The Aquarium

Camping in the living room.

2008-09-01T09:47:00.000-07:00

Unsurprisingly, Kakes and Deeds were ready for the storm this go-round. Having sheltered 17 different people and 10 animals during Hurricane Katrina, there are sleeping bags, extremely ugly afghans knitted by my dad's patients, hotdogs by the hundreds, and a virtual computer lab set up in the back hall.

But it's just H & L, Roux, Mesa, Mr. TT, and the Farmer Family here.

It's getting windy in Baton Rouge. The power goes out easily here, and my parents are at the end of a power grid or something, so they often get power back later than everyone else. This is prepatory blogging.

I'm going to fill you in on a few pertinent details and life changes:

1. I still work at the spa. I still work a minimum of 45 hours a week, which does not include my "lunch hour" in the total. I am very fond of the people I work with. That said, it does stress me out and take up a lot of my time, and my dollars-per-anxiety minute formula fails in that respect. But I have good insurance and someday I'll earn vacation time.

2. We recently (this past Thursday) moved to a new home. I am in the process of buying a house on Laurel Street from a friend. It is a great house--we really love it. It would have been awesome to spend more than one night in it before evacuating, but it appears we'll be back there fairly soon. We are able to pur chase this house because Stephan is buying me out of the Constance Street house. I hope he is satisfied with this arrangement, because it allows each of us to have a nice residence.

3. On that note, my divorce is almost settled. For real! It's been peaceable. Sometimes I have weird dreams that Stephan is dating a women named Josie and that I am trying to evacuate on a private plane and can't reach him via cell, but mostly we communicate and share the responsibility for Hannah and Lucy and try to be good parents.

4. This summer I learned many lessons.

a. Never take the fact that the internet is public for granted.

b. Trust is something that is easy to break and hard to repair between friends.

c. It takes men approximately 15 mpw to start regaining the physiological effects of running. It takes women 35 mpw.

d. Never trust a lab not to shit in the house.

e. Sometimes flouting convention is a worthwhile choice.

f. Nike shoes actually do deflate if you break the air pocket with your fat ass.

5. Hannah is now a middle schooler. She's in the 6th grade. Lucy is a second grader. They continue to swim.

6. Mr. TT and Clark (his hairdresser amour) have broken up.

7. We don't have a new guinea pig yet.

Okay. There's more to come but the power is starting to falter here on Pikes Lane.

I hope to run this evening. I'm now going to organize my magazine clippings. I'm sure the highlight of Stephan's evacuation is that he did not have to evacuate with me clippings or NOPSI bills from college.

Peace out...text if you want to run in the 225 with me.

Weiners for everyone!

2008-08-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

It's been a long day. I am accustomed to being the "calm" person in a crisis. Not in everyday life, but in a crisis. Today I have been a total nutcase. Seriously, between my panic attacks that I had to disguise as talkative spells and my running it's been upheaval for the spirit.

On my first run of the day I was completely unable to calm down. It was depressing, because at any other time in my life, running has soothed me. This time I kept having to remind myself to slow the eff down because I was on the verge of hyperventilation. People were boarding up homes in Baton Rouge, and I was also stuck on the Austin 2006 marathon training mix, which was selected while evacuated for Katrina. It bothered me.

So, then I came home and had several heart-to-hearts with my mom, kids, dad, Roux and basically anyone who would consent to spend 15 minutes with me. I also conducted a lot of business via text, but later realized all I did was be crotchety.

I was astonished to find my mother has a Facebook account, and I promptly requested to be her friend. She reluctantly accepted.

Later I forced my children and Shelby to come to Highland Road Park with me, where I ran a fast first loop, during which I thought to myself "It sure is dry" for about 10 minutes and then stepped into the midline of sludge that runs across the bowl before you run up to the tennis courts. Lucy ran about a half-mile with me and totally destroyed her shoes. Mine are ok, but considering they are less than a week old, are now fairly mud-splattered. It started to rain during my second loop, which mainly consisted of me cursing myself for running at a toxic pace in my earlier run and also running out of my comfort zone during the first lap of this run. But I persevered and when finished headed for Target.

Target was closed. As I drove past the Microtel Suites of Baton Rouge, I felt something was amiss. It wasn't just that I was not checking in at the Microtel Suites, it was that the traffic on Seigen was spare. That should have been a harbinger, or something equally weirdly named.

Albertson's was closed. Walgreens was closed. We wound up at a shady Tom Thumbish place buying Icees with a bankcard. There were so many 40-ounces and marjuana joints fired up that I got a total contact high and all I could thing about was Oakland '87, second set, third night. That's for Sara, if she's out there.

Now I'm at home, blogging. Helping my mom with Facebook. Watching my dad move stuff around. This afternoon they prepared hotdogs. Which, it would be good if that were a hurricane preparation, but it is not. They enjoy eating hotdogs on weekends.

I'm reading a book called "Towelhead". It's good. I'm going to end this now.

We have a lot to catch up on, internet. And not all of it is inappropriate.

"Guess I picked the wrong day to give up glue sniffing..."

2008-08-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

Above is one of my favorite quotes from the movie "Airplane". I love the movie Airplane. I love it so much I haven't watched it in like 10 years. I'm going to rent it and watch it today.

I'm avoiding the elephant in the room. No, not that elephant, THIS elephant. The one where I explain why I stopped blogging in May. We'll get to that later. More important is why I started blogging again in August.

Goddamn Gustav. I'm back in Baton Rouge with my children pre-enrolled in school and my cat, dog and turtle, Mr. TT. We just moved into our new home on Laurel Street in New Orleans two days ago. We spent one night at home and have now evacuated to a town likely to get just as much nonsense and BS from this weather system as New Orleans, but without the part about being below sea level and surrounded by water on three sides. I'm minus a husband this time, but our divorce is going fine, thanks. Stephan flew out of New Orleans to Florida this morning and will be staying with friends.

I'm not planning to drive to Destin to deliver the kids to him this weekend, but as soon as the dust settles we'll figure out what's going on. Ideally in New Orleans, where the levees will miraculously hold.

I'm kind-of pissy right now. If you've never read my blog before, this may not be the right day to start. Hopefully my tone will improve.

And yes, I plan to run at Highland Road Park today if anyone cares to join me.

No more motorboating.

2008-05-18T18:44:00.000-07:00

I'm so sad. This morning when I woke up I noticed that Chippy had not eaten the carrots I left for her last night. This is unusual, as even if she doesn't EAT them, she will usually fling them all over her cage. I called her name and she remained rolled tightly in a ball inside her wooden house. When I reached into get her she just snuffled a little and once I picked her up I knew something was wrong.

My immediate thought was "she's dying." In an attempt to not be a hysteric, I tried to get her to drink some water. When she wouldn't, I started to get upset. Chapter 5 in my guinea log book talked about how because guinea pigs are prey animals, they usually hide signs of illness until it is too late. Lucy woke up, found me ministering to Chippy, and completely freaked out.

We spent several hours (and lots of money) at the emergency vet hospital out in Metairie, where they saw her and said she just seemed listless and dehydrated. She got some intravenous fluids and vitamin C and they sent us home.

Horrible feeling being sent home from the hospital when it winds up this way.

We cuddled her up in her cage and Lucy went over to Colleen's house. I was in a hobbity mood because I had been holding my little guinea pig all day and I felt something inevitable coming down the pipeline. Chippy started having seizures around 3:15 pm and died between 4:30-5:00.

I really loved my little guinea pig. I never knew I would, but I did.

Needless to say, so did my children.

She's in an Yves Delorme teatowel and a shoebox right now until I can bury her tomorrow.

Trite though it may be, I'm reminded that I've often been the recipient of special little souls that come to me unearned and mark me indelibly.

Sometimes things aren't so easy to explain...

2008-05-16T04:41:00.001-07:00

My friend Christine just got a new puppy. His name is Max and he is a Golden Doodle. His mother is a Golden Retriever and his father is a...POODLE! As a general dismisser of all things poodle, I fully expected to have to feign affection for her dog whilst gritting my teeth against my prejudice. On Wednesday night we met on the Tulane soccer fields and played with Roux and Max while Hannah and Lucy had swim practice. And I have to admit...I'm smitten. He's seven weeks old and sweet and clumsy and HALF POODLE. He looks a little like a Chesapeake Bay retriever, but with longer hair. Which he won't shed. Because poodles don't.

It's like God took the only good thing about poodles and combined it with the very best things about golden retrievers.

I suspect this is not an isolated incident.

The Big Easy Bandanas

2008-04-23T20:40:00.000-07:00

A photo of two of the Big Easy Bandanas before our first run of the day on Monday.

Everyone we saw running the streets of Baton Rouge thought we were European.

And I'm back to running...in the illustrious words of another charter member of the BEB's

"GIT SUM!"

Dang, dude.

2008-04-16T20:17:00.000-07:00

My grandmother's birthday is on April 15th. I called her yesterday from work to wish her a happy birthday and make plans to go see her after work today. Every conversation with my grandmother is totally confusing for everyone involved these days, and it's not wholly due her age and comprehension. My dad's youngest sister cares for Alma 24/7 and serves as a gatekeeper. And my aunt, while probably qualifying for partial sainthood with her caregiving duties, has a long history of sort-of random and difficult communication. And that is a story for another blog another day. But the datemaking conversation went like this (with three people on the phones):

"Hey, it's Kristin...can I wish Grandma a happy birthday?"

"Well, she's sleeping."

"Oh, ok. Don't wake her up. Can we come bring some cake tomorrow after work?"

"Well, you already woke her up with the phone so let me see if she wants to talk."

"MOTHER! Wake up. It's Kristin."

"Hellloooooooo?"

"Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

"Who is this?"

"Kristin. Are you having a good day?"

"Well! When did you start using the telephone?"

"MOTHER! It's David's daughter...Kristin!"
"Oh, yes...ha ha ha."

"Grandma...did you eat anything good today?"

"I love ice cream."

"Who is this?"

"She can't hear you, Kristin. Lemme call you back."

"That's fine. Just call the work number and ask to speak to me."

"Where do you work?"

"I work at the Spa now..."

"When did you start to work?"

"Hey Grandma! The place I work at reminds me of H2O where you get your hair cut."

"Helloooooo?"

"Well, who do I ask for?"

"Ask for Kristin Depp."

"That's your name now?"

"Yes."

"Oh, alright."

"Who is this?"

Anyway. After work Hannah, Lucy and I went out to Metairie, woke Grandma up and hung out for a while. She sometimes thinks that Hannah and Lucy are me and Nanny, but this time she didn't. But she thought I was a very nice stranger who brought her petit fours and freesia unexpectedly.

And Grandma's House has gotten weirder and weirder as she has become more infirm. Because Johnny Depp is actually related to us there is a Pirates of the Carribean shrine in the living room, which used to be very formal (the living room, not the shrine) and cause my cousins and I anxiety when she was in the old house. It was only used for Christmas and when strangers came over. Now it is some of the same furniture but accessorized with gigantic pirate ships and movie posters and stuff. Lucy loves it. She ignores everything else and plays with the pirate figures the whole time. Hannah tends to chat with Grandma and my aunt about Newman because my dad and his siblings all went to Newman at some time or another during their schooling.

Here was part of our vital conversation:

"So, have you had any crawfish yet this year?"

"Mother won't eat crawfish...so no."

"Who won't eat crawfish?"

"You don't care for crawfish."

"I don't?"

"Mother...do you want to have some crawfish?"

"No, I don't believe so. I don't care for crawfish."

"Right."

"We bought some crawfish already boiled from Langensteins the other night. I'm too lazy to peel it and just eat the potatoes, but the kids ate it up."

"People mother's age don't like crawfish--they think it's dirty."

"Oh...I never knew that."

"Grandma, what are you going to eat today for your birthday?"

"Well, I expect we'll have some ice cream. And I like bacon and eggs."

"That sounds good to me. What about cake?"

"I don't know about all that."

"Hannah...do you know anyone with the last name Hart at Newman?"

"Ummmmm...it sounds kinda familiar."

"There was a Max Hart in her class but he moved to Atlanta after the storm."

"I know him! I grew up with him--they were on Northline."

"Well, it is probably his son...the Max Hart you grew up with would be too old to be in the 5th grade."

"True. He was a nice kid."

"How do you feel about the Saints this year?"

[My grandmother was an avid Saints fan for years, though they had a brief break-up after the whole "Hoot there it is/Cha-Ching" season back in the 1990's. Now she is back.]

"WHAT? Is it time for that?"

"No, not yet...but they'll start practicing soon."

"I hope they practice a lot."

Shortly thereafter we gathered our stuff to go and Lucy went to hug Grandma. And suddenly everything clicked and she said "Lucy! I need another hug!"

My grandmother has 6 kids, 19 grandkids, and 15 great grandkids right now (I think...there always seem to be more incubating.) When I was young, she made the world's best fried chicken and sweet potatoes. She lived in a big ole house on Nassau Drive in Old Metairie and the backyard was so big (in our young eyes) that I was always convinced that gorillas lived in the way back, behind the dog runs. There was also a playroom on the second floor that I was terrified of being locked in. It had such awesome toys to play with, but my cousin Anne was always slamming the door and holding me in there. Alma always wears beautiful shoes and a pin on her sweater or jacket when she dresses up. She used to take us to Burger King and McDonalds and let us get the glasses that had Grimace or some Disney character printed on it. She babysat my cousins every weekend for probably like the first 12 years of their existence. When I told her I was pregnant in college she told me babies are always good news, one way or another. And when Josh died she said she felt better about her tomb knowing someone sweet like him was waiting for her.

