate. Welcome to the DINKS vs the SITCOMS!!! (Insert monster truck announcer voice here).

I am making a disclaimer here: I know some very wonderful, active, loving parents who thought long and hard before they decided to have children. Parents who have had children (in a myriad of ways, not just biological) and raise them in caring homes with the intent to produce productive members of society. I know people who would have made wonderful parents but for whatever reason did not become guardians of the next generation of productive members of society. However, in both my professional and personal lives, I have (to put it bluntly) encountered some very crappy breeders.

Abused children, neglected children, trophy children, golden sprogs, oopses, prostitots, and special snowflakes; I have seen them all. And, my dear readers, it is a very scary world out there (especially considering children are our future and all)!

But there are a few things (beyond the abhorrent bits involving abuse and neglect) that really get my blood to move to a rolling boil!

Those who take an unnatural interest in the status of my uterus. It is mine, not yours and it is not open for business. Thank you. I don't care how fabulous of a parent you think I would make or what kind of genes you think I should pass on.
Entitlmoos or mommyisms: Humans have been making babies for a long time. There was an old Onion article about this that sums it up nicely. Yes, I know some people have to spend a lot of money to have babies (see: IVF, adoptions etc.) and some people feel that having a child is not a choice (see God, bible-thumpers, rape, etc.) but it isn't some magical thing us Muggles simple don't get because we have not eaten the forbidden crotchfruit. You are not above anyone simply because you have had a child. Special parking, rushing out to buy a ginormous SUV at moment of conception, double side by side strollers for children pushing the limits of the preoperational cognitive stage, and bitching about my foul language use in front of your dearest little one in that you brought into my neighborhood bar all fall under this category. Not that I have an issue with babies in bars, they have to learn how to make a proper sazerac at some point, but don't complain about smoke/loud music/swearing/guiness soaked diapers/dart holes in their fontanel when you don't leave them at home. Hint: revive cocktail hour at home, a well made martini can help teach your child: math (proper ratios and fractions), physical education (shaken, not stirred), conflict resolution and mediation (mommy had too many G&Ts), first aid (burnt orange peel garnish incident) and so much more!
Baby rabies: There is more going on in the world than your attempts to conceive or adopt. After asking you how things are, I am happy to listen to you go on for forty or so minutes (I am a trained professional after all); but if you don't reciprocate, don't be shocked when I hand you a bill!
Too much information: Whether still working on having a child or wading through the trenches of parenthood there is A LOT I don't want to know. This often involves stories about bodily functions and fluids (yours or theirs). Boundaries, use them.
Mombie or Mommy Identity: I suppose this could apply to fathers/males as well, but I haven't seen it in the wild (and I look in much the same way I do for wild "bump-it" sightings). I understand that our society has set you up for this ruse. You were given baby dolls to take care of (or maybe a younger sibling or two and they turned out great), your first job was as a baby sitter (you even took the little Red Cross certification course and everyone was oh so proud), you have been force fed this logic that your genes must be passed down (Help me Obi-wan you are our only hope!) and that you hold the future in your uterus/testicles, that you can only be a complete person once you have a child, that a family unit must consist of those with runny noses and jam hands, and so on ad nauseam. Fine, you bought in and I can tolerate that you made a choice. However, I cannot respect those that completely forfeit their own ideals/thoughts/personality/independence/other worthy contributions to society simply because you have acquired a child. This is especially true when I am assaulted by those on BookFace from Corncob High. Most of them don't shock me, I knew upon sight that they would go to Dipspitkickthedog Community College and get (at most) an Early Childhood Education Degree and find some Field&Stream centerfold wallet to knock 'em up like the good Lord wanted and would happily settle down in their cookie cutter subdivision or modular home communities and sit back racking up insurmountable debt buying crap made in China they don't need while fulfilling the lyrics of every country song ever written. But you, yes you, that intelligent, outgoing, vivacious, loquacious, sometimes feminist, lost daughter of Mo...what the hell happened? Not that you couldn't choose to have children, you could have been like those parents I know, love, and admire, but did you have to turn into a zombie? Did you have to give up your entire self, your goals/dreams/aspirations, your insanely expensive college degree? Perhaps you are content with your MRS degree, perhaps you do believe you are doing the world's hardest job (though I will only believe that a smidgen if you don't have a nanny/maid/every Baby Einstein DVD/family help/disposable income or if you have a special needs child), perhaps you do think your domestic partner thinks as much of you as he did the night you spent debating Camus versus Sarte until the sun rose. Perhaps. It isn't that I think any less of you either, but you do cause my brain to shut down like a spreadsheet trying to work around a circular reference. And I think your definition of "having it all" is shite. That isn't having it all. You don't have it all when you give up yourself freely and willingly (especially if you then become a whining martyr about it).
Speaking of MRS degrees, personally I believe the institutes of higher education should be able to strip you of or completely deny you a degree if you go there with the specific intention of finding a husband who can "keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed". They should be able to behead you and place your cranium on a stake in the middle of the quad as an example to all you will come after you if you get said degree and claim that you are going to be a modern woman who doesn't need a man and then turn around and go through a string of men faster than a 12-year old with a stack of Playboys goes through tissues in order to find the one that makes the most money so you can ensnare him with the line of "look at me, I have a job, I don't need your money, I really love you for you" only to be dreaming of poking holes in your diaphragm/condom stash in order to quit your job, hire an illegal ugly nanny, and drain all life out of said walking wallet because "oops" two little blue lines showed up on the pee stick all before the ink even dries on the marriage certificate. Shame on you. Shame on any males that put up with this as well. There are a whole host(esses) of womyn spinning like a top in their graves over these sort of shenanigans. They did not fight for you to be able to get bitch about messing up your mani-pedi while climbing into your Land Crusher because you had to yell at the non-English speaking nanny so she could yell at Junior for leaving his toys out where your pool boy-toy could trip over them before he serviced you(r above ground).

For all my vitriol, part of my issue is one of grief and loss. I miss my friends that have been lost (pour one for my homies) to this abyss. I also have to ponder what the world would be like if those that "had" children took an active parenting role instead of any of the stereotypes above. More and more seem to be choosing the farcical Posh&Becks way of parenting. And this is one of the many reasons I spend so much time worrying about the world.

Turn and face the strain...

2010-03-03T10:03:00.003-06:00

I have been pondering the flux of time as of late. Sometimes it seems to move by in a precipitous manner that leaves me spinning and then other times it seems to drag its feet like a petulant two-year old in the middle of the grocery store seconds before throwing the ultimate hissy fit. I think some of this contemplation stems from the myriad of "life-stages" friends, family, and acquaintances are currently ebbing and flowing through (myself included).

In "recent history" there have been a copious amount of health issues in our families of origin. Old man time seems to be encroaching and I can't say I am a fan. Everyone is doing more or less OK, but I have come to realize that I may be facing down the barrel of late night phone calls that amount to "come quick, there isn't a lot of time left for ____". Can't really say anyone is ever fully prepared for those calls, no matter how resilient you may seem. Not to mention I seem to find myself in the anomalous position of potentially having my progenitors move in with us, not so that I may be their (medical) caretakers, but because they have become one of the statistics from this Great Recession.

While I take immense pride in being aberrantly malleable in terms of life changes, I also freely admit to enjoying a more fixed way of life. I thrive when I have a plan, and a backup plan or eight, and I love when that plan actually comes to fruition. However, that has always been most atypical for me. Never has this been more indubitable than now! It seems that in every instance where I felt I had some idea of what of "the plan" should be, something has occurred that has changed the course of the river.

Now ask anyone along the Mississippi River Delta about changes in the course of a mighty river, and they can tell you that any change in course will be awesome (in the purest sense of the word, on both ends of the spectrum). Some changes are beneficent. Like the Saints winning the Super Bowl (the game that was really a reprieve for an entire region) or the election of Mitch Landrieu. Some are deplorable (insert your own horrible examples here). Some are banal. But all, from the smallest pebble to the largest dam, have the potential to immutably alter the river's course.

I feel like a keep having pebbles thrown at me in a way that almost suggests lapidation given their frequency. I had given serious consideration to turning in cushy office here at Plesanterville Prep, reasoning it is not challenging enough, isn't going to advance my career, doesn't pay me enough. But then the Dear Husband gets a call from, well, let's call him Sebastian (down here all the fish is happy as off through the waves we roll), leaving me to realize that only working 177 (or 180 depending on who you ask) days a year might be best in the near future. I had also debated the merits of giving up many of the things that named me own of the areas rising stars in order to focus on my very serpentine route to highest learning, but now I am realizing that I may have more time to devote to such things (see Sebastian above), without worrying about being the ultimate career woman/philanthropist/faux socialite/domestic partner.

My predominant complaint in this continuing winter of discontent (damn groundhog), is that there have been several instances where I thought I had the answer, only to have it circle the drain nearly immediately. My life has turned into a fish bowl full of guppies won at the county fair. And it isn't like I can flush the whole damn thing and invest in a Seavision.

Next up on ch-ch-changes: Notes on the endangered species vacuus parvulus

Grrrrr......

2010-01-28T15:40:00.002-06:00

I know, two posts in one day. It is like hell freezing over, except that happened on Sunday night. But seriously. I have to, that rant has bubbled to the surface. You can call me many things but don't even attempt to allude that I am just now jumping on the bandwagon, asswipe.

In 1997 I first moved home. I had previously been uprooted 23 times in my 17 years without ever getting asked where I wanted to go. This was my first move on my own with my own say so. Mind you, I was supposed to be there a year earlier and attending the college of my dreams, but I was there nonetheless. On the Wank in a house owned by a little old lady at the tiny college where Father President knew my name and called me Georgia Peach anyway. At a time when black ribbons festooned every tree as a constant reminder that THOU SHALL NOT KILL. Second lines were common place, but not for tourists, for the fallen children killing children. Ditka was "helping" the Aints go to a 6-10 season (an improvement). Thanks to lack of financial aid, and a severe case of igdingnation, I wasn't able to stay long physically, but spiritually, I was sold. A bad relationship, a semester in Paris, and a bit later I was back. Once again to the Wank, this time to the Barbie pink apartment and a lot of Coast Guard boys with Jeeps. Ditka was still keeping the 6-10 Aints, but this was assuaged by driving on the levee, Daiquiris and Creams and that voodoo in the air. The end of the bad relationship (apparently moving to another state does not equal a breakup, who knew), and the lure of free tuition brought me back to the ATL.

I had always hated the Braves, mostly because upon moving to the Peach State (in the US for the first time), I really did think the last line of the National Anthem was "home of the Braves" and the 'Necks were massively unappealing. My hatred of the Falcons (besides being bitten by the Who Dat bug) overshadowed that with voracity thanks to some unsportsmanlike conduct in Buckhead by a few too many of the players (personal foul has a whole new meaning for young, cute, blond females in the clubs). But I found my heart, and took up cheering for his team, who seemed very similar to my Aints. He took up cheering for my home, and there we went as soon as we could.

And those Aints, they kept it up. 3-13, seriously? But you still loved them. 10-5, 7-9, 9-7, 8-8, and 8-8. It didn't matter. Through every season, we were part of Who Dat Nation, listening to the Cajun Cannon, turning down the TV and turning up WWL. Tums in one hand, Abita in the other, paper bag waiting in the corner. Those were our boys. And then...then that bitch Katrina came and took everything away, our home, our city, our lives, our heats, our boys. 3-13, but who could blame them? Evacuees turned in to refugees, you can't get good gumbo in San Antonio. I recall the pick of Bush, we were in Lafayette at the time, arranged our schedule to hear the draft pick. We had such high hopes with Peyton and Brees, it was a miracle when we heard about Bush. This could be our year, and surely no city has ever needed it more. And our boys, they came back, back home to the Dome. A night you cannot forget, a glimpse of life being breathed back into the city. Music was pouring forth like it used to. And it was our year, until Chicago. Where I will never forget the pain of a child holding a sign saying the Bears would finish what Katrina started. A knife cut deeper than you can imagine. It wasn't just a game to us, it was survival.

2007 had me leave my home, because that survival wasn't working out for me. But the Aints were carried with us all the way to the Attic, where people didn't understand, but they felt for us and turned the game on and attempted to make us a hurricane or grits. They failed, but we thankful. The not understanding became too much, survival wasn't happening far away either. My heart was still home, and I was slowly dying being kept apart from it. Down to the dirty coast we returned. 2.5 hours away we "settled". 7-9 and then 8-8, it did not matter, because at night, holding your tongue the right way, you can still get WWL in on the stereo.

2009, a lot goes on, and the Aints, sez wha'? This might really be our year. No, no way, they will do what they always do. Tums still in one hand, Abita still in the other, hope still in our hearts. And it is our year. We get friends who don't even like football to understand this isn't just a game it is about a city, a love, a passion, a survival, a catharsis, a movement, a homecoming. That kick a thing of unimagined beauty. There is crying in football, crying in New Orleans, a Mississippi filled with tears of joy for our boys and ourselves.

I feel a rant ahead!

2010-01-28T09:07:00.003-06:00

However, I don't have the time or energy to expend. I will say that I did not watch the State of the Union last night, because I knew I could get all the recaps (and then some) from the 'Neck Caucus here on the Dirty Coast. I especially love the commentary from 16 year old PWBRs. Inherited problems are not going to go away with the wave of some magic wand. But I still say the Dems need to grow a pair. And to all the Prop H8 stuff, I still think the government should not be in the marriage business. Which is why I was fine with getting ordained yesterday by The Church of Spiritual Humanism in order to preside over a friend's wedding in October. So if you know anyone needing to get hitched, I am your gal.