She totally rocks the party and I know she won't be here much longer. So here's to being 93 and knowing that you like ice cream and bacon and being too polite to ask who the strangers in your bedroom are.

Alma Cates has got some good genes.

Wait for it...

2008-04-14T16:12:00.000-07:00

For those of you that have been bored by my blog as of late, prepare yourselves. It is time for a good old-fashioned Rant.

First, I spent all day in a seminar about personality types. The Spa is having a year-long initiative to integrate our philosophy into every aspect of the business. Everyone employed by the Spa attends myriad conferences and learning groups on various aspects of service within our industry. Obviously, the higher you are in the feeding chain, the more you need to learn and know. All of this training is based on different personality types and learning styles.

I will admit to nerdily enjoying the process because it is teaching me a LOT about myself (1. I talk excessively. 2. I have problems with time management. 3. I am an excellent negotiator. 4. I tend to fear failure and judge myself critically, and because of this I tend to be frustrated and resent those who critisize me because I expect them to understand that I already know I am a loser.) But these learning days get long and I am tired. And completely frustrated with thinking about other personality types.

Why can't everyone just be exactly like me? It's so much easier. Really.

Anyhow, I just got back from my run. As I was coming off the levee towards the Fly a train was approaching so I jumped over the tracks and onto Walnut Street on the Fly side. As I've run around there a bunch of times, but not recently, I did my best to sort of slink through the bushes and wind up in the Zoo parking lot as quickly as possible and get back to my running. Unfortunately, I went through the wrong bush and wound up in the front part of a yard. I backtracked and was heading back out onto Walnut when two wide-eyed people in sweatsuits shot out of their garage (which they opened with a garage door opener) and said "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" Taken aback I said "I'm sorry...I thought I was on the path back over to the park." "Well you WEREN'T." "I know, and I'm sorry." "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" "Well, I'm running." (I mean, come the eff on...I'm in running clothes and jogging on the perimeter of your yard...what do you THINK I am doing? Casing the joint?) "Well, we don't like people running in our yard." "I'm really sorry. I didn't do it on purpose, and it won't happen again." "Well, you're not very careful OR very polite." "I'm sorry." "You SHOULD be. It's RUDE."

I stood there and they looked at me and I looked at them and I finally said "It was an accident." And ran off. And I festered and fumed and sputtered through the park. I hate people who just won't fucking let something die. It was an accident. I apologized before they even accused me of whatever it was they were ultimately accusing me of. I assured them it would never happen again. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. These stupid asses needed me to understand that they thought I was not careful OR polite.

Well, I think you're a bunch of crappy old DOUCHEBAGS, how about that?

I can totally see how it would be annoying if joggers constantly crash through your bushes. I bet it sucks. But I'd be willing to bet that the Zoo, the joggers and Walnut Street existed before those curmudgeons moved in. And when you move into a location like that I think you probably automatically cede a little of the privacy and personal space that someone on State Street takes for granted.

And then I began analyzing the situation based on my personality type and on the turds' personality types and on the personality types of people who run and those who use garage door openers and I eventually became so annoyed with myself for even giving a shit that I managed to run like a mile and half without even paying attention to where I was (careless AND not polite.) By the time I got myself back in order I was on St. Charles and I was almost run over by a Loyola Security Van that vroomed into the median after making eye contact with me.

Luckily, my personality type allows me to dismiss this stuff as so much crap and I'll forget about it shortly. But not before I take a shower and think seriously about feeding Roux enchiladas and taking him on a walk over to the driveway off Walnut Street.

Tipping.

2008-04-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

People have their own theories about tipping, and by and large I used to stay out of it. After waiting tables and briefly tending "bar" (which was really just pulling beers for lawyers after work and the occasional bloody mary or Jack and Coke at Rendon) I developed an even finer appreciation for the work that goes on behind the scenes at restaurants, and started doing things like tipping the bartender that hands me my food for a pickup order and stuff like that.

Anyhow, this is another industry entirely. Because all of the monies taken in at the Spa are received in the retail portion of the business, one of our duties is to collect and distribute tips. It's not such a big deal, really, it just involves asking politely if the client would like to add gratuity to their payment. Being the middleman for this transaction, however, has given me a degree of insider information about how people tip.

And some people SUCK ASS as tippers.

Someday I will tell the story of the first time I got a bikini wax and accidentally got a Brazilian from a non-English speaking esthetician who only seemed to understand the word "STOP" 15 minutes after the process was completed. But that is for later. The reason I bring up bikini waxes is because I strongly believe that if you are asking someone else to take care of your "personal" grooming, you need to tip generously. Failing to do so, in my opinion, is just rude. I have been astonished at the number of women who will tip $2.00 on a Brazilian. $2.00 is an appropriate tip for an eyebrow wax. Not a bikini wax. And ESPECIALLY not a Brazilian! Good Lord!

If you can rustle up the money to pay someone to lay hands on you or trim your shrubbery, please be kind and set aside an appropriate tip. There is some sort of saying about Mercedes that I recently heard...something along the lines of "If you can afford the car, you don't worry about the service cost." The same should be true of bikini waxes.

Salt Glow

2008-04-08T18:03:00.000-07:00

Around 2pm the spa director at work approached me and asked if I would like to guinea pig for Salt Glow training. As I've mentioned before, one of the perks of my new position is the constant exposure to spa treatments in the name of training. I very emphatically said "YES!"

3:35 found me nekkid on a massage table with four female massage therapists scrubbing my body down with almond oil, cornmeal, and salt. It was awesome, although I smelled like a large pretzel at the end. Because there were four different sets of hands involved, it was actually sort-of surreal. Everyone has their own style of "scrub and rub" so my right leg was getting a different treatment than my right. After you're thoroughly salted and scrubbed the therapist sends you into a hot shower to degrease and then you get a final rubdown with moisturizer. I was so relaxed afterwards that I could not even raise my energy level high enough to pretend to be a pain-in-the-ass customer, which I am fond of doing.

So I spent the last 45 minutes of my day at work with wet hair and a glazed expression.

And my run? I felt like my legs were running 2 feet ahead of my body all the way down Carrollton and up the levee to the Fly. Finally somewhere on the fly I started to feel like I was somewhat coordinated and the rest of my run was fairly productive. I did accidentally ignore Randy Hanning because he caught me during a pickup.

And I'm surprised I didn't leave a trail of almond oil behind...all the moisturizers and unguents from my massage left me feeling like a garden snail.

BTW, I'm still in the fat kid phase of being out-of-shape, even though my pants fit again. There is just enough residual pudge to make me feel especially awkward. I'll be happy when I can shed my extra layer of fat, and thus my extra layer of clothing. I'm tired of wearing a symbolic hair shirt (in the form of a t-shirt) for jogs.

"Bony in the Kenyan way"

2008-04-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

Last night a friend of a friend stayed over at our place. He was in town to race and hopefully break a record at the Mississippi Bridge Run.

His brother described him as follows:

"Evance kipchumba about 5.8,bony the kenyan way we look alike,black,smiley guy..2 time world X"

As hard as we laughed at that description, it could not have been more apt.

The photo above is Evance and Santilla at Slice after we all went for a run in Audubon Park. Santilla had earlier questioned whether or not Evance was black. Upon meeting Santilla Evance said "Hi. I am Evance. And I am black."

He chatted with Hannah about running and swimming and was the quietest, neatest houseguest I have ever entertained. He praised our house, saying "I like your home. It is warm."

In case you think he was commented on the ambience, he was not. He meant the house was literally warm.

He won the race but didn't get the record. I know I am not alone in saying he is welcome back here next year if he wants to try again.

This glass is approximately 51% full

2008-04-04T05:19:00.000-07:00

Blogger.com now has an offer to translate my blog into my Native Indic Script. That seems pretty cool for Native Indics. In my case, blogger might offer to randomly scatter flying semicolons and add extra vowels to words. Since I don't speak any other languages or anything. Even though I yelped "Petit peu, petit peu" to a French dude at work the other day who started jabbering away in French to me at the desk.

Last night Tim and I went to Clancy's and bothered the bartender. We've done it before, we'll do it again. Tim's birthday is Saturday and since he's my mechanic I wanted to celebrate. We both ate shrimp--his grilled with grits, mine remoulade. We laughed, we cried. Well, we didn't actually cry at all, but we marvelled at the propensity for spite, malice, and plain old unhappiness in others.

I have a hard time understanding people who continually make the choice to be morose. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy to continually tell yourself how hard life is.

Yeah, it's hard.

But if you spend enough time laughing it's certainly more fun.

I suggest everyone get a guinea pig. How can you be morose with someone motorboating around your house?

(Chippy is probably a little tired from the deep talk we had when I got home last night. I know Roux has indigestion from my shrimp leftovers. I woke up in my socks and a t-shirt for the Old Man River half-marathon of 2004. All is well (and not morose) on Hickory Street.)

Motor-boating

2008-04-03T04:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday during my lunch break I walked across the street to CC's (where I tip generously on my bottles of water because I stubbornly occupy their pleather lounge chairs for 45 minutes a day despite loathing coffee) and settled down to do some research on guinea pigs.

We've touched on my bizarre love of Chippy before, and I will admit to purchasing a book "for Lucy" that I have begun toting about with me. There is no need to delve further into it because it is readily apparent in my day-to-day conversation.

Anyhow. I found the chapter on communication especially interesting. According to the book, guinea pigs chirrup, chut, chutter, drrrr, prrrr, scream, tweet, wheek and whine. For you information, I thought Chippy just squeaked a lot.

My very favorite description is as follows:

"Motor-boating describes the cheerful vocalizations a content guinea pig makes as he moves about his cage or explores his surroundings during out-of-cage time. The noises sound similar to those made by a trolling boat motor at low idle."

"It feels like...like...like"

2008-04-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

Lucy was sick today. She spiked a fever of around 102 and I kept her home from school with me. After getting Chippy a new water bottle at Petco we stayed close to home while she incinerated whatever was ailing her.

Around 8:45 I turned out all the lights in an attempt to get her to sleep. She was already anxious because she slept all day, and was afeard of not being able to sleep during the night. After a few fitful turns, she sat up and burst into quavery tears.

"Mommy, something is wrong with my neck."

"Your neck?"

"Yyyyeeeeessssssssssssss...it feels bad." (wahhhhhhh)

"Can you describe how it feels?"

"It feels like something is caught in it."

"Like in your throat? Does your throat hurt?"

"Yessssssss. It feels like something is stuck inside and won't go down."

"Lucy, does it hurt to swallow?"

"It feels like...(wahhhhhhhhhhhhh)like...(wahhhhhhhhhhhh)"

"Lulu, just try to explain to me what it feels like."

"It feels like there is a NERD stuck inside."

I held it together for about 30 seconds and then a small attack of laughter escaped, at which point Lucy cried even harder.

"It feels like there is a NERD stuck inside." (Nerd candy by Willy Wonka, of course.)

A pea. A piece of cereal. A BRICK, for God's sake. But a NERD?

PS--all ended well 20 minutes later when she fell dead asleep, any and all Nerds apparently quelled for the night.

April Fool's Day!

2008-04-01T17:58:00.001-07:00

Oh, Bloggees!

I should have figured Doug Holmes would rat me out first. I am NOT quitting blogging. In fact, I'm about to start blogging daily again. before you get congratulatory and ask me about my new laptop, I don't actually have one. I have just spent the last 6 weeks of my life learning how to use my time wisely.

In addition to using my time wisely, I have also begun the sometimes ardorous process of reloving New Orleans. When Stephan and I first seperated I was operating under some type of denial/random craziness where I decided to daydream about Boulder and babies and peanut butter and a lot of other nonsense.

I also stopped running, partially by lack of will (I was struggling during Mardi Gras to get myself out of the house to do ANYTHING) and then by time constraints. Luckily, over the past two weeks all the residual CRAP left in my body by FRICKING LOESTRIN 28 appears to have disappeared and I can both button my pants and have the desire to do more than stare at the floor. And now that I can budget my waking hours, I am also running again.

Thank God. And I mean that, really. Because I am a much happier person for it.

I'd love to stay and catch up more tonight, but Housewives of NYC is on, and those women are so bitchy and pseudo-cultured that I must watch! I miss the days of boob jobs and tanning from Orange County, but I do admit I am scintillated by these women and their lives.

Bear with me on the blog header. I don't like it yet, either, but it'll be a while before I am able to get enough good pictures of the New Orleans I love to permanently affix.

Affectionately,

The End

2008-04-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Bloggees:

I've been thinking a lot about my blog, or lack of blogging over the past six weeks. I've done some soul-searching. It really is a shallow and immature pasttime. And goodness knows I don't need any help being more egocentric.

I've decided to stop blogging forever. In my spare time I am going to try and do Good Works. To give back to society. I'm going to read "O" Magazine and eat wheatgerm pancakes. I'm going to try and help people who haven't found religion. I'm going to stop taking baths in order to conserve water. I really want to help make the world a better place.