WHO DAT?!!!!! I am so excited for the Aints, I finally get to retire my paper bag! :) It is so much more than a game for my beloved city, and I don't think most people realize the emotional impact that it has. I might have to agree with tiny Tim, that there might just be crying in football. Or at least there was after the game. This says it better than I ever could. And thanks to a little lying (because a friend finally let me in on the secret that in schools you don't take sick days to be sick, you take them to do fun things), I will be "home" next Friday through Monday.

Since I ride to work on a blue donkey everyday, or maybe because of my beady eyes on floppy head, my days here at Pleasanterville Prep may be numbered. I have at least reached a zen state where my blood isn't boiling with everything that comes out of the mouths of others. I think this may have something to do with having taken the GRE in eff-off fashion and not bombed it as badly as I figured I would. Knowing is half the battle right? As an aside, don't waste your time watching that movie. After "killing Santa" in December, how stupid of me to talk about diversity and gratitude, a parent disobeyed a teacher's directive on talking to me about their issues regarding their precious snowflake (we spend good money in tuition to keep our children innocent), and went over my head to email the headmaster. I now have a babysitter during my Character Education classes. I have decided to spend grant money on DVDs with dancing fruit talking about Jesus or some shit to not upset the delicate sensibilities of the privileged darlings. I have some irons in the fire, we shall see what becomes of it. At least I am no longer wanting to tear through campus in a murderous rage. Zen state, oooommmmmmmmmm.

Opera: Sweeney Todd= awesome. Lots of young people there, lots of excitement. Next season = boring thanks to the old people I wish would kick off already. I was a rabble rouser once again by supporting the unsafe choice of a piece that would bring in a diverse audience not normally seen at Dirty Coast productions. Something that celebrated the music of the area with jazz, blues, gospel. Nope, not gonna happen. I will, however, be sticking a fork in my eye as my ears bleed to a night at the opera with a phantom of my former soul. We will call him Sir Andrew. Blech.

I spent nearly most of my work day yesterday looking at google maps and trulia and institutes of higher learning in this little place where I heard you can get a good cheese-steak. There is a plethora of accredited places concentrated there. But don't worry TBSW, my spreadsheet includes a whole page on places found out your way.

I think I will be spending the latter half of my MG break working on house things. Because one day, at a yet to be determined but hopefully not too long from now point in time, the big old house will need to go on the market. Which means we are looking at Vegas for a long weekend over spring break. Say the weekend after Easter. If anyone is interested. ;)

OK, should do some of the actual work they are (under)paying me for....

Melancholy and the infinite birthday

2009-12-02T10:17:00.003-06:00

See how I date myself in the title? I don't mean to be so misanthropic today, but my locale and the weather are converging in such a way that is causing asperity. I am also trying to raise my eruditeness for the GRE, in case you were not cognizant of that fact.

Things would be enthralling overall, except for Satan decided to rear her BPD last night(its timing in a normal world being anachronistic), in order to remind me why I find her so odious. The broken record of greatest hits includes: you are so ungrateful, you are only nice when you want something, you don't appreciate me, you don't jump to support me, why do you always take her side. I am nonplussed at the fact that she didn't bring back the classic "I should have drowned you at birth". Apparently the retiring of that gold record was due to her brief flirtation with psychiatry. She substituted hot new tracks such as "complete strangers treat me better than my own family" and my own personal top of the charts (it has a nice beat and you can really dance to it): "I would rather live in a tent in our vacant lot than move in to your house". So Happy Freakin' Birthday to me. I think I liked it better when she just "forgot" it completely.

But in an effort to be benevolent: I am so very grateful for a supportive partner who is *thisclose* to opening a can of whoop ass. I am also beholden to my friends and adopted family for also being supportive and caring and understanding and for offering refuge. I am happy that there are people out there who see my for my accomplishments and believe I have self-worth. I love that I have flowers on my desk delivered to the front desk with a snarky (in a good way) card, ducklings that have been conspiratorially whispering about plans for today, reservations at a fabulous restaurant for dinner and besties to share it with, a FB wall full of good cheer, and (most importantly) an escape plan. Far away places are calling, and I will get there and I will make it arduous for turgid borderlines to comfortably visit. I am done with the drama and the bs. D-O-N-E. Perhaps I should visit Bass Pro this afternoon and buy a tent as a parting gift.

Cameron: "You really didn't know?
House: "No and frankly i am angry. Of course I'd know better when I know what were talking about."
Cameron:"Your birthday"
House:"Oh normally I would put on a festive hat and celebrate the fact that the earth has circled around the sun on more time. I really didn't think it was going to make it this year but darn if it wasn't for the little planet that could all over again.
House: [To Cameron about his birthday] Why are you here? To buy me a pony?

In the bubble, out of the bubble, on the bubble...

2009-11-08T12:04:00.006-06:00

These will now be how I classify things in my surroundings on the Dirty Coast. SoAL film fest, in the bubble. Greek Fest, in the bubble. Great food and service without paying an arm and a leg, in the bubble. My DH and friends and ducklings and the vacuum in pearls girls that have a desire to change the world, most certainly in the bubble. Most everything else is most assuredly outside the bubble. A few things sit on top and could go either way (several bars, music venues, and other entertainment type things).

I am working on not letting the myriad of out of the bubble things/places/people not pop my bubble as much and this is certainly a lesson in patience like I have never had before. Thank god I can drink (as long as it doesn't come in too big a bottle or doesn't have a classic reprint involving a naked lady, thank you oh so much Elmer Fudd).

It also has helped me define so much about myself and my goals and my desires. And I truly know that I will never get some very important college football rivalries. Mostly because I think the energy put into hate (in most senses) could go to much better things. But then I look at the majority of the people who are sucked into this liger versus red elephant or other such rivalries (especially the one that didn't go either place, or in some instances graduate high school), and I realize even if you attached them to a nuclear power plant, they still couldn't light a 10 watt bulb. Those people are verra verra OTB.

So instead, I have started making goals, which continue with my "saying No" (which has been going well) and doing things for the joy of doing them instead of obligation. Thus, I have been cooking a lot more (refusing to waste money on food I don't enjoy served by people who could care less), working out more (except this week because I have been doing ViP writing which is equally important), trying to enlighten the next generation (and given the increase of my ducklings dropping in to chat their study halls away, I think this is working), writing original fic for fun (NaNoWriMo has helped that one out), and studying like a bandit for the GRE (flash cards and I are besties and frenemies).

And all is well. For the most part. But I can see the rewards in the distance, and they are getting closer each day.

As an aside, I am totally digging the moving to Mac commercials as of late considering I spent the morning taking apart my $1200 HP paperweight and sticking a penny in as a heat sink. Thank God for my work laptop or I would have had to cut a bitch. Anyone that wants to donate to my MacBook Pro fund is more than welcome to. Also, thank you to USA (the network) for bringing out White Collar. It is the smart brain candy I had desperately needed.

All Growed Up

2009-10-22T10:41:00.002-05:00

I have been practicing at saying one of the hardest words in the English language..."No". As a perennial do-gooder and people-pleaser, this is tres difficle! But, I have in the past week, I have stood strong against Chez Child Lovers and the Redneck Daughters and probably a few other things. I stood by the commitments that I could give my heart to and where I felt like I was making a difference.

I also have taken a lock, stock and two smoking barrels look at the finances as of late, and had a fantastic talk (real, live, calm, adult) on how we can get out of debt so we can get the hell out of here.

I have done this all while coming up with the best plan to further my education (potentially, if I can master the damn GRE in the next two months) and whilst still having a good bit of fun with our sanity saving friends. Plus, I have made it to Zumba on a somewhat regular basis (despite a knee screaming at me in terror).

Go me, I might just get a handle on this being an adult thing yet!

I dreamed a dream of diesel gone by...

2009-10-14T09:37:00.002-05:00

I got stuck today in the "big" tunnel after foolishly straying from my normal path. I should know to never deviate from the norm on the Dirty Coast, 'cause they don't cotton well to such shenanigans! But since I spent some of last night with some GLBTQ-ers (really just the LB portion of that) and signed Pleasanterville Prep up for ally week, I figured what the heck.

While waiting on people to catch a clue and move out of the lane with the giant red "X" hanging above it, I was struck with that intoxicating aroma of diesel, car exhaust, dank tiled corridor, and whatever else. Now it might be the carbon monoxide going to my brain, but this smell always gives me a jolt of happiness. To me it is the smell of Paris streets and New York subways and happier times. Some of my earliest aromatic memories come from the subways of the Attic;a nd while they are disturbingly clean, they still had that real city smell.

Despite being a bona fide homeowner (can't you feel my pride?), I still have itchy feet. Despite the disaster that was our "city living" (and I use city as loosely as possible), I still need to spread my wings most ironically in places that don't allow for room to spread one's wings. But, we are not in the position to do anything about it. And I am learning to be OK with that. I am still content, for the most part, and I think that is harder for me to come by than happy. I'll take it.

Which brings me to a future rant on this need for space in an increasingly disconnected world. But I have to go herd cats now as they disrupt the one test one day one point PSAT takers...

Why Bother?

2009-10-01T10:36:00.004-05:00

Considering I am posting about once a month, I have to wonder why I even bother...but then I realize that it is nice to have an outlet that helps me to escape from the dipspitkickthedog circumstances I find myself trapped in. I need to realize that there are other people out there who are intelligent, hard-working, and don't believe the President is secretly trying to convert us all to Socialist Muslims. For the record, I do agree the Obama was black before he got elected. :)

As you may be able to tell, I am having some difficulties being patient and empathetic the the unwashed, wally-world foraging masses as of late. As Momma Dixie would say, "bless their hearts". I know that a lot of the (lack of) world view of many people around "these parts" is due to underexposure to culture/diversity/higher education and so on. It might not be their faults to some degree. But if all you watch on your cable is Fox News and NASCAR...it is your fault. If all you look up on the interwebz is how to make meth and the KKK's local chapter fanlisting...it is your fault. Technology has brought education and exposure to the most desolate parts of Africa for goodness sake, it can bring it to your double-wide down the road a piece!

With this, I keep having big dreams...both literal and figurative as of late. Which is sparking my interest to write again (awesome) but causing me to be cranky with the things that I am over involved in (less than awesome). If I do not stay busy here, I will whither. If I stay too busy outside my little bubble, I will cut someone low. Once again, it is all about the balance.

I've been thinking a lot about "career pathing" and "life pathing" as of late. I feel I can say I am meant for bigger and better things without being diagnosed as 301.81 (yeah, DSM look it up). But where and exactly what those B&B things are remain to be seen. In many ways, I feel as though I am chasing hummingbirds from a dream into day...and that is very frustrating. But as they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or ends you with some nice happy pills from Dr. Shrink.

Post Script: I will be playing the role of Team Black Swan East Cruise Director with some fabulous (similarly displaced) friends this weekend where my heart lies and I cannot wait to give them the full court press.

Son of a Post Script: I still have that time lag thing. I still feel like I should be in September of 2005. I am beginning to think this will not end. Someone please intervene if I start wearing my wedding dress in a decaying house with annoying children poking around.

Daughter of a Post Script: Quarter to whoever makes the connection.

Poor Neglected Blog

2009-09-03T13:18:00.002-05:00

Life has picked back up and then some here on the Dirty Coast. Going back to full-time work and being over involved has left little time for...well breathing! I should really take my own advice.

I was overwhelmed the other day with the realization that I am having a profound impact on the lives of the next generation...Captain's Log Stardate...oh wait...I am influencing how these sheltered little ducklings think, and often, exposing them to a great big world out there. My opinion really matters to some of them, and that scares the *^&!@# out of me. I mean, I am a pretty cool/intelligent/successful professional who has never really messed up, but still...

After freaking out about this, I got to thinking about parental vs peer vs other adults influence. Especially in the political realm. I know many adolescents are highly influenced one way or another by their parents' political affiliations. Over here in Plesanterville, it seems most teens align with their parents, no questions asked. For the most part, that means they are riding high on the elephant of red. Which I know realize could also mean Roll Tide, but I digress.

This was not the way it was for me, though. I came from a very complicated and international background where political affiliations could mean anything from Libertarians to the NDP to the PAIPH. Upon "settling" in the American South, I associated the GOP with men named Cletus and Bubba who sat on the porches of their double-wides drinking beer at 9am and shooting at things for fun. Aka those with the necks of rouge. In the Atlanta far removed from the days of Scarlett ripping off those curtains for a dress, I associated the Democrats with the well-educated and diverse Northerners who had somehow found themselves in the same strange land as myself. Thus, not wanting to associate myself with the destitute morons of the dip-spit-kick-the-dog variety, I naturally aligned myself with the blue donkeys.

But here, the image is something drastically different (at least to these impressionable minds). To them, the Republicans are the wealthy elite and why wouldn't they want to be like that? So they collectively slap on their polo shirts, loafers, and style their hair the SEC way and march on. Which has many of the same characteristics of the HJ, if you ask me. Of course, like adolescents of all the ages, they are desperately trying to just belong.