I've also decided to stop running because it is a frustrating, non-rewarding pursuit. I'm tired of doing so much laundry. And Jesus recently asked me if I am a Clydesdale yet. It just offers me nothing but pain. I am going to take up a new sport. I'm considering Pilates or ballet, both of which would make good use of my excellent coordination.

So, it's been fun. Goodbye, Bloggees, Goodbye!

Furry golfballs with beady eyes

2008-03-19T04:10:00.001-07:00

Dear to my blog,

I miss you, friend. Really, really miss you. Sadly, we are seperated by lack of time and computer access. People are disgruntled with my lack of posting, and to be honest...I am also disgruntled with my lack of posting.

So much has happened over the past couple weeks, and yet at the same time nothing of great import. Of course, there was the awesome way I celebrated my first full month at work: by having the PassShit break down in the driveway of Newman School and riding home in the back of Tim's truck with Hannah and Lucy...just like rednecks! And then there was Hannah's slumber party...ahh, the age old debate as to which boys are cuter: preps or skater boys rages on. Oh, and Lucy and I decided to breed Chippy this summer because her friend Max's baby guinea pigs look like tiny, furry golfballs with beady little eyes. Oh, and the fact that my running is wildly erratic...always fun. Mmmmm.

I am hoping, dear blog, to have a laptop soon. As we all know, laptops don't grow on trees. Neither do PassShits, thank God. It will happen, I promise. Just not right this second.

Sincerely,

Kristin

2008-03-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

So. Tonight I'm taking care of bidness. I forced Tim to run 8+ miles with me in the wind and cold of St. Charles Avenue and the Fly. He wore: 2 shirts, pants, a hat, gloves, and Patagonia jacket with a hood. And he bragged about the hood the whole way, especially when it got windy. I wore: shorts, a cotton l/s t-shirt and Tim's Hood to Coast longsleeve tech shirt. It wasn't cold, but it was windy. And no, I did not wish I had a hood on, but I'll admit my knees got unusually cold toward the end.

And now, blogging. Tim is sitting somewhere behind me in Hannah's room blogging on his laptop while I sit facing the wall at her desk blogging. He is drinking Sprite and bourbon, I am drinking a daquiri.

That's right, a daquiri. And let me tell you about this particular daquiri...somewhere in the brisk run I decided that an icy cold tureen of alcoholic slush would be just the elixir needed to start the blogging. So, on the way home from the run, I detoured to the Daquiri shop. And, when I went to purchase my usual Mudslide I noticed something HORRIBLE. A sign that announced that Starbucks Coffee was used in Mudslides. Since I abhor coffee, I decided that I could not buy a Mudslide daquiri. Nevermind the fact that I have been guzzling Mudslide daquiris in the Eggnog offseason since I was still in my college years. NEVERMIND ALL THAT, if it has coffee in it, I can no longer order it. So I got a white russian instead. A white russian? Where does THAT come from? I do not even know what is in a white russian, but I ordered it anyway. And now I have essentially a Big Gulp of something that tastes sort of like a milkshake topped off with vodka.

Well, anyway, it's time to get down to the job at hand: editing the posts I have left half-finished for the last two full weeks. I can't ever let things get this out-of-control again because I might be driven to order a 190 Octane in order to fuel an endeavor like that.

Enjoy creeping backwards through my blog posts overdue since the first week of March.

Closing Duties

2008-03-06T20:25:00.000-08:00

Tonight I closed the spa for the first time. In addition to me being in charge, my counterpart was also closing for the first time. It was the blind leading the blind and I was actually quite nervous about it. So nervous that I wrote a lot of completely undecipherable tips and instructions down for myself and had to call the spa director to ask stupid questions like 4 times. Still and all, we made it out of there in timely fashion. In then I came home and went to bed. I had all kinds of good intentions about running after work, but I left at 9pm, and it was a lost cause. This week is not as swell as last week with running, but I'll push on. It's only my third week and I promised myself I would not freak out about running unless I was still disorganized and unfulfilled by the sixth week of work.

Oh, and I got paid today. For the first time in like 2 years it will not be possible for me to blow my entire paycheck on a trip to the grocery store. Of course, with my frickin' electric bill over $400 for the third month in a rown, I'm not sure that's much to celebrate.

The lady had a mustache.

2008-03-05T20:19:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that at the spa we offer threading. It's a hair removal technique that is centuries old and originated in Egypt and India. It's actually really awesome to watch and definitely falls into the category of "art".

Today a lady came in with a full mustache. I'm not kidding, it was a full on mustache. And when she got her threading done her whole lip was distended kind-of like when a fish is hooked through the mouth and the line is tugging at its widened mouth.

It was absolutely insane.

And I also had to ignore the lady's full mustache when she told me that she meant to get into the salon more often, but sometimes waited too long between visits.

Uh, yeah. I mean, everyone knows I am obsessed/repulsed by mustaches, but this was too much. Even for me.

It's going to be alright...

2008-03-05T04:29:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not, I have TEN blog posts to edit and put up. I just haven't had time. I'd promise they'd be up tonight, but tonight is the finale of Project Runway, and that would make me a liar. The main problem with blogging for me right now is that by the time I get home it past 6 and between my terrible dinner making and various kid and running related tasks, it's pretty much time to go to bed as soon as I eat my gruel. I have an entire hour at lunch during which I could be blogging and e-mailing my fool head off if I only had a laptop. Which is my aim eventually.

Anyhow, I'll get those posts up sometime in the near future. Some of them are very funny. Some of them are maybe boring.

By the way, I ran 42 miles last week (bless!) and Roux ate an entire box of donuts and two cookies while we were gone yesterday.

Strange Days

2008-03-04T20:32:00.000-08:00

OK...we are interviewing for a few new retail salespeople at the spa. I've actually never really "interviewed" someone before. I mean, I definitely said "yes" or "no" at Custom Linens and Portofino, but it was never really my job to sift through resumes, interview a sloew of candidates, and critique them.

And it is a very odd feeling. I mean, I'm old these days and have worked in retail since I was 16 years old. I have a decent barometer for personality and I know a lot about what DOESN'T work, but I'm finding I am definitely trigger shy about choosing the ultimate employee.

Two things:

1) One of our interviewees had a serious booger. I felt badly for her because it was impossible not to obsessively look at her booger, but I also knew it would probably be even worse if I told her she HAD a booger in the middle of an interview. Would you want to know?

2) One of our higher-ups always asks the question "If you were a car, what would you be?" in second tier interviews. During my own interview I think I babbled something about how much I freakin' HATE cars, especially the PassShit, and that I'd most likely be a bicycle (even weirder because I hate bicycles, but how I could I explain that I'd just be a pair of legs without sounding like a total freak)...but I'm curious...what kind of car would you be if you were a car? Not meaning what kind of car would you WANT, but what kind of car accurately reflects who you are?

Toilet Rules

2008-03-03T20:43:00.000-08:00

When I was hunting for a photo of a toilet for my last post, I found this. FYI.

Another Day with George

2008-03-03T20:40:00.000-08:00

Today I enjoyed another idyllic day at Southern Runner with George. We laughed, talked about sports, listened to the Fox News Network and restocked shorts. I also fixed the credit card machine and cleaned the toilet. Halcyon Days.

Working with George

2008-02-25T16:23:00.000-08:00

When I accepted the offer for my new job, I asked Mike and George if I could still work Mondays at SR. We all sort of pretended that it was a completely realistic idea and that we'd still see one another once a week, but I don't think any of us actually believed it possible.

Well, it IS possible, but it requires organization on my part. Excitingly, this weekend I was organized enough to drive directly from Baton Rouge to Southern Runner today and spend the day with George.

I settled into my torn barstool as though I had never left. Even better, Tim had jury duty, so he stopped by and hung out for a while, too. Mike happens to be out of town, so there were no obligatory sock inventories. I redid the shoewall with all the new Asics and hung up about a million sportsbras and vacuumed. Replaced the toilet paper in the bathroom and Windexed the toilet. If only Jesus had been available to loiter it would have been a perfect day at Southern Runner.

In all seriousness, I really do miss George and it was nice to talk shoes and running for a few hours. And I was lucky enough to have a pair of Sauconys and a package from New Balance with test shoes waiting for me, too. I walked out with probably 4X what I "earned" in merchandise.

Right before it was time for me to leave I helped some lady with a pair of Gel Kayanos AND an Enell bra. AND someone bought inserts while I was there. My product knowledge is as fresh as ever.

Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmmm

2008-02-24T21:21:00.000-08:00

Remember that song by the Crash Test Dummies? "Onnnnnnnnce there was a boy who got into an accident and couldn't come to school...." Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmmm" I heard it on the radio today.

Which reminded me of another song that mystifies/annoys/obsesses me:

The Come out and Play song by the Offspring. "You got to keep them seperated..." Who? Bert and Ernie? Peanut butter and jelly? Oil and water? Who? Boys and girls? Siamese fighting fish? WHO???

Spirit of the Marathon: Can be quite a bitch

2008-02-24T20:22:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with my friend Matt early this morning that summed up how I feel when I spectate at most races, but especially something big, like the Mardi Gras Marathon or the CCC.

"What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Just watching the race up on St. Charles."

"I just came from there. I'm heading out to Moss Street. How do you feel?"

"Fat. And lazy. And useless."

"You're preaching to the choir."

"I'll deny it if you tell anyone, but when Alberto ran by I was jealous of him."

"No shit? You were jealous of Berto?"

"It was an awful feeling."

"Sounds like it. I guess I'll go subject myself to more self-hatred by watching the runners at mile 23."

"Well, I'm going to go for a run myself."

"Good for you. It only ever takes you like 6 weeks to get back in shape, anyway. And you know what the best thing about running is..."

"What's that?"

"You can start all over again tomorrow."

"Later."

"Have a good run."

Watching the runners at mile 11 provided me with a mixture of excitement when friends ran by and disgust with myself. Watching the runners at mile 23, however, provided me with something else.

Dread. I'm scared of races, particularly the marathon distance. I've had five goes at it by now, and only one really felt right...and it was the one I ran on a whim, not even expecting to finish. After that I had a horrible experience in Austin, and then another blah experience at Boston, which I hadn't trained for and had rough weather last year.

Today's weather for the latter half of the race was tough, and the lack of shade and spectators really seemed to work the competitors over. I saw friends fold right and left, and watched talented runners suffer through miserable miles just to cross the line.

The debate as to whether it's better to suffer and finish or to pull off when you know your race isn't coming together is nothing new. But watching people struggling with that choice today really prompted me to obsessively think about my own running behavior the entire ride home to Baton Rouge.

I don't stop and cry or pull off in races because the weather is tough or because "it's not my day" or whatever. I pull off because I am a gigantic weenie and I am scared of "what's next". Nevermind that in a footrace, what's next is putting one foot in front of the other until you cross the finish line and are done, great performance or not. If I actually was having any type of serious physical problem (I do not count self-inflicted hyperventilation as a serious physical problem) or truly knew that it would hurt me to continue a race, I would have no problem cutting it short. But so far that really hasn't happened. I just freak.

Today I watched my friend Kelly completely fall apart on the racecourse. Kelly is a fierce competitor and was in great shape going into this race. Despite a rotten bout with the flu, she managed to keep up with most of her training, and I was confident she'd put the hurt on the Mardi Gras Marathon. Instead, everything that could go wrong DID go wrong. And it's so hard to watch that. When she passed at mile 11, I saw she was a little off pace, but nothing serious, and Kelly is reknowned for her vicious negative splits. She looked worried, but marathons can be worrisome, so I wasn't concerned. By the time she hit 16 I could tell she was having a hard time seeing...whether from sweat or dizziness, she was rubbing her eyes and shaking her head. I still thought she would pull it out, as EVERYONE was running slower than expected. By 23 she was intermittently walking. She said to me "I don't care if I have to crawl across the finish line, I AM NOT QUITTING." And she didn't. That is Kelly's spirit. She's so freaking tough. I felt humbled because I know I have nothing of that in me. Stupid or smart to continue once things have gone to shit--you can argue either way. I know that what I observed in Kelly had something to do with guts.

I also watched another friend curtail his marathon when he realized it was going south around mile 18. I was standing with his wife when he appeared, no longer running, and looking pretty confused. I'm not going to say I know exactly how he felt, because I don't. We're all different. However, I do know how it feels to turn your heart and body over to a single pursuit for 4+ months and come up empty on race day. And it SUCKS. This other friend of mine is ALSO a fierce competitor. Also in immaculate shape. There is no doubt in my mind that had the day and course been different, he would have exceeded his goal. Instead, he pulled off at 18 and now has to do the inevitable mental battle that comes with that. And it sucks. This friend is an overachiever and it's not going to be easy to settle this experience within the psyche. In fact, for this guy it may have been even harder to admit "defeat" than to continue on.

And really, why am I telling these stories to the internet? I'm not sure. I guess when I watch talented, brave athletes struggle it makes me think about the fact that I am not particularly brave in my running. And that bothers me.

And of course I realize that running as adults is usually analogous to life...and that we all obsess and do this for a reason. I'm not blind to the fact that I am like a hamster on a wheel most of the time. It doesn't change the fact that I do have hopes and expectations for myself as a runner...