So says the Canadian, eh

2009-04-30T15:24:00.003-05:00

I feel I must do the obligatory hockey playoffs post, not that I care since the Rangers got knocked out. And these are based on my desires not my predictions:

Boston over Carolina (because I am still not right with Southern hockey teams)
Pittsburgh over Washington (because of Sid and also because I want the Senators to die die die!!!!!)
Detroit over Anaheim (because I grew up near the Lou)
Chicago over Vancouver (I know, I know, but I have to go for the original 6 every time)

Stanley, Stanley, Staaaaaaaanleyyyyyy

"I thought we were wearing the wrong shoes for cancer"

2009-04-27T09:43:00.002-05:00

I can haz shewz? As of this weekend, I can no longer be called Bootsie the Pantry Shitter. Of course the DH will keep calling me this, as he has an incredible fondness for not so cute nicknames and Rescue Me. The doc told me to get sensible, supportive, lace up shoes. I am pretty sure he meant ugly ass old person type shoes, since he said "Rockport Oxfords". But since I believe life is too short to wear ugly shoes, I ended up with these ROOS and these New Balance. I should probably get more "work appropriate" shoes since I have a lot of dresses these won't work with, but for now...whatevs.

While I didn't do much that I wanted to do (at least originally) this weekend, I still had a pretty damn nice weekend overall. We got house stuff done, or at least made progress. Which is good since I think we will be hosting a party next weekend. We also hit up the indie theater to see Sunshine Cleaning, which was good. New grill warranted steaks last night, after a very good brunch at the Pub (and finally my post-Lenten Bloody Mary). We narrowly avoided being suckered into puppy ownership, but I do see a scooter in J's future.

I get to play corporate wife this evening at dinner, and I have a party with the VPS girls this week as well. This weekend brings chaperoning a slumber party (insanity) and heading up to kill a mockingbird (where luckily the city is finally wet). Plus, spending time with the DH before he heads to the wilds of the Attic etc.

ttfn

"You see that? They all assume I'm a patient because of this cane"

2009-04-21T08:30:00.002-05:00

I am a bad blogger it seems. Here we are over 2 months later and I have not posted. You would think I have been out running marathons instead of desk bound/broken. So what all have I been up to in the past couple of months? Well, a lot it seems...which is interesting considering my disabled state!

I still did all the things for Mardi Gras I had planned on. Call outs on crutches are interesting. Balls are made more fun when you faux hold court since everyone feels bad for you. Drinks are a good substitute for pills. Our house holds a lot of people, especially on Joe Cain Day.
People are less likely to move out of the way at large events held in squares. It is fun, however, to accidentally on purpose stomp on their sandled feet with your crutches when they are being assholes. Also, winning 2nd place in a cook-off on your first time out apparently garners attention.
Going to cultural events such as the opera, ballet, concerts etc. in narrowed aisled theaters is also something to be hold with crutches. Though the handicapped parking is nice. Aside: ballerinas should not clomp across the stage. Period. It was like that scene in Dumbo or was that Fantasia? Almost just typed Fangtasia. Clearly spending too much time reading Sookie Stackhouse novels. Damn you independent bookseller pulling at my anti-big box heartstrings!!! *shakes fist*
People will seek you out if they have an injury similar to yours. This is especially true during St. Paddy's day events at a pub. Your name becomes your injury or medical device ("Crutches!!!!!!"). I am going to start calling some old people "Oxygen tank".
Sometimes you just need a day off, even if you lie to get it and spend most of the day working on a presentation that your stupid PC eats because it is a piece of crap and the memory dies.
One should be more careful about what Mardi Gras organization they join. Because The Redneck Daughters are wearing thin fast!
Opera, opera, opera. Good, bad, ugly, and broke. But people with way more money than I seem to think I need to be involved and in the patron room and at the after-party. Who am I to argue?
Occasionally, an event you think will be huge and meaningful will just be a little blip. This may be because you already got all the closure you needed. Seeing friends is always nice, however, especially when you can support them in their fearlessness!
Weddings, bachelorette parties, and baby showers OH MY!!! I enjoy people who have the same view on weddings and marriage that I do. I want to stab people in the eye that have bought into the wedding machine. Also, games at showers will always SUCK! And don't make me not have alcohol just because you got knocked up. But boy aren't you glowing and fabulous for procreating, it's like a miracle that happens. A lot.
Piano bar, I heart you.
Volunteering is supposed to make you feel like you are contributing and giving back. So don't yell at us because you need a vacation.
Oh Ben Folds, you still funny. And still five, actually. But whatever. Oh kidlets, don't be drinking beer in the theater.
I big thanks to V for the humor while in Hotlanta! I also will never forgive you for exposing us to Alexyss Tylor. "Jackrabbit?!"
SPRING BREAK!!!! Was way more fun when I went somewhere. But it was nice to do not a damn thing. Of course I was regaled with stories of New York, the Caymans, Honduras, the Caribbean, Seaside and so on.
9,600 minutes left to go. Not that I am counting. ;)

Until next time, another couple of months from now!

"I passed agony yesterday around four"

2009-02-19T09:10:00.003-06:00

We're going to blame this on the foot pain, or the meds but as I am chained to my desk and going a little crazy, I have some ranting things to point out:

People needed to scale back on their Facebook applications and notes. And stop tagging me, damnit! Even with severe mobility issues, I still don't want to spread all this info about me out there. My first though is that it gives tons of ammunition for someone to steal my identity. The second thing is, it is the interwebz and you can't take it back. Plus, Facebook might pwn it or something now!
I also received this group invite to boycott the New York Post. But to boycott it, would I not then be admitting to reading such birdcage liner? I read the Times, thankyouverymuch, and never go to the Post. Or I didn't, until I clicked to see the damn thing the boycott is over, so thanks for actually raising the hit to the Post whilst trying to boycott them.
Kids with more money then sense really need a reality check. Hopefully, that reality check will come out of this economic mess. But until then, we have entitled kids thinking they should get good grades just for showing up. Screw you! I had to bust my ass in some classes to get a "B". And I learned to like that grade, as many of my classmates were FAILING. Get over yourself and welcome to the real world. I wonder if these are the same kids occupying the caf at NYU demanding "to make our school more democratic, accountable and socially just"? Seriously, if you want social justice, there are these great colleges and universities created around critical thinking and social justice called JESUITS and most of them are way cheaper than NY-friggin'-U.

And to leave on a snarky nerdom high note, I am ganking this from my friend S who ganked it from his friend: "Ubuntu! It's like being in a poorly-managed communist country, hoping impotently that the price of bread goes down this week".

"The Cripple Boys. We should start a band."

2009-02-18T12:59:00.003-06:00

I am a very active person. Not in a jogging in -30 degree weather with an ice storm active, but more in the why doesn't my day planner have multiple lines for each hour kind of active. Thus, when partaking in my most severe and recent fall from grace, the resulting snap of my metatarsals has sent me into a downward spiral of stir crazy. Sure, getting to lounge in bed being waited on hand and foot sounds like a nice fantasy. However, reality says someone has to go to work to pay the bills, daytime TV sucks and the bathroom can never be close enough. Not to mention we just had to buy that huge house with 2 very distinct levels. I cannot say I would ever choose to be immobile in Mobile

I, with great assistance, found myself back at Pleasanterville Prep today and have been the great passive-aggressive curiosity of the faculty and not even a blip on the radar of the students. Mostly because they have much better things to gossip about! Being bed ridden is never something that has appealed to me, even if I do wish I could take some time off to write an actual fiction book. I like the illusion that I can get out whenever the fancy strikes me. I am getting to use a lot of House quotes, however, and for once they are greatly applicable.

Something tells me this may be a Carnival to remember for all the wrong reasons.

"I am wearing a rumpled shirt, and I forgot to brush my hair this week. You've got athlete's foot in your nose. I'm ready to be judged"

2009-02-09T09:52:00.002-06:00

I've decided I am getting "too old" for several things, the main two coming to mind right now are cheap liquor and bullshit.

Sadly, the world is filled with too much of both!

I also decided I am going to be exhausted come Ash Wednesday. A friend informed me this is what I get for being a socialite. Of course, I have a job, so I can't really be one. I think I am going to get calling cards that say "socialite in training" on them though.

I have survived my first Dirty Coast MG ball, and have more scheduled in the coming weeks. I also made a side trip "home" to see KdV and met some very interesting people who reminded me that I need to have more diversity in my friendship group. They also helped me to realize that I really am better suited to private practice.

The VPS is keeping me busy, as are all my other philanthropic endeavors, not to mention Carnival season is officially in full swing.

Work is also interesting, with my picking of my minions for the upcoming school year. I apparently have made more interesting choices than the faculty would have made, but that is why they are the faculty and I am the counselor. I find it interesting in a hilarious yet pathetic way when educators act more like children than the students. Not to mention the fact that there are some faculty members here at Pleasenterville Prep that are seriously rocking some Axis II disorders. I did not pick the students that got picked for EVERYTHING because they do get picked for everything. And also because I might throw up on myself around that much perfection. I did not pick every kid in the in crowd because they don't know what it is like to be on the fringes. I did not pick all playing it straight kids because if you haven't strayed from the path, how can you tell others how to get back? I picked a good mix of the do everything rights and the not quite fitting ins and the somewhere in between. I went with my gut on nearly every pick, and maybe it will blow up in my face, but at least I will have a little damn diversity in this robotic society. They are my minions and I will do what I want! Of course, now I am having to deal with Mommies and Daddies calling about their dear Precious not getting in. I have to say that having your parents fight your battles for you is not the way to sway me. If you got a problem, suck it up and come to me to state your case. But this may be the fact that parents want their children in the program more than the children want it. If I am prepping them for college and the real world, I figure it is time for them to pull themselves up. Plus, I get to be a little extra kookie by profession.

I am vowing to spend the next week trying to avoid cheap liquor and bullshit, but I don't hold out much hope for either!

Life in the fast lane!

2009-01-30T09:52:00.004-06:00

For those of you under the impression that life in the South is a bit "slower" than other places, you clearly have not seen my calendar for the past four weeks! I have not had a single night not booked with something. But, huge disclaimer, this is not a complaint. I love it, I am just a little tired. Of course, I didn't help this by staying out far too late at a good-bye party last night for a friend (and then coming home and watching cheesy tv).

General observations/thoughts/comments:

I think I need to avoid economy news. I am a natural worrier, I don't need gloom and doom reports to freak me out. I am doing well in a job I love, with a backup if the worst happens, not that it would but I love a plan B, the DH is doing fabulous with a promotion and a raise and likes his job and is still getting pinged for side work. We just bought a house and are making improvements and got enough of a steal that it will raise in value. I am not saying we are recession proof, but we are smart and grateful and happy.
World news is stressing me out. The old MUN nerd in me is struggling to be let loose. Of course, being roped in to helping with Pleasenterville Prep's team might have something to do with that. Though these children are so laissez faire about the whole thing that I sort of want to stab them in the eyes. Mo would have kicked their butts up and down the General Assembly Hall!
Mardi Gras is getting into full swing, I am excited about balls, parties, parades, and hanging out. I am somewhat less excited about my liver function and ballgown shopping. Well, not entirely, I love buying new dresses, I just wish I was buying them in a size 6. ;) I am super duper excited about having friends come this way from NOLA to experience our Mardi Gras without snobbery.
My patience for people that are negative when they should be grateful and happy is wearing thin. I can no longer have empathy or sympathy for people in supposedly good relationships with job security being overpaid bragging about their crap out of one side of their mouth and whine whine whining out the other.
But the Vacuum in Pearls Society have taught me to smile and nod and seethe quietly. The VPS also had me rushing home from work to make a casserole. Dear God, what have I become?

I am certain I will have more mirthful commentary later when I am not running on less than four hours of sleep and not enough coffee!

Happy New Year, or "Oh wait, it is already 1/2 way through January?"

2009-01-14T09:45:00.002-06:00

So welcome to 2009, it has to be better than 2008...or does it? I am sure as hell sure it will be better than 2007. Or the last quarter of 2005. But then again, due to a craptastic time in the attic and a major disaster I am not so sure that my standards are high enough.

2009 is off to a busy start. Like wish I could run away under the WitSec program busy. Luckily, I have this character flaw that demands I stay busy. In addition to my venture into the vacuuming in pearls adult sorority, I also have thrown my hat into the chair the YA section on the Opera and joined a Krewe and have made real friends. My "planning diary" from my very Coach Christmas is already looking pretty full through April. So if you want me, act now!!!!

I am also increasingly discovering that my job also entails grant writing, playing the next Simon Cowell to the Sophomore class, teaching parents to parent, informing said parents that I am not a one woman police department, being a psychic, and being in three places at once at all times. In addition to all the counseling, teaching, administration stuff I was already doing. But crazy me, I still love it. And on the days I don't, I recall that I work 7 hours a day (more or less) for 180 days a year, smack myself ala Gibbs style and move on.

On tap: Cirque du Soleil, turning others to the dark side, running meetings, Symphony, Mardi Gras stuff, Opera stuff, MAYPA stuff, possible visitors, find my dad a new job, finish decorating for Mardi Gras, finishing painting the downstairs of my house, several other ongoing house projects that may very well last longer than the mortgage (I just had to have my mother come and "help out"), and somewhere in there plan some much needed DH time and alone time so as to not go batshit crazy.

I leave you with this question/pondering point: What is the fallout going to be of a generation raised with few rules and friends as parents (who are too worried about seeming hypocritical to law down rules/consequences) who is drinking in high school at the rate we all did in college? And my bigger question: how do I ride this inevitable cash cow?

17 years 0 months 9 days

2008-12-10T15:07:00.002-06:00

That simple statistic is how one student that used to attend Pleasenterville High will be encapsulated in our computer system before he chose to take his own life last night. It is a haunting line, made more so by the ripple effect his death has and will have in the community. Or maybe more so by the effect he won't have. He was one of "those" students. Artsy instead of athletic. Emotional instead of a bully. Intelligent. Creative. Quiet. I overheard one faculty member say "Oh you wouldn't have known him, he wasn't the type of kid you would have been friends with, he wasn't outgoing and athletic like you". Which is like a knife to my nerd for life heart, because why does the brainy, creative kid not matter as much as the homecoming queen? Why is their pain, which is probably felt deeper, made to be something less? Sometimes I just want to shake people and tell them to reach outside of their little boxes and connect with someone, just for a second, because the person they connect with may need it more than they will ever know. 17 years 0 months 9 days, and I hope you found peace.

Finally I know what you are saying...

2008-12-09T15:06:00.002-06:00

I have had some many sessions with clients in the past where every sentence ended with "ya kno' wha' I'm sayin'?" and I would often have to stop them and tell them, "no I don't have a clue, I do not understand the words that are coming out of your mouth"!

Thankfully, YouTube has come to the rescue once again:

And I am also thankful that I am in a work environment where I (mostly) get what is being said in my class, except for that one bit of LOLZ note passing that ended up being a surprise birthday party for me anyway.

Ah Snoop said it best...

2008-12-08T11:12:00.003-06:00

Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice
Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]

Critical Juncture Part 2...
I made several realizations this weekend:

I need top shelf if I am going to try to party like I am 22 and actually function the next day. There is a reason it is mostly old people I know that drink (good) gin and do so in a sippin' manor.
Those gyrating movements you usually only see inside a psych facility are engineers thinking they are actually dancing.
Corporate culture is a funny thing that I will never fully understand.
This is not New Orleans, but it is funny how those of us that lived there are a period of time treat certain areas of downtown like it is, especially after a certain hour. What open container laws? Not me, not me I swear! But it didn't seem odd until the bouncer pointed it out.
Unpacking a whole house in less than a week is ridiculous. And it will only end with bruises, a lack of sleep and a cold.
No matter how mature and upper crust the teen is, you still have to do some cat herding from time to time.
My normally hectic calendar is made even more insane by the impending holidays. I am exhausted just looking at it.

Choose your own adventure blog...

2008-12-05T11:32:00.003-06:00

Insert your own long rambling post here about: the rustic charms of Thanksgiving in a trailer, traveling up to the farthest point in the state from this Catholic outpost of evil drinkers, life path realizations that you aren't like anyone else in your profession and really just need to get a PhD or suck it up and go to med school and quit whining about it already, the joys of buying a house, the panic attacks about buying a house, the realization that you are starting to see your 20's in the rear view instead of ahead of you (and subsequent meltdowns and moments of zen), and various snippets about working in Pleasanterville here.

Also, I feel the need to echo the words of one of my more astute students: "Edward Cullen is a fictional character, he is not real". I would also like to add that he is also a Mary Stu written by someone who clearly got a better editor somewhere between books 1 and 4. Don't try to find someone like Edward, he doesn't exist.

Nothing to see here...

2008-11-11T15:06:00.003-06:00

Except not, life has been a whirlwind of activity as of late. So much so that I have barely had time to breathe, let alone blog! Let's see:

There's been work, work and more work. I continue to marvel at how I don't just pass out on my way home. But I also continue to love every day I come into my office. And while I still believe Jesus is not fully awake at the time I come in, at least the sun is now up!

There was the Opera, which was amazing and included meeting some great new young cultural aficionados. The staging of Lucia di Lammermoor was amazing and to quote the local bird cage line "What is love but a kind of madness, equal parts ecstasy and misery?" and "This production at times borders on the cinematic. It marks an impressive debut for artistic director Andy Anderson, who conducts the Orchestra ." Rock on Andy!

There was Halloween where my costume went over better than I could ever imagine. Who knew there were so many True Blood fans out there? And my Sookie Stackhouse was pretty impressive and authentic, if I may say so myself. Though after a pre-partying spill (read: sober pavement dive), I thought I was going to have to change my costume to Beaten Alabama Housewife, but I rallied as I am (as the saucy French Maid stated) a regular ol' Steel Magnolia. I am probably plastered on countless Facebook and MySpace pages now without even knowing it. But it was all in grand fun. And I got to stay at the Queen and Crescent hotel, which is a great location but meh on the price. Sadly, I missed the post-nuptial gathering of my Prop 8 defying friends due to above fall and my car being held hostage by the valet, but I did get to see at least one half of the amazing duo on Saturday morning. The weekend also brought a lovely dinner at Herbsaint, a great room at Le Cirque, drink and nibbles at Helix and way too much fun that I won't even dare to speak about at the Red Eye afterwards. This is where I hope the pics never see the light of day. Making it to brunch at Eat the next day was quite the feat, and we took over most of the restaurant, despite attitude from the servers who denied us a reservation earlier in the week. But we forgot all of that with our fabulous server and the generous BYOB encouraged policy.

There has also been Christmas Jubilee which was a sight to behold to say the least and a visit from the in-laws who got to see the house and partake in a "Girl's Night Out", well just the mother-in-law obviously. I partook of the martinis and champagne, served by one of my favorite bartenders. She partook of the white wine, which was also a sight to behold and one of my own personal triumphs. Which if I think too long on is rather sick.

There has also been continued progress and egress toward the house buying, but I think things are firming up in our favor at this point. My main desire is not to blow chunks, but rather to smack the seller upside the head at closing and call him a...well something unpleasant and unladylike.

There has also been other stuff, but I feel I gone on long enough and will have more to blog and blather about later. Looking forward to American Turkey Day and also escaping to Huntsville next week (never thought I would say that, of course I also didn't think I would be buying a house in the other other LA).

I leave you with the best headline I have seen in a while: Herpes Lawsuit Drama. I think the plush Herpes makes the whole article. Not quite as good as Stagger Lee's OVPC, but oh well!

I suppose I should also mention, because I am insane and get weird cravings to try to give myself a stroke, I am also participating in NaNoWriMo.

On Hockey Moms

2008-10-22T15:22:00.002-05:00

While I still firmly believe that a hockey mom could beat up a soccer mom any day (not that I can actually find any here on the Dirty Coast), I sure as hell do not know any hockey moms that have $150K wardrobes suddenly appear in their closets. "Campaign Accessories" my tuckus! I am not saying a professional woman does not have the right to look good...key word being professional. But she should probably a) pick up the tab herself and b) not claim to be a plain ol' Jane if she's shopping at Neimen Markup. Even the hockey moms who can't sing along with If I had a Million Dollars (because they do), aren't melting plastic down at Sak's.

I should have tons more, and probably do...but this one got my goat enough to post.

Maybe it is just my sweet tooth...

2008-10-09T10:56:00.003-05:00

...but if someone tells me I can have a slice of cake that is guaranteed to raise my blood pressure and potentially kill me for $11.50 or a comparable whole cake that has restorative properties and will do good for me in the future for $5; well strap on the feedbag Cletus, 'cause momma is getting her eat on.

This is essentially the state of real estate between my old and new homes. Now I know there has been this economic crisis and people are foreclosing left and right and down by the folks in SWFL, it is a very sad state of affairs (which the whole state is in judging by the redonkulous amount of political ads telling me so in our combined television market). But thanks to an odd set of circumstances, my new home on the DC is pretty insulated from all of this. Jobs are actually being created here and the hopeful future real housewives of Bald Co. sure are still melting the plastic on their black Amex cards. My old home of NOLA is apparently still in a state of insanity since the Big K. House prices shot up after the storm. It started with the homes that weren't flooded and then it extended to the generalized "Uptown" area. Real estate became much more of a race game and then just a crazy elitist game. I was figuring the bubble was going to burst there soon, because there certainly was not the economy or climate to support it. Boy was I wrong. Now this is very very good for my friends wanting to sell their houses. And many might have to soon for those of them that took out shady crazy sub-prime mortgages (yes, I know plenty of the keeping up with the Joneses types that helped to get us into this mess and you may in fact kick 'em in the head if you want). God bless their hearts.

Meanwhile, I will take my Garden District 4/2/1 redone big ol' historic double galley home over your Garden District 4/3/1 needing a little updating and TLC home any day. My fork is ready.

Down the rabbit hole...

2008-10-07T13:22:00.004-05:00

Life just keeps getting curiouser and curiouser. But in a good way. Which I know doesn't sound like it would make sense, but I am weird.

Fabulous weekend with friends old and new. I mean fabulous!!!! Being doted on by ducklings and the amazing alike does wonders for one's self esteem. Not that I need others opinions to validate me, but come on, who doesn't like being worshiped a little now and again?

And while I love my job, I have just discovered that the Jesuit College of the South (aka the Country Club) has a post-bac pre-med certificate program. Why did this not come up on my search before? But Lord would that be a big undertaking. Ignoring deathbed promised made to my grandfather, I don't know if I am cut out for med school. Except when I think I am. Of course the certificate program at the CC would most likely cost more than med school at USA.

I have to dress like the Great Pumpkin this weekend. But part of that trip to the land of ice and snow will also involve getting one step closer to home ownership. Thus, I will suck it up.

Pleasanterville

2008-10-03T09:59:00.003-05:00

I really am not trying to sugar coat anything, and maybe it has to do with the comparisons I constantly subconsciously make between the Attic and Chocolate City to the Dirty Coast, but I really am in some sort of time warp Stepford land.

I say this with a giant growth of a "Homecoming mum" protruding from my chest complete with school spirit ribbons and football charms. The thing approaches the size of my head and certainly is larger than a bread plate; it required multiple pins to affix it to my shirt and even then the weight threatened to irrevocably stretch my polo out. This monstrosity was brought gleefully to the female faculty by the student council and headmaster. The sarcastic chuckles in my head are brought by those who are wearing it with unabashed pride and joy.

All this saccharine perfection at one point with become nauseatingly overwhelming. I am acutely aware of this. Until that day, I have to laugh to myself. The only downside is that there are few others getting the joke.

Cases in point:
At a meeting attended at the lavishly appointed home of the group's leader, I notice a gilded Torah on the "coffee table" (though I am sure no drink has ever dared sully its surface). I was already well aware of the faiths of this woman before this first meeting from having Googled her. I was not surprised in the least to find many illustrations of her Jewish faith scattered about her home. At the next meeting, she reports that dinner is served and we should help ourselves to the delicious pulled pork. In my head I immediately ponder if it is from a kosher pig and snicker quitely. No one else even bats an eyelash. Of course, I don't think these women have clued in to the fact that the woman is not Baptist or Catholic.

At a press conference that I got roped into by the Grand Poobah for this initiative from local (private) schools about drug use education. One of the muckity mucks talks about how his school started doing mandatory drug hair tests of all the students and they have had many positive results. I immediately snicker at this and realize everyone else is just smiling and nodding. Seriously dude? Not something I would want out on the news. Yep, we got lots of childrens with positive results on that drug thingamajiggy.

Sometimes I get the feeling that I am in The Truman Show and I am not sure who might be watching. Just as long as I don't start teasing and Aquanetting my hair, all is well.

Need more coffee...

2008-09-27T10:20:00.003-05:00

I took this headline:

Chunchula shooting kills 18-year-old, injures man

and in my head read "Chinchilla", which would have been much more interesting if you ask me. Say hello to my little rodent gun...

In other news, my week was full of stuff including the experience of a new "stylist" at a new salon. Now I will freely admit I was spoiled by the hair god that is DF, and was happy with the peeps over at Paris Parker, so it was no great shock that I was horribly disappointed by the Aveda Salon experience here forever ago (like Mardi Gras forever ago). And I could not justify running to Miami or NYC or East Exoticfuck to pay D $300 + to supermodel me up. So I just didn't do anything to my hair. I realize this was not just because of the expense or that fact that the incredibly hot gay man took his show on the road, but also because going to a new stylist is much like a bad first date. With someone who is fooling around with chemicals on your hair. And you can't escape out that backdoor with foil on your head. The ridiculous small talk, the awkward silences, the uncertainty of knowing that the other person is looking for...combined here with the inevitable questions of "are you married" "do you have kids" "oh, why not". Which, ironically enough, I am pretty sure happens on first dates here as well. Not to mention the whole "why did you choose here to live?".

Ya know, if enough people keep asking, I am going to start second guessing myself. Until I look at the price per square foot of houses and realize I work ridiculously little for more money than before. Not investment banker money...oh wait, now I probably am making more than some of them. Karma is a bitch. A hormonal pms-ing bitch.

It appears as though we will be hosting visitors this weekend and next and then traveling to the Attic the next weekend and then more visitors the next weekend. Somewhere in there the DH might be heading to Spain and I am sure I have a million meetings. As our friend T asked (between thanking us for being blue dots in a red state like him), "is joining the JL a requirement here or something?" Yes, T, it is. Unless you like social isolation.

"Little town It's a quiet village Ev'ry day Like the one before Little town Full of little people"...
Props to Belle, girl knows what she is talking about. But it isn't bad. There are all these little treasures that I keep finding. Like Chief Medical Officers wanting me to go to med school and sad they didn't "find me first". And owners of wine bars making sure they introduce us to "just the right people". And board members inviting us to all sorts of things and trying to get us to buy their houses or their friend's houses. Or the opera people wanting us to stay for the after party. The good thing about this quiet village, besides low crime and low cost of living etc. etc., is that is it easy to pwn!