A few days ago I was at the coffeshop across from my work and bumped into Mark Truxillo. We were talking about running and he made a statement about the fact that anything he invests a substantial part of his life in, he expects and demands reciprocal pleasure and accomplishment from. Now, Mark attended the Air Force Academy and is getting his MD and MPH concurrently, as well as running 60-70 MPW. I'm not Mark Truxillo by ANY stretch of the imagination. But his comment made me stop and think. If I invest all this time in running, I should expect to gain something from it. For a hobby I love, I seem to really fight it a lot of the time.

Anyhow, this is how my marathon-watching experience became completely self-centered. I thought about it for an hour and a half in the car, got out of the car at Highland Road Park, ran for another 50 minutes (rotten at noon in the heat, and the grass was uncut and muddy) still thinking, and eventually jumped in my parent's pool to simultaneously wash all the dirt off my legs and hopefully snap myself out of the weird state of mind I was in.

Final thought, after a really longass post: I admire courage. Courage is defined in different ways for different people. Finding your own courage might take work. I am not very tough. It may be a goal worth pursuing.

Oh, and another thing? The beauty of running? You can start over tomorrow. And the day after that, too.

Let's Chat!

2008-02-21T19:11:00.000-08:00

Not really. It is Thursday night. I've worked for 10 days straight and I am tired. Tomorrow I have the day off and will fill in all the weekday blanks. Exciting stories such as how Curtis the makeup artist fixed Sylvia's hair using Doug's head and What happens when you ring up someone for a completely different customer's spa services to be paid for by a secret boyfriend will be described in excrutiating detail.

Also, I have run a lot more this week. Still not normally, but I have complate faith now that within a month things will be going smoothly.

So, I'm going to sleep. In case I haven't covered the fact that I gave up chocolate, peanut butter AND cookies for Lent, I did. And every time I think I've found some sort of treat to enjoy I realize that one of the three prongs of my Lenten Obligations totally destroys the possibility of such an indulgence. And this, from a chick struggling with Faith!

Poptarts are the answer. For now, anyway.

Check back tomorrow afternoon for roughly 5 posts dating back to Monday.

The laundry room and Sylvia's hair...

2008-02-20T22:56:00.000-08:00

This morning I had the distinct pleasure of opening with Doug (Doug at work. Not to be confused with Smug, who spends his days in the cutthroat world of litigation) , which involved my trying out all my various keys and register-balancing skills, as well as being almost the first person on-site. Doug, being the friendly man he is, has an affectionate greeting for every employee as they walk through the door. More on this later, as Doug really is sort of a stabilizing influence on the waves of many female personalities (self-included) at work.

When Sylvia walked in to get her supplies to set up the laundry room and massage tables Doug mysteriously said

"Curtis has a surprise for you later on!"

I was very curious, but not bold enough to rudely ask what the surprise was. So the day went by rather uneventfully. Until lunchtime when Sylvia came in with a totally new head of hair! And it looked FABULOUS. Curtis (who is, in addition to being a makeup artist, also a hairstylist) had taken home Sylvia's wig and completely restyled it, and I swear, she looked like Mary J. Blige pulling laundry out of the machine. Everyone raved at it and that was when my favorite part of the story emerged...

Doug proudly said

"I had to wear the hair while Curtis styled it!"

The image of Doug, who is relatively casual in terms of everyday wear, sporting a fabu wig at the kitchen table while Curtis danced around trimming and styling it was IMMENSELY pleasurable to me. And really should be to you all, even though you don't know any of the key players yet. It was a moment when I realized that there is a great deal of camraderie in this staff, no matter which section they work in. It made me really happy.

Also, I realized part of the reason that I feel so soothed in the laundry room is that it smells like Mrs. Hammond's (a lady who lived in a small house that took care of many, many children). Even though there is no visible elbow macaroni bubbling away in the laundry room, the combination of bleach and clean towels and the comforting din of the radio makes the comparison legit. I can only hope, however, that there are no Mena twins looming in the bathroom eating their own feces.

Which reminds me. I need to google the Mena twins. They must be like 32 by now or something. Hopefully they are no longer shit-eaters.

Running.

2008-02-19T22:12:00.000-08:00

OK. So, some of you must be wondering how I am dealing with this no-time-to-run business. Last week I was so totally overwhelmed I just tossed the stress at a certain point. Which is, in itself, somewhat amazing. One of my goals for this week is to try and figure out some sort of reasonable approach to everyday running that will ruin nobody's day.

And, by and large, it appears it will work out. I ran 8 miles tonight. I lot of anxiety sloughed off almost immediately, though I have to admit I was rather disturbingly fierce on this run. So fierce, in fact, that I gave Redman only a cursory wave as I tore past him playing frisbee on the levee. Not only was I sweaty, but I was also in a hurry. So I didn't stop. And then, on the streetcar tracks on my way home I saw the gayGuys. They looked like a commercial for Doublemint, and they caught me during a particularly harrowing part of my run: the prelude to final push. This occurs basically from Audubon Park all the way home, and takes three seperate stages. The first is just starting to pick it up. The second occurs around the bend of Carrollton, when I talk myself into trying to maintain some sort of effort.

This is where I saw the gayGuys. I ignored them, and I have a feeling they think I am a mildly retarded middle-aged person who travels around to races and runs steady 43 minute 10K's like nobody's business. And is nearly always sweaty. And gained an unusual amount of weight between Senior Bowl and the Mardi Gras Mambo.

But anyway. The gayGuys have probably never even noticed me. After the middle portion of my end-of-the-run push I start running pretty much as fast as I can from the K&B on Carrollton back to my house on Hickory.

I'm not sure why I told that story.

I'm just grateful to be finding ways to fit the run in. It helps oh-so-much with the mood. And really, someday I do plan to resume workouts and enter a race and not completely freak out.

Oh, and by the way. My recent observation of the "improving" streetcar situation on St. Charles was a sad untruth. Tonight they were back to running four in an immediate row, serving no real purpose, but making runners jump from side to side.

DD...is that you?

2008-02-18T18:50:00.000-08:00

This morning I didn't have to be at work until TEN so I drove Lucy to school early, and Hannah a bit later. As we drove up Claiborne and toward Newman a familiar voice suddenly spat out the following:

"Would you look at that? I can't believe people drive, SMOKE, and talk on their cellphones at the same time. HANG UP AND DRIVE!"

I whipped my head around, completely confused as to how my dad somehow got into the backseat of my car, but it was only Lucy.

Lucy, who has apparently been driving around in DD's truck often enough to hear his ranting about cellphone driving. And smoking.

Good work, Deeds. Let's hope it sticks.

The Lord's Day

2008-02-17T17:05:00.000-08:00

Well, even though God needed to take Sunday off, my schedule this week includes Sunday. Hannah and Lucy sat quietly through a 5.5 hour computer seminar today while I learned the ins-and-outs of spa/retail crossover software. For the most part, it's retail functions I am accustomed to, but the spa aspect might as well be written in Japanese. I understand the functions now, but am woefully underinformed about the service aspect. Luckily, nobody expects me to give bikini waxes or detox massages, so other than the odd situation when I'll have to exert managerial override on a spa computer issue, that stuff will likely remain distant from my responsibilities.

As Effexor courses through my veins I feel better and less anxious about my job. This first week has really been hellacious, but I'm not sure it is any more or less stressful than a college student suddenly stepping into the 9-5 (or in my case 8-5:30 or 12-8:45) lifestyle. It just feels more harrowing because I'm not used to being beholden to so many masters.

I threw in the towel on running yesterday afternoon. When I realized I was going straight from work (7:30-5:00) to a swimmeet and that afterwards Hannah was having a friend over I almost completely lost it. Mainly due to the fact that swimmeets are HORRIBLY stressful and noisy and crowded, but also because for the 5th day in a row I wasn't able to run. After about 10 minutes of deep breathing after Stephan left the meet I decided to just forget it and make Hannah and Lucy's Saturday and Sunday as pleasant as I could, considering they had to sit at Belladonna for 5 hours anyway.

So Hannah had Caroline spend the night and we made cookies and pizza and that pretty much sums up my weekend. Except, of course, the part where I forced aestheticians to talk to me nonstop about how I can address the wrinkle in my forehead. But that is another story for another time.

A brief update:

2008-02-16T04:27:00.001-08:00

I have unedited posts from the past few days but haven't had time to get to them...they'll all be up by Monday. Yesterday the PassShit reared its ugly head and I took a cab through the Newman carpool line AND to work. After work, my platonic husband Tim picked me up, drove me to CVS to fill my Effexor prescription, drove me home and fruitlessly tried to help me deal with my car. We'll see if it starts today.

I have not run all week. I have to be at work for 7:30 this morning.

More later.

WYLD Day

2008-02-15T21:19:00.000-08:00

This morning when I went to start the PassShit, it died. The car briefly turned over, then lost power completely. We were already running late because Hannah Bernick has a difficult time waking up in the mornings, and none of us were being particularly hospitable.

After muttering a stiff obscenity I sat there trying to figure out what to do. My priorities were a) getting the kids to school on time, and b) getting my ass to work on time. I was vacillating wildly bewteen calling Tim, calling a cab, calling AAA (Which, I have no idea why--I'm not a member!) and just laying my head down on the steering wheel and crying.

You see, I was already two days overdue on my stupid-ass $160.00 prescription refill, which means I was feeling nauseated and dizzy. I was planning on picking up my prescription on my way to work. After dropping the kids off. Because I have a car. And that is why I have a car. In order to run errands, get to work, and drive my kids around.

Anyhow, I called a cab. And when we got in the cab, which had all of its windows down and the radio tuned to WYLD at volume 60,000, my response to the question "How are you doing?" was a terse "Horrible."

"Horrible? Why? It's a beautiful day."

"My car is broken."

"Oh, now if you are going to let a machine make you unhappy, you're going to spend too much time crying. No reason to start the day off like that. It's going to be ok, but you've got to decide it's going to be ok."

We went through the Newman carpool line in a cab. I can only imagine that my identity might change from "that sweaty mom that runs all the time" to even more complimentary terms like "the one who takes her kids through the carpool line in a United Cab."

Lucy, of course, loved it. Hannah seemed indifferent. And so we drove on. And the cabdriver sang out loud to the hits on WYLD and talked about how the only two times during his 40 year career as a cabbie that he got in a wreck was when he was in a hurry and got grouchy. So he doesn't do that any more.

By the time I got out of the cab I was in a much better mood. And a grand total of one minute late. I told the driver he had turned my entire day around and he said "You the only one that can turn your day around. Now have a good one."

And I did. I went into work and made myself busy straightening and neatening and all sorts of windex and shit. And I also ironed for 2.5 hours. I find ironing very soothing, and I was ironing tableclothes, which is second nature for me after all those years at New Orleans Custom Linens.

I was hanging out with Shelia in the laundry room, listening to more WYLD, talking about Whitney Houston and how she is turning her life around (we both fervently hope so) and how she made out in the hurricane. She stayed in New Orleans becuase she has no car, and wound up being helicoptered out three days after the storm. She told me all about not being able to move home until she had a documented job (her old job was with the city and evaporated after the storm) and the various hoops she had to jump through just in order to get on a bus and return to her home. And work. Because make no mistake...Shelia has never not worked.

Anyhow, I plan to listen to everything she wants to tell me about that.

Oftentimes if I listen there are things to learn. I mean, if I slow down and don't let machines ruin my day.

Um, Happy Valentine's Day...

2008-02-14T05:13:00.000-08:00

I forgot how big Valentine's Day is in retail. Having worked in a candy store as a teenager, I thought I had seen the crazy end of the spectrum. Not so. Working at a spa with an attached retail store definitely trumped candy and ice cream. I'm sure a florist works harder than anyone else on February 14, but spa employees have to come damn close.

Aside from the people that have actually booked spa services for the actual day, about a gajillion gift certificates are sold. And sleepwear. And body care products. And cookies and candy. And stuffed pigs, even. One douchebag bought a tee shirt that was marked down by like 99.999% and then demanded a full giftwrap, snapping his gum noisily all the while. So he bought a shirt for like $2.36 and had a $5.50 wrapjob. Weird.

The last time I "celebrated" Valentine's day was in 1996. Stephan and I were on our countrywide journey to find somewhere to live, and to his recollection we were in New Mexico. I thought it was Arizona, but either way, it was somewhere dusty and lonely. We had been alternately bickering and giving each other the silent treatment all day and he handed me a box. This was like the forty-millionth time in my life someone did something nice to me and I had been really poorly behaved all day long (reference: my sixteenth birthday party) and I was embarassed once I realized it was Valentine's Day and felt guilty, which only confuses me more and makes me act like my Aunt Debbie. And if you know Aunt Debbie, you'll understand it is not a becoming way to act.

Since then we've always ignored the holiday. So when other people make a huge fuss over it I am interested.

I closed tonight, which was scheduled because Stephan ordinarily has the girls every Thursday night. This week we swapped because of a swimmeet on Saturday that I couldn't attend. So, I had to find someone to pick them up from swimming and babysit them until I got home. Can you guess who that someone was? Just guess.