Alright, dancin' shoes on tonight and on call for a duckling. Must consume coffee and food and get my show on the road.

Desk Nap Time

2008-09-17T15:21:00.002-05:00

Actually, I could leave...er have left and go take a real nap, but I have to have enough energy to get across (damnit I almost said Causeway again) the Bay (mind you there is a Causeway but it is not THE one that lasts for a million miles and goes over the Lake).

I love Saturday morning cartoons, always have and always will. Yes, I watch The Emperor's New School while eatin' on my cereal on Saturday mornings, what of it? One of the cartoons I used to love and even had the lunchbox (given to me, I swear!) was Recess. A delightful tale of a group of kids in a certain grade who used to look at the kids in kindergarten as little savages. Working in a school setting makes that all the more relatable. Battling...I mean "teaching" children in the 3rd and 4th grade Character Education is something akin to dealing with savages. Also of random note, George Lopez and vodka are both apparently popular in the 4th grade (and apparently I have my work cut out for me)!

I still am in love with my job. It doesn't hurt that my ducklings keep raving about me to their parents, and the ones who come for counseling actually acknowledge that I am doing them a service. This being appreciated at work thing is strange, new, and delightful. Oh, and one of the parents (who is a doctor) wants me to go to med school so she can crown me queen of child and adolescent psychiatry. Though I think she would hire me right this second if I was the least bit happy.

I know I am where I am supposed to be. I have not felt that way for a really long time! It might not be forever (because I don't think I know how to do that!), but it is awesome for now. I am finding tons to do, despite others whining about there not being anything to do (really, because my schedule book is FULL), and I have already won an award in one of my orgs and am chair of a mini-committee in that org and on a committee in the other one. Pretty much all of my Adlerian needs are being met, which I thought was practically impossible! Now if I could stop feeling like the other shoe was going to drop...

Damn lingering PTSD or PTNOLAD is more like it! Though I still need to plan a visit to the peeps there.

I swear I am going to post a humorous/intelligent post about real estate, friendship, race relations and more soon! It is marinating. For now, I really need tozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Take a Hike Ike

2008-09-09T15:23:00.002-05:00

Well, it seems as though all our collective voodoo powers against the storm has worked! Ike seems to be veering off toward Texas and Mexico, causing my eye to finally stop twitching. Gustav had me worried until it made landfall and then Anderson Cooper and the rest had me freaked out as it seemed they were waiting for levee failure. *Le sigh* I am ready for hurricane season to be over. One of the downsides of living on the Dirty Coast, but there are so many upsides.

For those of you wondering, Zack has still not asked Kelly to the prom...oh wait that is the other school with the same name. I am loving it here though. No two days are alike,(which I love), I am kept on my toes all the time (which I need), and people seem to really value me (which is shocking). Kids are finding me and actually using my services and feeling better when they leave my office. Faculty values my input and wants me involved in their planning and the security guard/police officer brings me clippings from the NY Times. *Squee* My ducklings really seem to be getting into the class and I am revamping the curricula to include more activities for them and I might even get to write a textbook (which definitely puts a leg up on grad school). And I only have to work 9 months out of the year? Are you kidding me?! I really see more and more each day why this is the holy grail of counseling jobs.

I am not going to talk about politics. It gets my ethical ferrets all riled up in my tummy. But let me say that I do feel you cannot be a feminist and a pure Republican. Voting based on body parts is also stupid. I am waiting for the first hermaphroditic candidate. I am also not talking about politics because it is becoming more apparent that there are many people here that think very differently on the value scale than I do. People that given their life circumstance, beliefs and family units I am not always sure how they came out thinking the way they do...I digress and I perfect the "smile and nod". And I also rarely turn down free food or drink no matter who is serving it.

On tap: football ('tis the season and I am loving it), events (so many it is ridic but I heart that), house hunting (have realtor and mortgage guy and houses we love), trip planning (big summer trip if I am not working at a camp, little one even if I am).

Here's to hoping the computer models don't start picking on the Bay again...
xo

No worse for the wear...

2008-09-02T09:43:00.002-05:00

Just a little soggy and the worst water we got was a driveway flooding. Oh, and getting pounded on as we went to feed F and B. Overall, we thought it was much ado about nothing, but that is a GREAT thing. Now, I just wish my eye would stop twitching. Somehow with Ike, TD 10 and ~~Invest 99~~ Josephine (are you kidding me in the time I started writing this?!) out there, I don't think that is going to happen. I know I chose to come back to the coast, and I wouldn't have it any other way, I just wish the media didn't help get me so hyped up. Here's to hoping I don't need Xanax cocktails for the next two months. Of course the thought of Miss L out on a ladder trying to save a neighbor's house from a fire, (note to Dennis Leary: Write this woman into Rescue Me now!) is enough to give the courage to ride out anything (as long as there are one or two gins at the end of it)!

On happier notes: I think all of our friends are A-OK. Our weekend was filled with lots of awesome football. We chilled for the most part (or as chilled whilst being high strung and feeling a little PTSD can be), which was needed and I have today off! Working for a school has its perks fo' tru'.

It's like that all over again

2008-08-28T12:34:00.003-05:00

Déjà vu "already seen"; also called paramnesia, from Greek παρα para, "near" + μνήμη mnēmē, "memory") is the experience of feeling sure that one has witnessed or experienced a new situation previously (an individual feels as though an event has already happened or has happened in the near past).

I could really do without these nice little tropical weather events. Just as I could do without "Disaster Movie" opening on the 3rd anniversary of the big K. But since I chose to move back to the Gulf Coast, I guess some things are just going to have to be out of my control. See how I am giving that up? Aren't you proud? Anyone? Buller? *crickets*

Just to put it out there, if you are reading this and need to evacuate from somewhere other than Lower AL, let me know. There is, not shockingly, a large amount of anxiety in the air right now. As evidenced by the insanity in the canned food/camping gear aisles at Wally World last night. I despise big box stores, add a level of hysteria to them and I almost curled up in the fetal position in Housewares.

Other than Gustav, potentially Hannah, and other calamities between now and then end of hurricane season, life is going great. We've had visitors who we were able to show off our fair city to and they saw its charm. We've been to the beach to chill out with other friends. I love my new job and have not found it nearly so GG as I thought it was going to be. I am meeting lots of new people who I am sure many of will become good friends in JLM and all in all, I am darn satisfied. And it has been many a moon since I have been able to say that.

Back to reality...

2008-08-06T17:17:00.002-05:00

My sort of self-induced and then notsomuch semi-retirement ended today. Not only did it end today, it ended with me being at work BEFORE 8:00. Yes, AM. I haven't done that in forever, and I would have done it today without the assistance of Tar-jay PM and the DH. My body does not work "normally", I have always been a night owl and thus get some of my best ideas in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is wasting time sleeping.

I think I will love this job. I know I will tolerate it. I have a pretty good hunch I will be awesome at it. The pay/schedule/boss etc. can't be beat. I don't mind the commute even if others think I am crazy for liking it. Hey, I get to listen to NPR both ways!

I do vow to keep up with my writing, not get sucked in to the world of academia and forget about my own education, and to give this job a bigger chance than my last official (read: not self-employed) venture. BGV wants details and they will be forthcoming, I am just not sure where yet.

The Myths of Order

2008-08-01T10:26:00.003-05:00

Growing up in the land of peaches, I had a sort of diverse group of friends, as much as one could have when one's HS marching band started out with only one "dot". Thankfully, I had lived in the islands prior to that where I was exposed to many different cultures (sadly I was also was exposed to the skewed way of thinking where the whites had maids/cooks/nannies/assorted help that were clearly darker than they and the darker the skin, the more menial the work). After graduating high school, I went out into the big bad world and made friends from all four corners of the world, many of whom I still hold dear to my heart.

Settling in the city that FEMA forgot brought me a whole new group of friends, the most diverse yet. Nearly every combination of race, creed, and sexual orientation was represented in my social Rolodex. And I really enjoyed that.

Then I moved to the Attic where every combination of everything was represented and I couldn't find friends. My former views of the land of diversity and culture were shattered, as I realized it was a patchwork quilt and not a melting pot or mixed salad or whatever metaphor you want to use. I went from living in a city where I went everywhere, and even if people looked at me curiously, they still came out with some good old Southern hospitality, once we found some common ground (which in NOLA is not that hard). In the Attic, I went places and people would not look me in the eye or wait on me or where downright rude. This put my panties in a twist fo' tru'! I am a social gal who likes to make a connection with everyone she meets. For all its Socialism, there was certainly nothing social about the people in its biggest "bestest" city.

So when I finally got to see The Order of Myths last night, after avoiding seeing it at the Toronto film fest for fear of breaking down into hysterics like I did with everything that reminded me of the Dirty Coast while I was there, I had got a bee in my bonnet about the Globe and Mail's review of the film. The snippet that keeps coming up the most is this:

"A study of community ritual, pomp and camaraderie, The Order of Myths also gradually unveils the startling connections between the two communities, where the great-grandchildren of slaves and the great-grandchildren of slave owners still live highly segregated lives."

Well yes it is true and no it is not. But it bothers me that a country who in many respects is so white and so segregated can hold itself out to be the example of diversity and poo-poo on a film that is trying to open a dialog for change.

I don't enjoy that fact the since moving to this city I have seen a lack of diversity in the social networks I have created. I am ashamed of the fact that a man was lynched right down the road in 1981 (but gee, he got the street named after him /sarcasm). I don't enjoy the fact that the white land owners of a predominately African-American area won't sell the land, but will only lease it. But equally, I won't let that be my history or my present. I didn't do it in New Orleans, and I refuse to do it here. I will seek out opportunities to diversify my social portfolio, and I will be just fine with the discomfort it may cause in the beginning. But then again, I am OK with making waves when waves are needed. Being a blue dot in a red state will do that for you. So will a giant "FN" on your driver's license.

I don't understand why the Courts of MCA and MAMGA don't formally meet (like Comus and Rex) or why they don't do something like Rex and Zulu. I would hope that is in the works. I don't think changing the parade route should be the "big change" that solves everything either. Zulu has its route for very specific cultural reasons and needs, and they shouldn't have to change it. But it does go through much more of the city than the rest of the routes. I also enjoy that nearly every Krewe in NOLA has its own Royalty and Court, but I don't know if that is sustainable here. Not to mention everyone knows there is only one King of Carnival (and I don't care how much longer you have been throwing moon pies *ducks*).

There are still a lot of gray areas about race and race relations in America, especially in the Deep South. But there are also a lot of young people that don't understand why there still needs to be such great divides. As King Joseph said, we do need to find more opportunities to break bread together. And dear Brittney, never let your spirit be broken. And King Felix, sugar, you need to pass a good time more often, dawlin'! People, as is often the case, just need to get off their asses and do something. I plan on bringing more diversity into my own life in anyway I can, especially in the organizations I belong to and I certainly plan to attend as many events for MAMGA that I can. And so be it if that means I don't get to wear a big ass hat to the other Queen's luncheon, that is what the Kentucky Derby is for! The Rebirth Brass Band has already said it best:

For further reading on the issue, and I am certain I will write more on it later:
LA Film Fest Review
MAMGA vs Zulu
Mobile Area Mardi Gras Association
Press-Register article about the Mobile Premier

Things I could be talking about...

2008-07-30T10:53:00.003-05:00

Politics
The upcoming NFL season
Gas prices and the environment
Karadzic in war crimes court
The collapse of world trade talks in Geneva

I could be talking about all these things and seem intellectual and whatnot, but I won't. I have read about all theses things on my iGoogle page and have bantered them about in the actual company of real live humans, so I am not going to talk about them here. Unless you really want to, and then leave me a comment so we can ensue witty banter.

Instead I will talk about what I have been up to lately, which includes:

A trip to the Attic to surprise my grandfather for his birthday. Which was awesome, because he is one of the most amazing people I know and he is still on it despite his age. I also got to meet my baby cousin, who I am calling my niece as her mother is more like a sister to me than cousin. She is past that alien/ohmygodputitbackinitisn'tdoneyet phase, so I was not creeped out. I also went to my first ever Stag and Doe. I am curious as to how it would go over as a concept on the Dirty Coast, because I think we could have made a lot of money off of it. Also some pyt in a Hollister shirt tried to take me home, despite "Matron of Honor" being plastered across my chest. His compelling argument: "I have a car". I felt 15 again. Downsides were too many people in one small house, getting berated about my childless by choice status (including a fertility lecture), and owing some ankle biter money for my use of "language" (which was mighty cleaned up thank you very much).
A trip to NOLA to say goodbye to the party HQ and to help my dear Goose move. I am glad she has her own adorable little pad now, even if a lot of memories are now only just that. Debated Commander's for dinner, if only just to mercilessly tease Mr. Askmeaboutmywiener, but ended up at Ralph's, which was awesome in every bite. I discovered I have passed the age of kegger and also discovered that I am OK with that.
Prepping for a court case that isn't happening when it was supposed to because some moron caught themselves on fire. Seriously? Yep, I award you with the title of special snowflake for that one.
Getting ready to re-enter the world of work, which has taken me back to the anxiety ridden nightmares of showing up for a final for a class I never even knew I was taking and others of that ilk. I am certain I will be steller once I get into it, and it isn't like I am making this my life's work, but I still like to kick ass at everything I do.
Tuesday night at the Flor-Bama. Got to see someone try to use a fake id and cause a scene. Also had a lovely dinner with the DH's oldest friend (as in has known the longest, he is actually a bit younger than the DH) and his lovely artist wife. We talked thinking about Med School (with all the "am I too old", "is it worth it", "oh my god the MCATs" being felt on both sides), life in colder climates, and how ridiculously long it had been since last seeing each other. Note to other DCers, food at Cosmos is awesome. Service iffy at best. We decided we should all take a vacation together, someplace without the paste eaters running about.

Upcoming:

The next few weekends filled with trips, guests, the beach, Beer Fest and more!
ATL this weekend, for a family event, but that is such a small slice of it. Excited to see old friends and Ikea. Side note for anyone in the greater ATL: THE CITY LIFE IS PLAYING AT THE 40 WATT IN ATHENS ON FRIDAY NIGHT!!! Be there!
I am so very excited about having a social life again! Especially since people seem genuinely excited about doing things! This includes: lunching with people I haven't even met yet in person about the PC programs at our respective schools, free tickets to events, getting asked to join another Krewe, going to movie premiers, brunching (which is one of the most fabulous things in the world if you ask me), joining committees for the young professionals group around here (where they love my imput from the YLC), and the JLM getting revved up for my provisional year! *cartwheels*

Possibly better than the original...

2008-07-15T07:46:00.004-05:00

In case you hadn't heard with all that New Yorker hullabaloo going on, Feist got all extra hipster on us and appeared on Sesame Street. I love when the famous take a trip over to the furry monsters at the end of this book. I also think it might just be a better version than the original song. I know I often just thought the song was about a) selling ipods or b) counting to 4.

I do enjoy Leslie (that would be Feist to all you non-hip cats out there), and I greatly enjoy Broken Social Scene, though I do have to propensity to stop enjoying bands as much when they go from underground independent musicians to overblown money machines. As much as I like for talent to succeed, I still cringe when it happens because I know that things will now change as labels and the public and the charts start to matter more than the music/message/fans. Which is why I tend to frequent places like last.fm and ourstage before I even think about turning on the radio (WWOZ being my always exception alongside NPR). I love discovering new music before it gets tainted by the masses. I even enjoy that any idiot with a computer and a band can have a myspace account, because if it is worth a crap I can listen, and if not I can move on. OK, so maybe my dream is to start an anti-label label or become a music promoter or open a venue for people who love music not for people practically forgetting to wear pants and going to get drunk while they stumble to some throbbing bass. The ability to access tons of great music and little known musicians is the one thing I miss about living in the Attic, though I have hopes that I could do it in another City (yes big C, as here is definitely little c). It is something I also miss about home, though that is close enough that I can, and have and will, travel when there is a show I want to see.

My questions to you out there is, what happened to music? When did it stop being about music? Can it ever go back? Is independent music even independent any more or is it merely just another genre for stuff that doesn't quite fit?

If you cannot answer these questions, stop what you are doing immediately and find a way to check out the following bands:

The City Life (from New Orleans, also see: Fay Wray, Antenna Inn, and Big Rock Candy Mountain)
Black Kids
MGMT
Meligrove Band
How I became the bomb
The Framework
Thirteen Senses
Golden Dog
Two Hours Traffic

"It's easy to be independent when you've got money...

2008-07-02T20:11:00.003-05:00

...But to be independent when you haven't got a thing -- that's the Lord's test."
-Mahalia Jackson (Queen of Gospel)

Here smack dab between between the independence days of my home and native lands, I find myself thinking long and hard about freedom, liberty and so on. Part of this relates to the feeling I and many of my friends have recently experienced or are about to experience: Life after marriage! Or maybe more accurately, life after the wedding. My friend choco-weasel just got her wedding photos and is in that blissed out state of reliving every lovely moment of the day. Ah, I remember those days and the easy Christmas gifts they provided (not to mention hours upon hours wasted with publishing software). Other friends and associates planning weddings have voiced their concerns over what they will do with their time after the wedding is done. This is a valid concern, as I feel a lot of young women put so much emphasis on the wedding that they forget about the whole marriage thing. Not to mention getting so wrapped up in planning one day for eighteen or however many months that you aren't so sure just what the hell it is you are supposed to be doing with this time you suddenly have on your hands. Plus, you find that you can't keep blaming your daily meltdowns on being a bride-to-be. Suddenly you have to start owning your feelings as your own on top of trying to figure out what your new role of wife is going to entail.

Life after the wedding is in some ways a let down as you put all your heart and soul into something that lasted just a quick blip in time. Which is why young women everywhere should realize that the wedding is not the important part of the equation, the marriage is. Focus more on the partnership and less on the seating arrangements!

Being the generation of women raised by the bra-burning generation raises so interesting paradoxes. Drilled into our heads were chants of independence, ability and equality. We are a generation urged to ignore the cracked glass ceiling on our way to the top, to never give up on our dreams of conquering the world and to never settle for second best. We can do it, yes we can! But I am finding more and more that even though we can have it all, maybe we don't want it all. More and more women are stepping off the corporate treadmill and becoming stay at home moms and housewives (and no, I am not going to call you a domestic engineer unless you went to MIT or GA Tech). Scores of young women are sitting back and saying, "whoa, slow down, I am not sure I want to be working eighty hour weeks and coming home to raise 2.5 kids and a dog". Which is causing plenty to make the choice to return to the vacuuming in pearls stereotype of their (great) grandmothers. Which in turn also causes plenty of those go-getter CEO types to turn their noses up and scorn those who "wasted" time and money on an education they aren't using. One of my friends was recently informed by her mother that maybe she was "just meant to stay at home and being a wife and mom" after complaining to said mother that she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with her life. This friend was horrified, certain that she was supposed to "do more" with her life. I have other friends eagerly awaiting the day they get pregnant so they can put in their two weeks notice.

So what does this have to do with independence? I think it comes down to in having choices that generations didn't have before ours ends with us being confused about our roles and feeling overwhelmed with trying to have it all. To be an independent woman who is married, to many, seems like an oxymoron. Which brings me to Mahalia's quote, in some ways it is easy to call myself independent when I have this nice built in (financial +) support system, of course it was easier to BE independent when I didn't have a partner. Being independent as a married requires effort to maintain your own sense of being and a steadfast belief in self. Not to mention the work that goes into ensuring that you have your own things to do and own life outside of the marital home (Junior League is an easy out for that one, by the way). Plus, you have to overcome the assumptions of your singleton friends who often are falsely under the impression that you don't want to hang out with them any more and that you can't come out and play because you have someone to answer to. Thus resulting in friendships after married life taking even more work than they did before. I am aware that I am a freer spirit than some and fiercely independent, and I have luckily found a partner that understand and celebrates this. But a big part of this is me having a solid belief in who I was before I entered into the covenant of marriage. It took me some time and self-work to realize that in getting married I was not giving up a part of myself, that marriage was sacrificing my independence for a partner, that I was gaining far more than I was "losing". Heed my words: you got to get right with yourself before you be getting with someone else!

Independence is not a bad thing, even for marrieds. After all, it is something our forefathers fought pretty damn hard for with some pretty nice results.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes...

2008-06-30T17:19:00.003-05:00

Yes, you may now cue the Rent soundtrack in your head. This is how long it has been since I left my heart in NOLA. I try to remember the long hugs and smiles, but really my mind is going more to the crumpling faces right before the truck rolled away. You can't understand the full bonds of deep and true friendship until you have experienced it. While I am closer now, at the safest distance I might even say; I still cannot stop from wondering where I would be if I hadn't made it through the first of those minutes. I have to wonder what has changed other than everything and nothing, as these two seem to coexist relentlessly. Time marches on, taking me with it, but part of me is still stuck in that moment and even more the moment nearly three years ago where my calendar pages became forever glued together with the murk from the flood waters. I have learned so much and so little in that time that it is dizzying. And the world still turns on...

For those of you wondering...

2008-06-28T15:06:00.002-05:00

How I ended up from the city that care and a bunch of other people forgot to the Attic to the Dirty Coast, I think this says most of it (comments included). I could easily be Mark. Except the Attic was too far away, which I think Mark will find of Beaverton (after he stops snickering about its name). Highlights that caught me in the gut:

"Anyone who has left New Orleans knows you have to eat/drink your way out of town, resulting in an extra bulge for the road". I am still trying to work said bulge off, visits don't help.
"He’s taught me how to Love/Hate New Orleans with the proper authority...they taught me over time how local it really is to get comfortable with your disgust about the city. I was regularly irritated with their negativity until post-K, when I finally understood their position of futility about our historic dysfunction". Can I get a witness? Amen, brother.
"Post-Katrina, I kinda lied to him...and said things were fine to come back right when I was looking at a dead dog in the road". Well we had the city telling us we had to come back, but I am sure we lied to others.
"I am looking forward to hearing his perspective from a city where the mayor isn’t Satan ...Some may say he’ll lack the ‘cultural’ stimulation but at this point, normal peace is the goal and not getting shot in the head on the way to get to the corner store sounds like a solid plan of action". Ah yes, I finally stopped flinching at fireworks and cars backfiring...mostly.

Some wounds never heal, some never should and some places just simply won't let you go no matter how far you try to move away.

But for now: Here where the pace of life is slow and the great event of the weekend is the Junior Miss not-a-beauty pageant, life is looking just fine from my porch swing with my potentially could be left unlocked door and my mint julep. Float on...

Nerd Alert

2008-06-27T13:34:00.002-05:00

In case anyone was wondering, I am a geek wrapped in chic clothing. More on this later, like everything else. For now I just had to share a sneak peek at what Joss Whedon, Nathan Fillion and Neal Patrick Harris are working on.

Also, I think I want to open a themed bar for nerds. If supermodels can open a themed restaurant, surely I can open a bar. Ignore the horrible tanking their venture underwent, I am certain it had something to do with the fact that models and model wannabes don't actually eat. Had they opened a coke-snorting, bulimia pleasure palace, instant classic. Oh wait, that was Sudio 54!

Further stepping into loafers and a pocket protector:

Random links to things disguised as my thoughts

2008-06-23T11:31:00.004-05:00

As I am certain I have stated before, during my mostly self-induced temporary early retirement and quarter-life (reaching to mid-life) crisis, I spend far too much time on the interwebz. Part of that is my random feeds on iGoogle (does everything really have to have an "i" in front of it now? I think I am going to start being iBluetarpgirl). These feeds give me fantastical snippets which I feel the urge to occasionally share:

I really don't want to kill my DH, but sometimes when I can't sleep because of his snoring, I want to smother him with a pillow. But there may now be a pill that will stop the need/urge.
My only reason at this time for getting an iPhone is if the New York Times decides to hire me. Which won't happen because I don't see myself applying. Or perhaps if this area of the Dirty Coast gets G3 or someone else other than The Times wants to pay for said phone.
Best cheap date in New York, but only if you don't end up dead or otherwise riddled with bullet holes. Also, every time I see Red Hook Ale, I think of Red Hook the neighborhood and I wonder if the beer will taste like grime, decay and truancy. I am aware the two aren't related.
I think the world has lost a treasure with the death of George Carlin, because not enough people speak their minds without fear of reproach or censorship. He is a genuine character in my book, and not just because I use his famous 7 words (at least in my head) quite frequently.
While I was fully prepared to roll my eyes inwardly in disdain and throw up a little in my mouth, I actually really liked the Junior Miss girls and think it would be cool to be a host family. Obviously, I have already been brainwashed. Much like the praying mantis, my money is on Miss Utah.
Geopolitical Alliances, Ethanol and Election Unrest, OH MY! See, I am not just reading fluff. Also please note, I find something eerily intellectually sexy about a politician of mixed heritage in shirtsleeves standing in a corn field. I think this has something to do with my love of geeks and being raised in both rural and urban areas.

In what is this world coming to rantage:

I think the concept of parenting has been obliterated from the minds of the masses. People are trying too hard to be friends with their kids instead of the adults/leaders/mentors they should be. This results in a new "me" generation with no boundaries, falsely inflated self-esteem, a horrible sense of entitlement and lord only knows what else. My only hope is that this friendship instead of parenting relationship will backfire horribly when these parents become to old or feeble to take care of themselves and their offspring respond with something along the lines of "Don't you have people for that?" or "It's not me it's you!" or "I can't be bothered with such things, don't you know I was an honor roll student?" or even better, they will be off disciplining their own offspring so another generation doesn't turn out to be just a bunch of special snowflakes.
I am acutely aware that the economy has taken a nosedive similar to that of an Olympic high-board diver who had one too many cocktails before climbing up that big ladder. However, if you are in the hospitality industry or the customer service industry you should at least feign some semblance of hospitality or service to customers. Which means you don't argue with people when they say you have gotten their order wrong. Instead, you smile and go change it and perhaps spit in their refill like old fashioned passive aggressive servers, because you might just need to keep your glamorous job at Denny's since your CEO stole a million dollars. You also sure as hell don't try to hold customers hostage in a parking lot because you might be trying to milk them out of a couple of extra bucks (or maybe the system really had been changed but you were out of markers and couldn't change the effing sign) unless you want to end up fired and arrested.

Both of these points remind me why I don't eat in chains, why I had to move and why I am not jumping on the procreation bandwagon like a lemming. Though for those of you out there that are willing to parent and discipline in appropriate ways, I am all for you bringing children into this world. Not shockingly, most of the people I associate myself with that have offspring are good parents (correlation or causation?).