Of course it was Tim! And Santilla. When I got home from work at 8:45 they had pizza and were making valentines. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how grateful I was, but if you don't have children and can't relate, take the stress of having to ask someone to feed your dog while you're out of town, multiply it by about 100% because in this case your dog can talk and be bratty. And add a little extra because although you might not have to walk the kids and pick up their poop, fixing dinner is more complicated. There aren't that many people I trust unconditionally with H & L but Tim and Santilla both fall into that category. Which is a compliment, even as it also seems to be somewhat of a burden.

Happy Valentine's Day!

"Well, she's a bit more bosomy than you."

2008-02-12T16:38:00.000-08:00

My first day at work was far too complicated (and long) to try and write a narrative...so I'm going to break it down outline-style:

1) Length of my day: I'm a little unsure about the length of my days because according to the schedule they vary wildly...but I'm on there for AT LEAST 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Yesterday started at 8 am and ended at 5:30. I had some delusions of managerial lunches rife with people wearing monocles and ladies with cigarette holders, but then I remembered it was retail and would likely consist of a folding table in a back office filled with packing peanuts and a microwave, along with cheerful handmade signs that say stuff like "Up 15% in January--Yeah you right!" I was pretty much correct, but there may be some autonomy when it comes to a day with full staffing, etc.

2) Clientele: The very first customer (client?) through the door at 8:49 AM was one of my old ladies from Custom Linens. Katherine C. will be overjoyed to learn that in addition to being an Yves Delorme whore, Rosemarie F. is an avid spa-goer. Rosemarie burst through the door and we hugged as though we hadn't seen one another since Katrina. You see, we haven't seen each other since Katrina. As all the other staff watched Rosemarie filled me in on EVERY INTIMATE DETAIL of her life over the past three years, as she is wont to do. I recall a glorious day at New Orleans Custom Linens where Rosemarie had Katherine C. (whom I believe was probably hungover at the time) try on all the Yves Delorme pajama and robe sets in an effort to select one for a friend. Our favorite comment? "Well, she's a bit more bosomy than you." Ah, Rosemarie F.. It's good to have you back. And the rest of the day was filled with reunion moments. Someone observed that I know a lot of people. Well, I know a LOT of old ladies. And who knew that so many old ladies were also devotees of walnut facial scrubs and deep tissue massage? Who knew? Oh, a couple more exciting things:

- Men come in for "full back waxes"!

- Sometimes managers have to tell clients not to have sex in the treatment rooms!

- Police officers buy their wives/girlfriends extremely expensive Valentine's Day presents.

3) UPS- if you've never worked retail, you may not appreciate the importance of your UPS man. I've worked retail forever, and consequently develop deep and meaningful relations with my UPS man. And this is a theory I have had for years and my new UPS man only serves as confirmation. UPS men LOVE mustaches. I also never knew that you can use UPS like a warehouse...after the third package refusal, you can ask to have it stored until you can recieve it. Shit! Too bad about all those times at Custom Linens when we had like 150 boxes of sheets to open in one day!

4) Coffee- it's right across from Starbucks. As an intoxicating first-day-gift, my boss brought me a grande latte. I have no idea what a grande latte is, but I appreciated the gesture. Once I leaked the info that I don't drink coffee (beer, Coke, or eat pizza) a few people gave me looks of deep distrust. I'm sorry, people. Coach Coco has forever ruined coffee for me. In fact, I often wonder how in the hell anyone who went to Episcopal and had to take his Civics class can drink the stuff.

5) Staff- this will be developed further. First days are not great, especially when you are walking in as a manager and know essentially nothing about the business. Overall, nice staff. I'm glad I don't have to direct the spa staff because they don't all speak english and a lot of them seem either rough or exceptionally groovy. There is a tall bearded man that I assume is some sort of masseuse who insisted on making fierce eye contact with me. Oh, and someone tried to explain to me that an oil was to "drizzle on the third eye"...I was very scandalized until I realized she meant a forehead. Oh, and there is one girl who I expect is going to dislike me intensely. She seemed chagrined that I knew how to giftwrap.

6) And on that subject: I was tipped $5.00. It was one of the weirdest, most uncomfortable moments in retail ever (though it really cannot compare with my racist customers from rural Alabama that would come into Custom Linens once a year, spend like $8,000.00 and say things about "the blacks" to me.) An older guy gave me a $5.00 tip and told me I was "just adorable." I'm not sure what was adorable...my unfamiliarity with the computer system, the fact that I wrapped a book for him, or that I listened to him drone on about his son in India...but when I tired to refuse it, he insisted. And afterwards, everyone laughed at me. They were probably just jealous. I mean, how many people get tipped on an ordinary afternoon in February? How many? Huh?

7) Goddamn, that day was long. By the time I picked H&L up from swimming and we got home it was 6 pm. And I know all of you lawyers and businesspeople out there are like "Wha'ever, that is a SHORT DAY!", but to me it is not. It is going to test my very core when it comes to organization to get my shit under control and manage my time. This is the second day in a row I haven't run, and I'm going to have to work that out immediately.

There will be more. So much more to come.

Wigging out, totally.

2008-02-11T18:02:00.000-08:00

I spent the entire day completely freaking out about starting my new job tomorrow.

I'm very anxious. I'm so anxious I can't even tell you what I am so anxious about.

My big move from Southern Runner to The Big Spa is more than just a couple miles down Magazine Street. I haven't worked 40 hours a week since I was 26 years old. I haven't done anything demanding since I left the hellhole that was my job in Baton Rouge during the hurricane. I've never enrolled my children in aftercare out of neccessity. I've never had to figure out how to balance running and work and kids without someone around to help out.

I'm scared senseless, pretty much.

Additionally, I cannot wear running shoes OR flipflops to work. Or running pants, which right now is an imposition. I am going to have to wear a skirt and big girl shoes at the height of my explosive pill-associated weight gain.

AND I bet there will be coffee involved.

I'll go into the dynamics of the job later. It's more than just the things I touched on above, but frankly, I'm not feeling so swell about examining all the nuances of my new position right now.

Therapeutic Vermin

2008-02-10T16:47:00.000-08:00

This morning I got up and drove out to Metry to drop the cradle off at my cousin's house. I spent a while over there talking about pancakes, breastfeeding, and various dysfunctional members of our family.

Then I came home. And lay around the house for HOURS. Finally I got up and started cleaning the house and folding laundry. In the midst of a "Next Top Model"/t-shirt folding spree I was overcome with a spot of lonliness. (that looks really wrong...how do you spell that word?) I'm always sorta lonely when the kids aren't around, so it wasn't shocking or anything. Anyway, just as I was starting to feel bereft, my fairy GodCanadian showed up with a bunch of different colored lightbulbs and a plastic toilet. I was planning on blogging about Axn Jxn last month, after he dropped off a haul including both a telescope and an entire box of disguises, but I got distracted by Neil Armstrong and forgot.

Anyhow, Axn dropped some stuff off and distracted me, and by the time he left Tim had called and was on his way over for a little chillaxin'. We also ran, but it was a blah run. The chillaxing, however, was superior. My nerves have been a bit raw lately with all this change-of-life bullshit I've got going on, and Tim's visits always fill me with both advice and absurdity.

And then later when I was going to sleep I started to think about my weekend, and all the different conversations I had with different people and realized just how GODDAMN MUCH I talk about my guinea pig. I'm not kidding. At the wedding, at work, with my cousin, on the run, etc. I talk about Chippy a LOT. And sure, she's got Lucy in her bed at night, but I think that the rodent is also somehow therapeutic to me and that is really frightening.

Is it possible that all these years I've been taking Prozac or Zoloft or Effexor or whatever and all I really needed was vermin?

Make new friends...

2008-02-09T22:33:00.000-08:00

But keep the olllllllld, one is silver and the other gold.

That was the refrain from a dorky rush song we sang in college.

Today was a long, strange day. I had a nice long run with the Prytania group this morning...the first 5 miles spent listening to scintillating tales of Bruce Worley's grandchildren at tennis tournaments, the rest chattering with Christine. After going back home and falling into a dead sleep with 10 layers of clothing on, I woke up and went over to my friend Becca's house to get Lucy's cradle (which is really my grandmother's cradle) for my cousin Anne.

I haven't had the opportunity/taken the time to really sit down and talk with her for well over a year, and I walked away feeling lucky that the friendship is still intact. Her husband was one of my closest friends during college, but over the years I've wound up closer to Becca than Gregor. Actually, aside from Stephan, she was the first person I told I was pregnant with Lucy, which is really kind-of strange when I think about it.

After that I went to work for a few hours, which was nice. I'm not sure that Southern Runner can BE more casual than it is on weekdays, but if it is at all possible, Saturdays are more relaxed. And it was just George, Mike, me and the socks. I was terribly sentimental about leaving my job the entire time, which was retarded, exhausting, and completely typical of me.

Tonight was my friend Gwen's wedding reception. I grew up with Gwen in Baton Rouge, but Gwen is also a triathlete/runner...which means that we have friends that crossover from both parts of our lives. A group of highschool friends were attending, a ton of BR parents that I've known forever, Team Gecko, and a horde of dentists. (Gwen is an endodontist) As nervous as I was about stilted conversation and my ability to handle it, I was excited to see my friends from highschool...so I jimmied my body into a dress and went downtown to meet my friend Becca Kizer (different from Becca earlier today.)

Becca Kizer and I were inseperable as 5th, 6th and 7th graders, and a lot of my best memories are of her house. Her older sister Rhonda was also in town for the wedding, and between our laughing at Becca trying to decide what to wear:

"This makes me look like I have big boobs. I don't like it."

"Try the other one."

"This makes me look like I have big boobs, too. SICK!"

"Becca, you DO have big boobs. If you want to look otherwise you're going to have to wear a mimimizer or something."

"I hate my boobs, I can't wear this. I'm not going."

(She eventually wore the first dress. Guess what? It made her look like she had big boobs.)

and our reminicing about playing dirty barbies (they ALWAYS made out at the Barbie McDonalds on the floor...ALWAYS) and the time that Gwen found porn on the satellite and we all got caught by Buddy Kizer my ribs hurt when it was time to actually drive to the party.

It was a good night. And Gwen looked like someone from Us Magazine's glamour pages...

Today I remembered that I'm lucky to have all these silver and gold friends lying around.

God, this is just so good...

2008-02-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Darkness falls...

2008-02-08T16:51:00.000-08:00

On the way home from my poptart buying expedition I noticed that it was really dark and that it was difficult to drive. Being a sometimes moron, it took me halfway up Jefferson Avenue to realize the power was out Uptown. The entire area from St. Charles back to Prytania was totally black.

And it reminded me of driving into New Orleans for the first time after the hurricane. I cannot properly convey how strange it is to drive into your city in utter and complete darkness. And though I am more accustomed to it now, it is still awfully dark on the right side of the interstate driving on 1-10 East when you cross Carrollton heading into town.

It's unsettling.

No thanks...

2008-02-08T16:43:00.001-08:00

I just got back from the grocery store where I was buying milk and pop-tarts because it is the Lenten Season. Which means that I will be driven to eat poptarts during emergency situations when I would ordinarily eat a cookie.

What I did not realize is that there are several new flavors of poptarts on the shelves. Chocolate poptarts (Gross. I am devotee of Reese's peanut butter-type stuff so far as chocolate goes...nothing else.), some sort of weird hot fudge sundae poptarts and "S'mores" poptarts. Then, just when I thought I was getting the gist of poptart flavoring I saw this: BARBIE POPTARTS.

WTF? What the heck is a Barbie poptart? Is it flavored of hard plastic oval boobs? Swivelling hips with embossed panties? Are there Ken poptarts? Skipper? What about the afghan hound that Barbie had?

Seriously.

My friggin' body

2008-02-08T10:00:00.000-08:00

Holy hell, I destroyed myself last weekend. First, I chafed the heck out of my legs with my Saturday run. I am still wearing band-aids when I run. I have no idea why it was so severe, as I've run further, faster, and more out of shape than this past weekend, but whatever...it is intense and there will be SCABS! Scabs! My legs were stiff for three days, I have residual glitter in my hair, my stomch hurt until yesterday and I'm really just not right yet.

On a brighter note, I am addressing my hideous medicinal problems. I'm not sure exactly what the final outcome will be in terms of prescriptions, but I can no longer tolerate either the cost of the medicine or the fact that I am literally as fat as I was when I was 5 months pregnant with Hannah. Short of posting a photo, I can't really explain to you that although my arms and legs look normal, my face is really fat and my frickin' torso is ridiculous. Yes, I have boobs for the first time since highschool, but along with them came fatrolls I am not inclined to tolerate.

And yes, I know I am funny about food and weight, and probably shouldn't care so much, but I do. For the past few years my body had settled into what is probably best described as a natural "active" weight, meaning that if I were to quit running I'd gain a few pounds, but overall, I've been steady between 112-114, depending on what time of year it was. When Stephan and I first seperated and I upped my mileage out of stress, I initially lost a couple of pounds, but nothing major. Between the first week of December and now, I have gained 10 pounds. I'm freaking 5'2"...it's a lot for a short gal. I'm a major creature of habit and guarantee I haven't eaten more than usual, and my running has been about what it usually is after the week I took off in December. This ten pounds is from the increase in Effexor and the F'ING PILL. And it sucks. I've tried being mellow about it. But the fact is, I can't button my G-D pants, I'm running in shimmels because I am so uncomfortable with the way my body feels, and in order to effect any weightloss I am going to have to either run more (which, I do it because I love it, not to lose weight, and I really run a reasonable amount anyway...between about 38-42 miles weekly) or eat less. And I already don't eat very much...so I'm not going to do that, either.

Anyhow. I have a crick in my neck, band-aids on my thighs, and am roly poly.

I should have NO problem finding a dude this summer.

Countdown...

2008-02-07T09:49:00.000-08:00

I've only got a few days left at work and it is KILLING me.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Southern Runner is about to start a renovation and I'm sad not to be a part of it. The Surf Shop next door moved out and rather than installing a new tenant, George and Mike are going to knock out the dividing wall and enlarge the shop. It could be a very exciting project, as Uptown no longer has a place to buy swimming stuff, and I'm trying to convince M&G that it wouldn't be a terrible risk to stock some basics like goggles, swimcaps, and suits in a few colors. And it wouldn't hurt anyone to have some triathlete shwag on the shelves, either.

There is even talk of the carpet from 1985 being replaced.

So, as I steel myself for working with 50+ women, George and Mike are moving and shaking.

I'm going to miss my days here...the shoes, FOX NEWS NETWORK, socks, porn...

Mr. TT's bold escape!

2008-02-06T12:23:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to sleep in Lucy's room. I woke up around 11 and was checking my e-mail enroute to my bed when Hannah suddenly said "Where is Mt. TT, Mom?" I said "In his tank." "No he's not...no he's NOT...Mom, he got out...where is he? Where is he?" I said "He did NOT get out, Hannah. Calm down." "MOM, HE'S OUT! HE'S OUT!" I turn, just as Mr. TT falls to the floor with a loud clonk. At this point Hannah is almost in tears screaming "I don't like him anymore, Mom, put him back, put him back!" Mr. TT was definitely shellshocked, and didn't put up much of a protest when I scooped him up with a ladle and threw him unceremoniously back into his aquarium.

I was completely confused because the mesh top was still on top of the tank, and I couldn't figure out how he had escaped. And then Mr. TT surged toward his gargoyle, climbed on top and violently began to pull himself onto the water filter. Gasping, I poked him back into the water with the ladle and yanked the gargoyle out of the tank. That rapscallion was sneaking through the filter and into the great beyond!

Meanwhile, Hannah has calmed down somewhat and moved onto deterring any future jailbreak attempts. In addition to removing his gargoyle, we also used part of my computer printer to block the filter pump hole. Still, he swam menacingly close to the border so aggressively that Hannah slept in my bed with me.

You might wonder why Hannah is so frightened of Mr. TT. What you should know is that Mr. TT's neck stretches out to like 3" long when he stalks around his domain and we comment on how gross his neck and neckskin are. Even though Hannah could not articulate this during the horror, I know that subconsciously she was scared he would get into her bed with her and lay his elongated neck on her, rubbing her with the gnarrly skin. Kind of like how I have a pathological fear that I am going to be immobilized by lizards puffing up their grotesque throats on me.

The above photo is not actually Mr. TT, but his neck gets that long, and it is unnerving.

Upkeep Day

2008-02-06T06:19:00.000-08:00

On Monday I stayed home from work with the kids. My intention was to run a few errands and clean up around Hickory Street. Cleaning around Nanny, of course, who had turned up by then and was geriatrically moaning in Hannah's bed all day.

Lucy and I left the house around 1:00 pm to take Roux to Petcetera and wash him. What followed was a tour of crowded parking lots and heinously inefficient shopping expeditions. Please try to follow:

1. Drive to Petcetera...Petcetera is closed...decide that as long as we are on that side of Napoleon, we should go to Wal-Mart and buy a vacuum cleaner.

2. Drive to Wal-Mart, where the scene was not unlike the post-Katrina looting frenzy. Several tinted-window SUV beheamoths almost crash into us during the search for a parking slot. There is a lot of gesticulating and head rolling. Wait in line: 20 minutes.

3. Drive toward the pet store in the Riverbend but get distracted by talking on the phone to my cousin Anne about strawberries. Go to Whole Foods instead to buy strawberries. Wait politely for a slot to open up in the parking lot, where people cautiously creep forward and meekly slide into spots. Wait in line: 10 minutes.

4. Realize as we turn toward the park that we forgot to get guinea pig litter. Turn back around to Jefferson. Drive to Petco. Ample parking, no wait in line.

5. Realize that we forgot to get filtered water to change Adam Goucher's bowl and decide to go to Winn-Dixie. Madhouse parking lot, and an Audi filled with twerps from Longuyland totally darts in front of me to take parking place. As the guys get out, weighted down with giant beads, I consider running over them in the PassShit, but decide it would be scarring for Roux and Lucy. Wait in line (even with self-checkout): 20 minutes.

6. Finally head toward the pet store in the Riverbend. Arrive to ample parking. Wash Roux. Proceed home.

The above took three hours.

Afterwards I cleaned Chippy's cage, cleaned Mr. TT's aquarium and moved him into Hannah's room, cleaned Adam Goucher's bowl and finally put together the vacuum cleaner and cleaned our apartment.

Happy Mardi Gras

2008-02-05T06:50:00.001-08:00

My friend Kelly sent this cartoon out, and it's probably the best I've ever seen and very appropriate for New Orleans during Mardi Gras.

Mom's 2008: The "Man, am I sad" Post

2008-02-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

Well, the part about Mom's 2008 that I knew would happen but doesn't belong in the "The Best Time Ever" (which, it wasn't the BTEaM for me, but it was a lot of fun) post is the awkwardness of going alone to something you've been going to with your STBEH (soon-to-be-ex-husband) since you were 24 years old. I knew it was going to be difficult, and my inclination as the date grew closer was to just skip it. I didn't want to, though, as I was the one who initially brought Stephan to the party in the first place, and it's something I really look forward to each year. That said, it is also one of the few "us" things Stephan and I had left at the end. It's probably the only thing we rarely bickered about beforehand and sincerely both had fun at during.

For the past few years I've struggled a bit, as my ties with the "us" friends have sort-of weakened as my relationship with Stephan got more difficult. After we seperated, I essentially ceded "our" friends to him--not out of neccesity, but just because the nature of how we spend our leisure time links him more strongly to them than me. I knew it would be a bit of a leap to expect things to be super easy when we were all thrown together in the middle of a room thick with pot smoke and the Radiators wailing Mardi Gras music.

The fact that Stephan was literally, the first person I saw when we arrived was an awkward coincidence, and I honestly didn't know what to do when I realized he was stuck outside. My initial reaction was to stay outside with him. And honestly, that would have been my reaction if I had seen ANY of my good friends stuck outside the gate. I was completely torn, though, because I know myself, and I know my tendency to want to talk about serious things, and that would be terrible for EVERYONE involved...so when he said "go in...have fun!" I did. I hunted down the few people I thought might be able to help and was annoyed when nobody seemed to be taking the situation as seriously as I was. I tend to overblow things, but that is one of the things that seriously irritates me about "our friends" to begin with, actually. Especially come Mom's time, everyone fends for themself, and it's pretty much "screw you" if your tickets gets used or your spot in the car is given to someone cooler. I digress. Anyhow. He eventually got in.

And I had 400 awkward conversations where people said things like "So, why did you move out?" Or "How are the girls taking it?" or "I was really surprised." I mean, nobody that sees me on a regular basis (except, maybe Stephan himself) was "surprised." Had anyone ever taken the time to go beyond perfunctory "hey! miss ya!" talk, they might have realized that something was going on.

Of course, there are exceptions. There were plenty of people there that HAVE reached out and talked to me, or were sincere when they asked how I am. And it's the same handful of people that I always felt were sincere, and probably always will. The others, as far as I am concerned, can really pretty much go fuck themselves.

Seeing Stephan in a social setting fills me with all kinds of sadness. I've ben so frustrated and so pissed for so long that I've been able to sweep the cry-your-heart-out sadness under the rug. Obviously, I've cried and been very sad for my children, but I haven't spent a ton of time being sad about Stephan and me yet. And I knew I'd eventually get around to it. And I even knew this would be the starting point.

It's hard to describe. I'll always love Stephan. He's the father of my children, someone I spent 12 years of my life with. He's a good person. He was once my best friend. I've shed tons of tears over the way we've pulled apart, but I'm not sure I always understood that I was crying because we just couldn't understand one another. We might have been arguing about laundry or money, but the reality was that we were fighting because we never knew how to make one another understand what we were saying or who we were.

When I broke up with my college boyfriend (and Josh's father) I was much raw-er (if that is a word)...of course, I had just lost a child, too, but I was also closer to my feelings. I've had a few years of crying and then eventually becoming desensitized to the situation in my house. I remember being PISSED when I saw Peter with his girlfriend...strangely so, as I had no love left for him. I don't think I'll be PISSED when I see Stephan with whomever he eventually lands with, but I'll just be sad. And not sad because we've moved on...sad that we couldn't make it work. I want him to be happy and I want me to be happy...and once upon a time I thought him and me could be happy together.

I spent a good amount of my night trying to avoid Stephan because I just didn't think I was capable of cocktail party conversation, which unless you're talking about the pink elephant that just flew out of someone's ass, is kind-of the only kind of conversation to have at Mom's. It's definitely not the time to try and solve problems or create World Peace. So instead I stuck my oversized q-tip up float noses and beard watched.

And I had a good time, I did. Being sad is the flip side of being happy, and I know you have to have both in order to have one. It's just that I've been so sad about Stephan and me for so long I'd almost forgetten how much it can hurt.

ManningBowl 2008

2008-02-03T22:45:00.000-08:00

Holy Crap, that was a good game. I'm not sure if the internet remembers, but Peyton and Eli Manning both went to my kids' school, so the Newman community gets awfully excited when a Manning plays football. In addition to the numerous Manning jerseys every student owns and wear at every opportunity, the school held a giant pep rally on Thursday for the superbowl. Hannah was actually on TV, though I have not found a way to find the clip on the internet yet.

Manning Mania was at a fevered pitch last night on Hickory Street and we all sat watching that game until the final 2:45, at which point we all stood watching the game and eventually jumping up and down and screaming watching the game. Seriously, that was the most exciting Superbowl I've seen perhaps EVER.

And now, Hannah will probably NEVER take off that jersey.

Mom's Ball: The "SO MUCH FUN" Post

2008-02-03T21:16:00.000-08:00

As usual, Mom's Ball was a ruthlessly fun shindig. For the first time in years, I drove across the river instead of riding in a limo...which was SO NICE. We were on our own timeframe, and I'm pretty sure I'll never do it the old way again...unless it is my own personal limo and I can keep it on my own watch.

I was really tired after my morning run and jaunt to Baton Rouge to pick up the kids, and spent the afternoon sleeping. Natalie and Malla spent the afternoon sitting in my front room in their costumes looking at the time to see how long they had to wait for the music to start. Tim got over around 7:30 in his UNITARD, which compelled me to get into the shower and start to get dressed. After painting eyes on his head and helping Malla attach her feathered eyelashes, I put on my costume and realized that although every year I think I have a new costume, I always look essentially the same. Wigs bother me, and I don't like makeup, so I am always a subtley glittery chick with boots and either a tutu or hotpants. Whatever.

We had a couple of people to pick up at 45 Tchop, and got over to the Westbank somewhere around 10. Which was perfect because the line starts at 10, and we managed to park RIGHT NEXT TO the entrance. Don't ask me how, I have no idea.

We waited in line for maybe 10 minutes and as we were going in someone called my name. Stephan was sitting on the other side of the gate because his costume wasn't deemed acceptable...no shit...he was denied entry. Which is SO bizarre, because in all the years I've gone, nobody has ever been denied entry, and his costume was fine. More on this in my second post about MOM's, which will require more time.

After we got in, and the night progressed we enjoyed all the things there are to enjoy at Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras world the Saturday before Fat Tuesday. The costumes are always outrageous, the music is great, there are a ton of people and friends to see, and it is just a solid 4-5 hours of laughing, dancing, running around and enjoying the freak show.

I weaseled home via cab around 3am, knowing that if I pushed the envelope I would be completely useless today. I left a trail of tutu, glitter, tiaras and boots from the front door to my bed.

I'm pretty sure Nanny is still over on the Westbank somewhere.

Far: a long, long way to run...

2008-02-02T15:05:00.000-08:00

Good Lord. This morning I woke up for a long run, which I've not been able to do with friends for quite some time. It was awfully cold starting out at 5, and we took a different route in order to accomodate a few starting points.

Though I haven't run more than around 15 miles in a long time, I was expecting to be able to handle 18 fairly gracefully. Aside from rescuing a wayward lab puppy around City Park, the first 3/4 of the run was pretty uneventful. However, when we ran over the "hill" on Wisner, I got a pretty sincere cramp in my right calf...which is the calf that gave me trouble going up the hills in Boston last spring. When we stopped on Carrolton for water, I banged on it a few times and it felt a little better, but around five minutes later it started bothering me again. And I was very quiet for the last two miles of the run. During which I was silently ticking off quarter miles as we passed my house, Oak Street, the River bend, etc.

Dang, my legs hurt when I was done. Which has got me thinking about what the problem was...the hill? The distance? Food? It's historically been around the 18-20 mile mark in each of the four marathons I've run that my calf or hip/ass/butt thing start to give me trouble. And I've been decently trained for 3 of the 4 marathons and perfectly trained for one, so it's not that I've up and run something I've not been prepared for.