I am going to go back to watching DVDs of television shows and being somewhat agoraphobic for the next 36 hours until my life jacket returns from the Garden State.

When a comment needs its own post

2008-06-22T16:23:00.007-05:00

In learning to be one who writes (because like AB, are you really a writer until you are on The Times bestseller list?), I have discovered that you have to be able to take hits unlike those in real life. In the world of blogging where opinions are like assholes and any idiot with a keyboard can pound out useless commentary, it is refreshing to get a comment of high intellectual caliber so much so that I had to respond to lovely yellowdoggrl's comment with its own post. The following comment is in response to my most recent post (scroll):

Keep in mind who this is coming from and everything she lost in August/September 2005.

Comparisons are pointless and destructive. Those suffering the losses will always feel like they are the worst losses. As for Senator Obama, perhaps he had headlines like this one in mind:

Iowa Faces Potential Crop Loss of $3 Billion
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/weather/06/21/iowa.flood/index.html

This will rebound throughout the American economy just like the hits to our docks and the Gulf oil operations did three years ago.

One of my best friends who lives in Iowa City had her husband spend eight days working on a sandbagging crew. She spent four. The other four she spent at her job at Oral-B trying to figure out how to get all of their shipments out when the interstate was closed. Her two children joined a little gang of kids who would be looked after by one parent while all the other parents were off sandbagging. Sandbagging which, by the way, was to no avail.

Entire towns in the Mississippi River floodplain were relocated after 1993 to further away from the river. it's been on NPR just this week. They weren't allowed to go back, weren't allowed to rebuild.

I'm not saying get over it. I'm not saying that it's not infuriating to feel that your pain and losses are being overlooked or minimized or dismissed (tell me something about that!). But what I am saying is that even if, if, their pain and losses don't quite measure up to yours ... ours... the folks in Iowa won't get over it either.

And nobody ought to be measuring the one against the other. Our hard-earned experience should have taught us to be far better than that.

To which I have to say, touche my dear. But I also feel the need to clarify that my point was that I feel it is stupid to compare any disaster/tragedy/blunder/plight to another because you simply cannot do it unless you manage to have experienced both in a real, personal and meaningful way (at which point I hope you have access to some damn good meds). It infuriates me that people feel they have to make the comparison and I find it as idiotic as me trying to compare Katrina to 9/11. Now I can compare Katrina to Hugo having lived in storm ravaged areas for both. I am sick of the monkeys at the networks who enjoy turning pain and suffering into a ratings game, and further livid at those sitting in their recliners munching on pork rinds that allow them to turn it into said ratings game. Which I feel is the entire point behind the throwing the word "Katrina" anywhere near the word "Iowa".

As for Obama, I would prefer a potential world leader to focus more on how can we try to make sure natural disasters aren't exacerbated by man made blunders rather than saying things that remind me of some old timer picking his nose going "yep, 'bout the worst I've seen since Bobby Joe got done blowed to bits down at the round track" (which is what it read like to me).

It sucks beyond comprehension and words to have your city/life/home flooded/washed away/burned down/robbed PERIOD DOT END OF SENTENCE. And not so effing ironically, I have had all of those happen to me throughout my life. So feel free to say "this is really terrible" or "I can't believe this has happened" or "this was preventable because while is the government sitting around in a circle jerk of war our basic domestic defense systems against the terrorism of mother nature is eroding" or even "clearly I helped Hitler punch babies in a former life" but do not say it is just like ____ and do not say it was deserved for ____ reason.

I feel for anyone who has experienced pain or tragedy (otherwise I would be in a profession where I could make some god damned money), but I don't like the piggy backing nature that the media is trying to pull. I call bullshit. I think people "up river" should be pissed, should be gashing their teeth and threatening elected officials in addition to grieving and feeling at a loss for their loss, but they shouldn't detract from their tragedy by pulling in someone else's. I often have to help people to "own their feelings" and it is kind of the same thing. Katrina was the coast's thing, this is theirs. I am aware it didn't come with a hand dandy name provided by NOA, but some PR person somewhere can come up with something, I am certain. In fact, I feel like if I was there I would be pissed that people were trying to put the Katrina label on it, because I want the focus to be solely on my area's plight. The only way comparisons should be made if it is engineers or governments looking at how there are repeated failures in levee systems and what can be done different (or done at all, as the case may be).

Perhaps my post should have been simply: "Disasters suck no matter where you are, I feel bad for y'all, but make sure you get your own label and don't use ours because your stuff is happening right now". But every once and a while I get exhausted from playing the good girl who is nice to puppies and kitties and says good things and is oh so caring. Things rub me the wrong way, and since that whole free speech thing is still mostly in effect and if it is so damn important than perhaps I should exercise it. We shall just have to agree to disagree, if even that, I think it is more in interpretation than anything.

Life isn't fair and maybe I am just an asshole with opinions wrapped in fluffy packaging. More opinions to come later, including those formed by the "parents" who felt it was a good idea to bring their sick toddler and 14 pre-adolescent children to a late showing of a horror movie and didn't seem to care that said toddler was sneezing and crying from exhaustion or that said children were using the stairs as their playground whilst talking off topic loudly the entire movie (aka I got beat and turned out just fine).

Edited to add: Y'all should really check out yellowdoggrl's blog as she had a great link to a facebook vid that I agree with (to show that I am not a completely heartless bitch), in addition to just being an amazing person.

Edited to further add but I don't feel like making a whole new post on the matter: Apparently great minds (sort of) think alike, they just use different words and ways of conveying opinions. Which brings me to a treatise on how language and meaning can be warped over the interwebz (because I like using fancy words with internet slang). Web 2.0 needs to come with an affect (psychological usage) indicator.

Maybe you just shouldn't live there...

2008-06-18T10:07:00.003-05:00

I try, most of the time, to be a nice person, I really do. But then there are times when I want to go screaming down the street stark naked and foaming at the mouth like some hit dog crazy folk (not eccentric, fu**ing crazy) punching babies. This is one of those times. Thus, if you do not want to ruin your image of sweet li'l ol' sunshiny me, I suggest you move on...

Hey chief, this is not your mother humping version of Katrina. It might feel like that to you, but to those of us who were there for Katrina or back before the city opened and are still dealing with the FEMA fallout, "oh no you didn't". Bless your heart, AP writers (and I do mean that in the original League kind of way), politicians and citizens for making that comparison. If you get to say this flooding is your Katrina, then I think I am going to start saying Katrina was our 9/11. And then I am going to wait for the justified ass kicking sure to come my way from the NYPD and FDNY.

Since of course someone already blogged about it better, I won't go into a full thesis on my anger but I had to point out this:

Since I've been involved in public office we've not seen this kind of devastation," Obama said of the Midwest flooding. He vowed to push the federal and state governments to provide needed aid to the stricken areas.

Were you fucking hanging out in a cave with Bin Laden in August 2005 or what? See, I could have sworn you were elected to the Senate in November 2004, but maybe I was wrong. Or maybe you are showing a frightening ability to only selectively remember things.

I know if you lost something in this latest batch of flooding, it may very well feel like the end of the world to you, but please stop making sweeping comparisons between the two. I could get into a tit for tat statistical roll call of how much worse Katrina was than the Midwestern floods, but I won't, because I don't want to be petty.

I will be enough of a bitch to point out that it seems pretty fucking hilarious to me that all those people that said Katrina happened to New Orleans because we were all a bunch of heathens are having to shut their pie holes when bad things happen in God country. Mother Nature doesn't give a shit about the belief system of anything in her path. Clearly the Army Corps doesn't either, because flooding in both places could have been prevented. Which means to all the people who said shit along the lines of "if they knew they were below sea level, maybe they just shouldn't live there", I bite my thumb at you, asshat. Shoddy infrastructure and lack of upkeep while the government plays cowboys and Indians in Iraq for an unseemly amount of money is pretty much ensuring that "natural disasters" and going to be continued to made even worse by man made blunders.

I understand that this tragedy may seem unfathomable to you kind folk up there, and you need to put a label on it, but please don't steal ours. I am sure the morons on the talk box can come up with some dandy tag line for you.

PS We are never going to "get over it" so quit asking.

Priced for quick sale/MethText: all the cool kids aren't doing it

2008-06-14T10:57:00.009-05:00

Quick, who wants to buy a building with me in East Harlem? And when did I get so cut throat about NYC real estate? I hope there are some consequences for the owners of said building. I still think Riverdale is the way to go, mind you and I also don't even know if I will end up in New York. I could end up in California (though I am still think SoCa much to the chagrin of certain google living peeps) or Philly or stay on the Dirty Coast. But wouldn't it be fun to live in the Big Apple and ~~run my home for wayward youth~~ have all my Big Easy friends crashing on the floor?

In an attempt for big cul-tcha dawlin' in the little city, we went to the Artwalk last night and I had an exceptionally good time. Highlights included art (duh) which was shockingly affordable, modern classic furniture from the most adorable new store called Parkside. Boo hiss to the horrid old matron who said the store was "just not right" and "too edgy" for the city. Really? Is it because OMG there might be teh gayz afoot? *face palm* I am going to have to check myself before I get kicked out of the Junior League before my "career" with them even starts. We ended the evening at Liquid, which is this great little sushi place with a very Hollywood and Highland meets Venice Beach vibe to it. Not to mention I find its sushi far superior to that of the joint down the street where everything tastes like rice vinegar to my "refined sushi palate" (insert laughter here). This is also where we experienced having to get yet another membership card to an establishment that wants to serve up fancy food and the devil's drink to dem there liberals (and there just might be teh gayz afoot again). Me thinks this was due to the burly ol' Statey that came in all flack vested up to "check in on things". I don't understand why the ABC Board had to send in some muscle head with all his riot gear unless they were thinking there was a grow house in the courtyard or a meth lab in the bathroom.

Which brings me to one of the topics I want to talk about: MethText. Now I am aware I did move from the glorious clutches of New Orleans where things are a little bit more liberal and lax and cosmopolitan and European and all that. I am also aware that parts of this Dirty Coast are more...rural. So much so that my friend K created the word "methy" to describe certain people with that look about them. What I was not aware of that it was an issue enough that the good ol' boys from the Sheriff's department (cue Bob Marley in head) have actually jumped into the 21st Century and had a whole new program where you can text to them about suspicious meth related activities.

MethText is an outreach of the County Sheriff's Office.
The ingredients for making meth--one of our community's deadliest problems--are readily available. That's why the County Sheriff's Office decided to make the solution just as easy to access.Texting is silent, safe and discreet with immediate results. MethText helps stop meth before it hits the streets--and puts the power back in the hands of law-abiding citizens.

I cannot make this sh*t up. And of course they now have this huge ad campaign with all the little old ladies and other regular ordinary people that have turned into superheroes by texting in about the evil doer meth people. By the looks of these people, I am shocked they even know how to text. I also love how on the website they tell you what to be on the lookout for, which is essentially giving anyone who reads the page an ingredient list for making meth. Brilliant! Not to mention the fact that you could buy all of these ingredients online and I think it is easier to just wait for the meth lab to blow its makers to kingdom come, because that is much more fun in my book than watching Barney Fife attempt to break down the door with a wiffle bat (mind you that might be pretty damn hilarious as well).

Edited to add this faboo little gem from my "breaking news" feed from the paper (once again I cannot make this crap up):

Make your own rosary
In Kimberly Winston's new book, "Bead One, Pray Too," Winston details the history of prayer beads in a multitude of religious traditions, as well as directions for making and using them. It doesn't matter what your faith background is, she said. You can claim this tradition.
(For a complete report, see Saturday's Press-Register.)

Because this is clearly such important news, one could call it breaking. /sarcasm

Get out your maps and pushpins ladies and gents, it duck and cover time!

2008-06-13T09:46:00.005-05:00

It is that time of year here on the Dirty Coast, the one said either in hushed whispers or panicked screams, that time of year known as Hurricane Season (cue scary music). While the official start was June 1st, as we ease into summer with more and more thunderbumping scary storms, people are beginning to talk/think/panic/muse about it more and more. Hurricane Season is that time of year where we all become miniature Bob Brecks (though he is quite miniature on his own), throwing around words like "tropical wave", "area of interest", "low pressure system". We do this all while rocking back and forth, shaking over our maps of the Gulf and wondering where we put fresh batteries for our flashlights. At least I do, but maybe that has something to do with the big K.

While manically running through the seventh layer of hell (aka Wally World) yesterday, I realized we don't have everything ready for "the season" (because if i say it like that it sounds more like summering in the Hamptons, instead of sitting in gridlock traffic hoping you ass isn't about to get blowed to bits). Perhaps this is because our last season was spent in the Attic? We do have our lovely all purpose panic bucket from Quake Kare (I highly recommend that site for any of your paranoid needs), but that is about it.