Boring post, I know, but someday I'd like to run a decent marathon, and things like this always make me wonder what exactly it is standing in my way.

The Grinch of Mardi Gras

2008-02-02T12:52:00.000-08:00

I am an acknowledged Parade Grinch. This worked out ok when Stephan took the kids to parades a couple of nights and I handled Mardi Gras day (when I set my grinchiness aside in order to hang out with my cousins.) This year Muses was postponed due to rain, which meant parade duty fell solidly on my shoulders Friday night.

And I was pissed. Not so much about parade duty, specifically, but I was feeling overwhelmed about the number of things I needed to get done before Saturday night, and I also made the mistake of getting on the scale at work and having confirmed what I already knew, which was that I have gained too much weight from this Godforsaken medicine, which just pisses me off to no end. Which is another rant entirely, but it helped set my mood for the parades.

Anyway, we got dressed; the girls and Malla in warm clothing and me in a fleece muumuu, and headed out to Napoleon Avenue. Where we endured the end of what I thought was second parade and watched Krewe D'Etat roll by. I had sort-of convincingly faked the entire thing until someone mentioned that KDE was actually the second parade and not the third parade. Which meant that there was another entire parade before Muses. And it was already 9 at night. Thankfully, Lucy hit the wall and demanded to go home and we slithered away Museless. And thank God for that because I heard that by 10:30 they were still not moving yet.

So my kids have had to feign satisfaction with eeriely gummy blinking KDE pendants for the time being. Which, frankly they were lucky to get with the way Doug Holmes ignored their plaintive cries during the parade.

Areas in which I really stink as a fun mom: Parades AND Squawkers McCaw.

Enjoy your meal...and get the hell out of here

2008-02-01T08:14:00.001-08:00

Yesterday Malla arrived in New Orleans. In other words, Malla and I have completely degenerated into Beavis and Butthead, and there is no stopping us now. Last night we went to eat at Hana with Tim.

Actually, it took us forever to get out the door. Between Tim and Santilla's drama (and for the record, I feel you, Tilla) and my refusal to take a shower until the last possible second, and the panicked hysteria that resulted afterwards because I can't button my friggin' pants and have to wear running pants everywhere it was 8:45 before we got in the car.

For the record, the PassShit is sparkling clean. Lucy and I vacuumed it out so that if Malla dies driving it, she will at least die in a car devoid of Ritz Bits and smushed Nutrigrain bars.

We went to Hana in the Riverbend, which is ordinarily a great place to eat some raw fish. First, they denied us seating at the sushi bar, which whatever...who cares. Then the overly eager and aggressive waitress hovered relentlessly until we gave her our order. After they offered me Cointreu in place of an amaretto sour, I became nervous. Then the food arrived. There was a mysterious sauce on my rainbow roll. Being a turd, I exclaimed "There is sauce on my rainbow roll!" The overly eager waitress asked me if it was ok that there was sauce on the rainbow roll. Not wanting to be a PITA, I said "I'm sure I will learn to love the sauce on my rainbow roll." However, after Tim determined that it was a cream based sauce I decided that I probably wouldn't learn to love it and asked the OEW if we could get an additional, UNSAUCED rainbow roll...and pay for both, of course.

"The kitchen is closed." WHAT? It was 9:06. So, for the next 25-30 minutes people cleared their throats, banged their purses and sharpened knives noisily while we scarfed down our food. Or looked suspiciously at the sauce dripping off my rainbow roll.

Afterwards we went to the daquiri shop and Malla went in to get our drinks. As she came to the car she screamed "son of a BITCH!" and dropped her daquiri on the ground. Tim convinced her to go back in and show them the empty cup and she reemerged happy. As we all poked our straws into our cups I noticed the color of Malla's daquiri. Orange. She got an EFFING 190-OCTANE! I personally believe these should not be sold to people over the age of 22 because it causes your genes to deteriorate or something.

So we went to St. Joes, which confused the hell out of Malla because it used to be Ms. Mae's, and we used to buy drinks there with change, and her ex-BF used to sing along to Rolling Stones songs. And we bored Tim to death telling "remember-this-and-that" stories. He was very quiet.

We all got back into the PassShit and upon arriving home we got out of the car and I immediately dropped my daquiri...Malla screamed "SON OF A BITCH!", Tim went home and we went inside and turned on Law and Order:Drunk People Should go to Bed. Oh, and then I ate the rainbow roll, sauce and all. Whatever cream-based sauce there was was overshadowed by the tostitos.

Just an observation...

2008-02-01T08:09:00.000-08:00

Since we got her, I've been comparing Chippy to a sausage chub in my mind. Yesterday I could no longer resist the urge to actually compare her to a sausage chub. Enjoy.

So, this is how it really works:

2008-01-31T19:39:00.000-08:00

Since Monday Lucy has slept in her bed. This is how it works. Around 8:15 I tell her it is time to start thinking about bed. She asks me if it is time for me to start thinking about bed, too. I tell her no, it is not time for me to be thinking about bed; it is time for me to be thinking about the Housewives of Orange Country Reunion show. She tells me she wishes that I was more tired. I remind her that Chippy is living here with us because Lucy is grown up enough to take care of guinea pig and sleep in her room. Lucy briefly says that she likes having a dog and that maybe the guinea pig could be Hannah's. I say no, that if Lucy doesn't sleep in her bed the guinea pig will be going back to the Newman Science lab for anyone who wants to adopt her...including Murray (who screams) or Eli (who hits.) She shuffles off to bed.

Twenty minutes later a forlorn voice calls out from the dining room area (which has been subcontracted into being Lucy's room) and asks if I can maybe lie down for a little while. Which I do. Lucy then rolls over, puts my hand on her stomach and falls asleep. And I creep away with moderate success. Sometimes she screams "You are not going away yet, Mommy, LIE DOWN." Sometimes she just keeps sleeping.

However, on Wednesday night she fell asleep completely by herself in her bed with only the bubbling of Mr. TT's waterfall and the munching sounds of Chippy eating hay.

Things are going to be ok for the midget dictator. One step at a time and all, but I feel hopeful that I will not have to spend the first night of college in her bed with her.

Photo above of Roux avidly watching Chippy, which he does ALL DAY LONG. Chippy has learned to like her audience, and when she bullets around her cage, Roux sometimes whines or makes a little bark...which makes Chippy simulataneously squeak and shit, and everyone is excited when that happens.

Patriotic Picnic/Business Lunch

2008-01-30T18:50:00.000-08:00

Today was the Annual First Grade Patriotic Picnic. Stephan and I continued in our quest to be the Friendliest Divorced Couple Ever! and met at school and shared a picnic blanket. As the kids belted out their songs, I was reminded again that elementary school children REALLY like to sing "God bless the U.S.A." more than any other patriotic song. Hannah's grade did, too...and they sing the line about "my children and my wife" in an especially emphatic manner, which causes tittering in the audience. (somehow, tittering can only happen in audiences.)

A hearty lunch of hotdogs, chili, potato salad, apple pie and corn was served and then the parents toured all of the patriotic projects, including Lucy's Neil Armstrong presentation. They were all informative, but I found a marionette of a bald eagle the most impressive.

Afterwards Stephan gave me a ride the half a block to my car and I managed to somehow work myself into a regretful state of mind where I ask probing questions like "I think we get along better this way, don't you?" and Stephan tried to ignore my questions and ultimately rebuffed me by saying "This is the best we can expect, and I'm fine with that." So I got out of the car and was like "Yeah, sure...it's not I like I ever wanted to be friends or anything. It's like business."

I hate business.

You're not even curious? Seriously?

2008-01-29T09:24:00.000-08:00

Did you people forget what Monday was? In all the hype of mustaches and Mardi Gras did the fact that we got a GUINEA PIG get lost in the avalanche of fun?

Our guinea pig is named Chippy. No, she's named Nutter Butter. No, Chippy. No, Nutter Butter. Chip! Nutter Butter! CHIP!

This argument has been raging since Monday afternoon. Our new rodent is a girl, born to a mother named Oreo. The First Graders at Newman named her Chip before they knew she was a girl. Lucy likes the name Chip, but Hannah thinks she should have a girl name. And goodness knows, Nutter Butter is right up there with Hayley and Christine.

After a $100+ visit to Petco during which I bought a cage, hay, food, litter, and a book about guinea pigs, I picked Chip/Nutter Butter up from the science lab at Newman. Against all odds, I found myself admiring her. Guinea pigs make really cute noises. They sound sort of like electronic squeaks. They kind of buzz. And Chip/NB does not bite. Hallelujah.

She does, however, shit. She shits when she is scared, which we found out while Lucy was carrying her around and Roux jumped up to check her out. As Lucy was standing there yelling at Roux, Chippy/NB was crapping up a storm, which I pointed out to Lucy. Lucy, who loves animals but hates poo, reflexively tossed the guinea pig toward Hannah's bed. So Chippy hurtled through the air with poop flying out of her ass while Roux went completely nuts. After I rescued the guinea pig and put her away, and Roux outside I made Lucy clean up the poop. Lucy wore and apron, gloves, plastic bags on her hands and held her breath.

Guinea pig poop is the tiniest poop I have ever seen and there was no need for that nonsense. In fact, I have noticed something about guinea pig poop that is astonishing to me. It is the exact size and shape as guinea pig food. For real! I took this photo as proof. This is reassuring to me. I have convinced myself that the food merely undergoes a color change as it travells through the guinea pig digestive system.

Anyhow, Roux stands in front of the guinea pig cage staring intently at Chip all day long. She moves very erratically and quickly, so you can imagine the drama. He's been controllable when I hold Chip, but I am fairly certain if he was left unattended he would like very much to "play" with Chip...which even though labs have notoriously soft mouths, I am sure would result in fatal internal injuries for Chip.

I'm already fond of the little shitster. She's cute even though she has beady eyes.

Oh, and Lucy slept in her bed last night. Magic? No, just rodents.

A little of this, a little of that...

2008-01-28T07:09:00.000-08:00

Last night we went to the hibachi restaurant on St. Charles Ave for Hannah's birthday. It was Stephan, Hans, Nanny, me, Lucy, Hannah and two of her friends. It was actually a very nice and relaxed dinner and is an example of one of the ways that Stephan and I probably actually get along a little better now that we are living apart.

We were talking about my new job and I was lamenting the fact that I am going to miss seeing George every day, and suddenly I thought about the fact that I was sitting there talking about the fact that I was going to miss seeing George every day and that I no longer see Stephan every day and that it was kind-of weird for me to be so torn up about George when I'm kind-of ok with not seeing Stephan.

Don't get me wrong--I do miss Stephan in some ways. I'm not made of teflon, and there are times when I get nostalgic and wonder how and why we managed to grow so far apart. But on a day-to-day basis, I am more relieved that we are no longer annoying one another, and being disappointed in one another, and misunderstanding each other all the time and all that.

After dinner we went to Stephan's house so that Hannah and Lucy could demonstrate how to play Rock Band on the Playstation. I was alright at first, but the longer we stayed the antsy-er i seemed to get, until finally I was completely overwhelmed and feeling almost nauseated. It is very strange to go into a house that was once supposed to me mine, but never felt like mine, and then it is still my children's, but no longer mine and when I go there I cannot help but look around and there are some things that are improvements, but then other things start to make me feel like I should pick up some clothes and do laundry, and then Hans was getting kind of tense, which reminded me of how much that stressed me out, and My God! I was relieved to have a mustache party to go to.

So, after sitting at the table with the father of my children, one of whom was born eleven years ago, which reminded me of some good times, I went back to a house that was once filled with hope and is now stressful and all I could do was put on a russet mustache and get the heck out of Dodge.

Three Vital Conversations

2008-01-27T23:55:00.000-08:00

Between Tim and me, discussing a mutual friend and who she should be dating:

Tim: " You know, she would probably also be comfortable in the academic world."

Me: "Hm...you might be right."

Tim: "It's not a dissimilar mindset to Law."

Me: "True, but I'm not sure she could tolerate the Beards of Academia."

Tim: "What do you mean?"

Me: "I mean, she's into kind of neat, sporty types. Academics tend to get a bit grizzled and musty."

Tim: "You're right. The Beards of Academia might be a factor. She'd need a snappily dressed academic."

Me: "Perhaps a professor of architecture."

Later, the same day on the way to the costume shop:

Tim: "Dude, it is MARDI GRAS!"

Me: "Huh?"

Tim: "Look at that guy go! Yeah, you right!!!"

Me: "What?"

Tim: (pointing to a house on Tchopitoulas) "Look at him...he's dancing, eating cheetos and he's got the bubble machine going on his porch. It's Mardi Gras."

Me: "Jeez, I guess it really is."

Shortly thereafter, in the costume shop, with an employee:

Me: "Hm. I guess I'd like to see the red one, the nasty Hitler one, and that one that looks like Colonel Sanders."

Guy behind the counter: "Man, that's a lot of mustaches."

Me: "I know. I'm going to mustache party and I want to make sure I get the right one."

GBTC: "Oh, the right look?"

Me: "Well, I'm more worried about comfort."

GBTC: "Hm. Well, you'd do better to use one with spirit gum in that case."