So I bought a little charcol grill and thought about all the supplies I should buy (canned goods, extra cat supplies, plywood, flashlights, axe, Glock), and also realized that we need a new weather person here on the DC to whip us up into the proper frothy panic when the time comes that some wave/system/depression/storm/'cane does come anywhere near. I am leaning towards Channel 5, since our viewing area is very large and I don't want a station that yammers on about that phallic shaped state all the time. Here are my contenders, though none of them will ever replace ol' Bob, Margaret, or Carl in my heart:

Alan Sealls: First off he is Chief Meterologist, and I think that speaks for itself. Secondly, muck like dear old Bob, he has a slightly whiny voice that was never going to make it to the anchor desk, but also makes him sound sort of like a muppet. I can only imagine what this will sound like when he is urging everyone to hightail it out of town or batten down the hatches.
Jere Hough: Is merely in the running since he looks old enough to have been around to report the Galveston Hurricane of 1900. He also does "interest pieces" entitled ~~Scenic Meth Labs of the Dirty Coast~~ County Road Five.
John Nodar: Is apparently a fixture at the station. 22 years in the same place? Really? I am in awe of this. I am thinking he might be a local character, but really I don't get up early enough to see him in action on the morning news. Though he was trained by the Air Force, and I think that might be a good thing if the Apocalypse is coming. As long as he doesn't have to shoot at anything, because I have it on good authority that those jet boys don't know which was is up on their rifles.
Jene' Young: On the whole she annoys me, but she has a cool name. I am hoping no storm gets bad enough that she is in charge of the ship.

In the meantime, I incessantly check my Google feed for the NOAA Hurricane Center while also looking at all the pretty colors on my favorite new gadget "Ibis Eye". I haven't figured out how it works yet, but all those areas of interest are certainly panic worthy!

In the ever growing list of things to blog about: the fall of customer service at dining establishments (aka you didn't say biscuit), do your parents ever stop mortifying you (aka this is why you should take your meds), ~~technology for good not evil (the sheriff implements meth texts)~~.

How y'all duuurin'?

2008-06-02T14:06:00.003-05:00

Good thing I wasn't going for that "post a day" thing, huh? The thing is, despite not having a full time job until the fall, I seem to have gotten a life here on the dirty coast. That and the magnificent things I think to blog about suddenly go *poof* when I sit in front of the computer.

Things I shall blog about at a later date: the state of independent music (aka Why don't people listen to good music anymore?), being a purple dot in a red state (aka I'm not Republican, I just play one at dinner parties), the longest and worst continual break-up (aka it's not the heat it's the stupidity of FEMA/Bush/Nagin etc.), ducking Mama Dixie (aka Do I look like I want to write romance novels?), and other mindless drivel you will most likely just glaze over.

Of note write now: Our A/C is out and has been that way for going on a week now with no end in sight. This brings me to a level of cranky flakes that makes Janet and Shelia from Rescue Me look sane in comparison. This also meant I had to take the poor fluffy wonder that is our cat to the vet for boarding since we are leaving for Miami tomorrow (insert Will Smith song here). Hopeful this will bring a week of sun, surf, sand, fun, relaxation and not a high Noon showdown with the fam.

Also, I had to share this with the world, or at least those that read my blog: New Orleans is famous for many things, including music. I am not sure, however, that "Sissy Bounce" is ever going to take off like Dixieland or Jazz. But, how can you not love something described like this:

Katey, with her band, Dem Hoes, is a former trannie prostitute from the Melpomene projects and her brand of bounce was especially shrill, busy, fast and practically avant-garde-- the kind of thing that can give you a seizure.

More next time, hopefully from cooler interior environs.

Generation Sam-wich

2008-05-20T13:05:00.004-05:00

Not old enough, not young enough.

I sit here not knowing what I really want to do with my life and blogging in the middle of the freaking day. I have had an email account since before I could drive a car. I have never had a cell phone that couldn't connect to the internet. I have a myspace, flickr, facebook, and multiple blogs. I think vinyl is retro cool. This all screams that I am a Millennial, aka Generation Y (which, according to a writer at Radar Online means this: They're younger. They're healthier. They got to do anal in high school. They think updating a spreadsheet while simultaneously posting to a Twitter account about the latest gossip on perezhilton.com is an essential corporate skill).

But yesterday I played good corporate housewife while fine tuning my resume and setting up credentials for insurance boards while having a mini-panic attack over the fact that the mortgage crisis might screw us over in the fall while prepping for my JLM open house tonight and looking over the latest photos of my friends' children while pondering if Mobile is the new Seattle. This whimpers Generation X.

Born in the shades of gray between these two generations is enough to give a girl a complex. Something illustrated at the shore this weekend. For the first time since starting to attend gatherings "on the island", we were the oldest. The ones that could rent the house and brought the boring items others forgot like paper towels and sunscreen. Of course I was the one that forgot to use said sunscreen and walked away a tomato with hair. We were the ones that "had it together".

This frightens the hell out of me. I don't want to have it together, because I damn well don't. Ignore the fact that I have always had it together and was probably discussing the stock market with my imaginary friends at the age of five and worried about the world to the point of migraines at age 7. On paper things seem to be where they are "supposed to be", but in my head I feel like am a drowning. I suppose this is normal for people my age that are rebelling against both the stereotypes of old and the indulgent future.

Part of this may come from the fact of being a generation raised by liberated women. Our mothers were not the vacuum in pearls Mrs. Cleaver types. They were the bra burning, march on Washington, fuck you capitalist pig types. They were angry with every right to be. Versus the under the surface simmering of discontent of their mothers. Which leaves this generation of women somewhat confused about our roles. "Mama didn't teach me how to cook or sew, but she did teach me how to do a line of blow" OK, not really, but there definitely was a shift in focus from that of home economics to that of corporate take overs.

We are a generation torn between the past and the future in a much different way than any generation since perhaps the Enlightenment or the Industrial Revolution. Our world is one of seemingly infinite choices with fewer and fewer consequences for actions.

My parents often told me I could be anything I wanted to be. This is a great and supportive statement. And I believed them. Too bad I haven't figured it out yet. Perhaps if I had a cool wand, things would be magically clearer...

Someone sells sea shells by the oil rigs...

2008-05-15T12:40:00.004-05:00

Clearly a plan to post daily has quickly been "blowed to bits". And not because of true intent, but more because I don't think anyone wants a play by play of the boring details of my life. Or because I don't think I sound cool enough. Though, according to others, I am cooler than I give myself credit for.

Heading down for a much needed relaxing weekend in glorious DI. Yes, that is said tongue in cheek. A tropical paradise it is not. A quiet island with awesome houses and not much to do when such a thing is needed is what it is. Sea, sand and friends. Plus, who doesn't love a scenic view of dolphins and oil rigs? Everyone else can half GS and OB, but I like my undiscovered island just fine. Even if the only coffee shop closed down somewhere between our last two visits. I have Commander's margarita recipe.

General musings of observations:

1. Why is it kids whose parents pay tons of money for tuition for them to go to fancy pants schools insist upon still attending institutions like Auburn and Alabama? These are kids who could go ivy league, yet they make a choice not to. And it isn't like they are getting full rides, and HOPE does not exist here (and I could mean that on so many different levels). So why?

2. How can a band that has so much energy on stage and make for tingly pants create a cd that is just kind of meh? I want to love it as much as I love them, but I haven't been able to yet. Of course I only bought the thing on Saturday so...

3. How can a city/province/country that is so puritanical and bo-ring generate such fabulous bands and music, especially music that makes you want to dance your ass off? I don't understand how these bands keep on plucking along when they play shows where no one moves. At all. Except occasionally to the bar for an over priced drink or a trip to the "wash" to do a line and make sure they have not cracked a facial expression and ruined their "I'm so effing cool I could die" affect/effect.

Enough already, I have final prep that needs to be done.

Insert witty title here

2008-05-08T17:19:00.005-05:00

It has been a week to say the least. I have found myself in the most interesting circumstances and "competitions", causing me to reflect on the whole nature vs. nurture debate. I still cannot come up with a definitive answer on that one. I do know that at some point, you have to be able to step back from whence you came and decide what you are going to carry on with you on the rest of your journey and what you are going to lead the on the side of the road for the scavengers to go through.

I also found myself back in the role of real professional counselor, and it was more than a bit odd after the past year. Most of it came back like that whole riding a bike thing, but I felt myself questioning every word I uttered. It was worse than when I was a student, because then if I made mistakes I could blame it on "still learning". I suppose any good therapist is always learning though...make that any well-adjusted person (see above).

I had all these fantastical plans for blathering (I mean blogging) on about music and pop culture and the idiosyncrasies of the South, but they fell by the wayside and got run over by the runaway train known as life. I will leave you with the following little bit:

Many people wonder what life was like up in the Attic, often making drastically wrong assumptions based on my birth locale and the constant need to label people (LABELS ARE FOR CANS NOT FOR PEOPLE!). While I may be a "half breed", I am still mostly damn belle! People often wonder what we did "up there". While the jackass part of me wants to answer "wrestle polar bears", the other part of me realizes the curiosity does not always = stupidity (nor does ignorance, but I will save that for another post). Mostly what we did up there was try to find a way out and travel. One of our main ways of doing this was by LEAVING THE ATTIC. A LOT! One of the most fantabulous journeys we partook in, other than the gigantic journey of going up there in the first place (and I mean that one every level), was to join up with some of our friends in the one of my favorite cities on the planet (I would say universe, but I think Jupiter may have some great cities). That would be NYC for those of you needing a hint. Since I have such talented and amazing friends (birds of a feather), one of them made a documentary. Complete with trailer. I am so very excited about it, I have to share. Even if it does highlight the "comfort eating" I did while fighting off the penguins in my igloo.

You do indeed only live once folks, so get out there and live it! Oh and there are dirty words, because it is f*cking New York, people.

In my head

2008-04-29T10:56:00.003-05:00

Since my self-induced and then circumstance forced early spate of semi-retirement (because I still fear that the emo kids will kill you at 30), I discovered I spend too much time online and too much time in my head. Neither is a very hospitable environment after a while. When running full speed at the marathon of life, I was an extremely outgoing and sociable person. I was in clubs and on boards and triple over booked all the time. This started in high school, where 14 hour days were not unusual for me. Of course, ulcers at 16 weren't unusual for me either...

In the past year, I have found myself become more introverted. Part of this being that my partner is a ramblin' wreck. Introverted is what he does best (other than engineering). Another part of this was the dramatic locale shift. One environment had the check out ladies calling you "baby", when they clearly did not give birth to you. The other had those ladies wondering what you were doing in the section of the patchwork quilt when you didn't have a guidebook with you ,and also couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that you had a reasonable command of the English language. Trying to speak to people in the Attic was a lesson in patience and was also a little like playing Russian roulette. With an extra bullet.

Which brings me to the past month, where spring has sprung on the dirty coast and my social butterfly tendencies have emerged from their cocoon in full, spirited force. Even though I am located much more to the East, I have found the social circles pulse in a very similar manner. Smile, drink wine, exchange business cards, get an invite to another event. Rinse, repeat until overbooked once again. This is great as it fills a need I have for social contact on a regular basis, but still leaves me hanging during the day, at least until the fall school bell rings and I will be faced with an onslaught of little darlings and their oh so pressing issues.

Though I have been enjoying my return to "normalcy" (or as close as I can get) on the weekends, I fear until the time of turning leaves (do they turn here?) I will still be spending too much time online and in my head. However, I am determined to use this time for good and not evil. We shall see how that works out.

Hiding under the tarp,

In any other world...

2008-04-24T08:48:00.003-05:00

I have lived in or visited many great cities in this world. Thriving metropolises with a pulse all their own. I have loved some of them and hated others. But I have learned from them all. What I find most interesting is that here on the DC, when I tell people I have just moved from NOLA and grew up in ____ and ____, most people give me this blank stare and blink a couple of times before responding with something I think translated to "why the hell are you here?". Which is a pretty damn good question when I think about it for too long.

I figure it this way, after a lifetime of bizarre circumstances crammed into less than three decades of living, I needed to step off the merry-go-round of life for a bit. Mostly before I threw myself off of it and directly in the path of an oncoming subway. Because as charming as my former life was, it was speeding toward more destruction than one (albeit huge) hurricane could bring.

Part of dirty coasting for me stresses the second part, "coasting". I need to just be for a bit without trying to keep up, catch up or whatnot. It is easier to be on the up and up here because there is less pressure, at least comparatively. Smaller market, smaller pond whatever. Sure it might cause this fish a little more shock later when I move from an itty bitty bayou to the ocean, but I will be better off for it. At least that is what I keep telling myself. Even if others think I am insane. But here in the South, we call it eccentric, y'all.

In another time...

2008-04-22T10:47:00.001-05:00

Back in my other life, a professor "highly encouraged" journaling and blogging. That brought me to LJ. I can't really say what is taking me away from that, other than I don't like where they are going with things as a company. Not to say anywhere is any better. Which is true about life. More importantly, I have to say I am not the same girl that started blogging there in the land before time. Thus, here I am. And here you are. Assuming anyone actually happens across this.

A couple of things of note: I live along the Gulf Coast (hence the "dirty coasting"). I lived in New Orleans for a good while, including during the big K (hence "blue tarp girl). I still love New Orleans with all my heart, and hate it for all of what is left of my liver. Voted "most likely to succeed" in high school has resulted in me just now getting around to that whole identity formation thing, I am calling it a quarterlife crisis, but I am afraid time is ticking on that one. I have horrible spelling (because I spent the first few years of my life learning British spelling from angry nuns). I have equally horrible punctuation (more on that later), though I am trying to work on that. According to my "rock star" friends, I am the least married type married person they know. I take that as a compliment. I am a social chameleon. I use firefox and open office but still use Vista because I am scared to mess too much with my beloved laptop. I love live music and support all my starving artist friends, even while being out of an official job for a while now. I love vodka but can't drink it angry. I love red wine, but I am allergic to sulphites. I am the somewhat unfortunate conjuncture of pretty and nerd. I am...more to come.

Law of the drawl,