Me: "I know, but that is a level of commitment I'm not sure I'm into."

GBTC: "Well, if you want it to last all night..."

Me: "I know, I know. I'm not sure I'm going to stay that long. I'm not positive I need an endurance mustache."

GBTC: "One of the great things about New Orleans is that people understand what an endurance mustache means."

Me: "You are right. I'll take all three."

Hannah Banana

2008-01-27T23:46:00.000-08:00

Hannah Banana,

I can't believe that you are eleven years old today. Although I am not going to say "it feels like just yesterday you were a baby" (because it is not true), I will say that I can't believe eleven years of your life have gone by. It certainly seems to have moved quickly.

When I was pregnant with you, I was terribly neurotic about your health. I made Daddy drive me to the emergency clinic in the middle of the night in October to get an ultrasound and make sure you were ok because you hadn't moved around in a while. Once you were born, I learned that it was part of your personality to be unhurried and mellow. I think we both know where you got that from, and it is NOT ME.

You were a wonderful baby. Smiling, easy, and always willing to take a nap. Obviously, we went everywhere together, and everyone in our lives enjoyed holding you and playing with you. You were a happy baby and a healthy baby, and always made things easy on your parents, which is something you won't fully understand until you have kids of your own and learn the difference between mellow and not-mellow babies.

When we moved to New Orleans I was anxious about putting you in preschool. You had always been with me 24 hours a day, and I worried you wouldn't like the change. In retrospect, I should have known you would love school and thrive among other children. In fact, I was rather insulted when you demanded to stay for "lunch bunch" rather than coming home midday. You've always enjoyed new experiences and that is a gift you'll carry with you throughout your life.

One memory that stands out to me (and also makes me so aggravated with myself) is our sitting in the dining room of the house on Constance Street. You were probably almost three and I was newly pregnant, crazy, and trying to finish my last essay for the last class I needed to FINALLY get my undergraduate degree at Tulane. I was pounding away on the keyboard and you were grubbing around on the floor making noise and babbling to yourself. At a certain point I became conscious of the fact that you were saying "Mommy, Mommy, look, Mommy..." Frustrated beyond belief at the computer and hormonal I turned and crabbily said "WHAT Hannah?" You had a Ritz cracker box on your head and were marching around the perimeter of the desk. I grabbed that cracker box off your head and you looked up, a little tearful, and said "That is my HAT, Mommy." Ugh. I feel like Joan Crawford just thinking about it. That is your personality, Hannah. Always happy and finding something to do when the world around you is spinning somewhere else. Since then I've tried to be more conscious of the fact that you're NOT as demanding as many people, and to be more intuitive. I know I fail a lot, and I'm sorry.

I was also worried that having another child would rock your world, and spent the last two months of my pregnancy with Lucy lamenting the fact that things would "change" between us. I used to lie next to you and wonder what you would think and feel when some squalling brat arrived, ready to take me away from you. Instead, you heralded Lucy's arrival like it was the Greatest Show on Earth. (We both know it is the noisiest show on earth). You've always looked after your sister...to the extent that you initially told Daddy not to hold her. It was only after I explained that he had held you and fed you from the very beginning that you relented and let him take care of Lucy, too.

On this subject, I'm also a big sister, and I know what a burden it can be. You know that Nanny is my one of my best friends, and that I cannot imagine life without her...which is why being a big sister is so burdensome. You have to watch your sister grow up and make big mistakes and do really stupid things, and all along, you will never stop worrying. Try to understand, though, that sisters are going to do what they are going to do. All you can reasonably expect is that you'll know you're always there for one another and try to help when you need one another and enjoy the dynamic of what is always a complicated relationship for what it is.

I don't want to focus too much on your surgery and the aftermath, because I don't think you like to focus too much on either, but I want you to know how proud I am and have always been at the way you have handled the complicated medical procedures and physical affects you've managed with such grace. For a young girl, you've been through things your parents and grandparents can't even imagine, and at the end of the day you will be a stronger person for it. Watching my child recover from brain surgery taught me a lot about life, and a lot about your spirit. You're more determined than you think you are, Hannah, and the fact that you tried to bite your surgeon (several times) is undeniable proof. I hope that you'll be able to take your experiences and make them work for you in the world as an adult. Bear in mind that you are a fighter...and always fight for what you want and believe in.

Now that you are getting older I can see that school is getting tougher and I know from personal experience that friends and boys get even tougher. Remember to always know who you are--what you stand for--and why you are doing what you are doing. Even if the answer to that is that you're exactly positive what you want to be or where you want to go...but that you are a smart, strong, sweet girl who can achieve what you set your mind to. A lot of life is learning to look at a situation and arrange it to suit yourself. Many things will appear to be disappointing, and it's impossible to deny those feelings. Growing up is fraught with tears and dread and being-mad-at-your-mom-who-is-probably-annoying-you-even-as-she-writes...but it is also filled with laughing and friends and finding out what you like...and learning how to integrate that into your world.

Lastly, I want you to know how important you are to me. Obviously, you are my child...and for that I love you unconditionally. Additonally, you are a person I would choose as a friend. You're funny and interesting and always willing to try something new, whether it be a tongue taco or swimming with a different team. A lot of times I focus on Lucy, and I don't ever want you to think I'm not also paying attention to you. I am. Lucy is so loud and demanding that she tends to overshadow all of us. I'm still looking and listening to you, I'm just also trying to untangle an alligator on a leash for her at the same time. You're different children, and I mother you in different ways. Lucy lets me know immediately if she needs something different from me, and you're more apt to accept whatever you get. If you need something more, please know I am always here. I'm just sometimes temporarily rendered deaf by the trumpet playing in the background.

I love you, Hammy. You're my heart.

Mommy

Saturday Night Live

2008-01-26T23:37:00.000-08:00

Tonight I met Tim, Pam, George and Mike at MONKEY HILL for a few drinks. Everyone was plowed but me. Furthermore, I felt like Pam's date was interviewing me for the six o'clock news. He was shocked that I did not know some woman who ran The Wall last week, and kept trying to convince me that I definitely knew her. I did not definitely know her, and for some reason he was unable to accept this fact.

Blessedly, since I am no longer drinking bourbon and Diet Coke, I did not have to go through the usual rigamarole with Mike about why I do not need to order top shelf liquor. Another affect of my not drinking bourbon and Diet Coke is that I was both capable of standing and comprehensible when I left the bar to go home.

There was some talk of Rock-n-Bowl later in the evening, but my fondness for Ramen Noodles and my own bed put me out of commission.

Also worth mentioning is the fact that Hannah Bernick went to the Hannah Montana concert this afternoon with a friend. I also attended my first concert in the 5th grade. Unfortunately that concert was Olivia Newton John "Physical", and it ultimately resulted in the unfortunate haircut that was not becoming to chubby-faced 5th graders. I think my bangs are still growing out.

THE GREEDY...

2008-01-25T22:14:00.000-08:00

Holy Shit and Thank God for Youtube!

The entire time I worked at the stationary store in Baton Rouge I kept trying to describe my boss to my friends. She reminded me of The Greedy from Raggedy Ann. Unfortunately, nobody knew what I meant, so it remained a useless comparison.

After posting about Bellanoche and past employment I started to think about The Greedy again...and googled...and in the past three years the internet has exploded with images and information about TG.

Please, enjoy. This scared the crap out of me as a child, and my boss scared the crap out of me at the stationary store. If you're in Baton Rouge, she drives a black Mercedes...with a trail of chocolate syrup training from the exhaust, no doubt.

Big News

2008-01-25T21:34:00.000-08:00

I've been putting off talking about this because I have such mixed emotions, but now that I've talked about it with everyone who needed to hear it in person, I guess it's time to talk to the internet.

In a mere two-and-a-half weeks I will be leaving my beloved position of chief shoe wench at Southern Runner. For those of you that don't live here in New Orleans, or talk to me on a regular basis, I LOVE my job. During the hurricane (which is how I always refer to the period of time after Katrina that almost everyone I know lived in some sort of limbo or extended camping situation) I lived in Baton Rouge and managed a stationary store. It was simultaneously one of the most tangibly pleasurable (I love paper and paper products) and mentally and psychologically demeaning situations I have ever been in. The owners of the store were large, demanding, entitled, obnoxious people that drove black Mercedes and yelled at everyone they could find to yell at. When I was hired to help "turn around" the business, I did not realize that my main function would be to take verbal abuse several times a day. I could into this further, but as Katherine C. can attest, that job sucked ass. Bad.

When I moved back to New Orleans I started working at Southern Runner, which is a running store on Magazine Street. The first two weeks I spent cleaning the entire building with bleach and cleaning a bathroom that might not have been touched since 1986 or so. After that, I've spent the past two years learning about shoes and running and hanging out with one of my favorite people in the whole world (George) while occasionally vacuuming. George and Mike have been great to me--not only have they included me in some of the fun business decisions like what girls' running clothes to order, but they have also taught me a lot about the specialty shoe biz. Additionally, they have been overly accepting of my state of mind. I've been less than dependable, often skittish, and sometimes spacey. Through everything we've seen come and go over the past two years, they've stood by me and helped in whatever way they could. Which is why I am so sad to go.

I've accepted the position of retail manager at Belladonna Day Spa on Magazine Street. It's a great spa, fabulous shop...I've worked in a similar environment at Peppercorn out in Boulder, and I have a decent idea of what I am getting into. They've given me great perks, good benefits, and a decent base salary coming at the management level off the street. I'm very appreciative and looking forward to the challenges of the new job, but I am also filled with trepidation because I know how much work it's going to be. My kids will be going to aftercare, I'll be working every Saturday, etc, etc. There won't be anymore "Hi, we just finished the race and everyone is having fun...do you mind if I just stay and hang out?" I won't be talking to people about shoes...and frankly...with any mangerial position in a large entity, a lot of my job is going to be conflict resolution and ego massaging. Which I'm really good at, actually. It's just tedious.

I'm trying to focus on the good, of which there is a lot. I know I have a spot at Southern Runner if I need it, and I'm hoping to keep in good touch. I sort-of feel like I am leaving kindergarten and going to big girl school, which is a process everyone faces, at least if they have any interest in playing on the cooler playground equipment.

I'm just really going to miss George.

Before anyone has a heart attack...

2008-01-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

Here is the beaver in the box.

And it's that time of year again...

2008-01-24T07:30:00.000-08:00

It's Mom's Ball time, and honestly...for me it's like Halloween, the Fourth of July, and a roller skating rink all wound up into one evening on the Westbank. An evening with friends, if I may.

I was feeling a little unnerved about going this year because it will mean Stephan in all his Mom's Ball glory (an inexplicable costume) along with all of our couple friends. Whom he has stayed tight with and I am slithering further and further away from. And I know he'll go with a big group, and it was starting to look like it would be either me and me, or me and someone I tied up at the park after track.

Luckily, Malla booked her ticket yesterday, and my sister is also coming in, and now there is talk of even more friends joining the fray. It'll definitely be the first time I dress up (so to speak...but I mean dress up at all) and go out since I've become a single lass.

In case you are wondering, I was a beaver-in-a-box last year. I felt very clever, as there were about 30,000 dick-in-a-boxes, but I was the only beaver. There were also clam shells in my box. I am standing next to my friend Matthew, who was mocking the untimely death of the Crocodile Hunter.

Soon to live in my house:

2008-01-24T07:24:00.000-08:00

This morning I met my soon-to-be guinea pig. I went in for a tutorial by the science teacher and to find out what kind of stuff I need to get at Petco to prepare for the rodent arrival.

She's pretty cute. Here is the rapier-sharp catch for Lucy...Lucy does not get to keep the guinea pig unless Lucy sleeps in her own room with her own guinea pig. I'll do the lying-down-with-her-and-reading-books-about-Neil-Armstrong thing, too, but I am hopeful that this stunning psychological warfare will work.

Oh, and guinea pigs definitely smell. Not horrible, but they smell. Lucy's advice was this:

"Well, I don't smell them stinking anymore because I am used to them. I spend lots of time with the guinea pigs. So you probably just need to spend a lot of time with her and let the smell get up in your nose so you get used to it."

Noted.

She'll be joining the family Monday after school.

The most unproductive day ever. Except not.

2008-01-23T19:16:00.000-08:00

I took today off of work in order to take care of a bunch of errands and some housecleaning. I had a friend coming over to help me with furniture and picture hanging, and a late-in-the-day run scheduled. Generally, I try to get my running out of the way early, but due to the nature of this particular run, I put it off until the last possible second.

And every single thing I attempted to accomplish fell through. (Except the housecleaning.) I was stood up for a run I was already irritated about, which led to me completely irrational decision to bag the run and get a new cellphone.

So I got a new cellphone. So far it has not turned off unexpectedly once. I have high hopes.

And yeah...it's purple.

Housewives of Orange County

2008-01-22T22:58:00.000-08:00

The one show I completely associate with my change of life is over. I had never even HEARD of Housewives of Orange County until I moved to Hickory Street and started to have too much free time on my hands. Initially, I watched everything, but after a month or so I went back to my reading habit and tapered the TV to just a show or two. One of which is DEFINITELY ALWAYS HoOC.

Tonight Lauri got married to her rich boyfriend. Her drug addled son attended and behaved. Jo shook up Tamra's role as the Hottest Housewife of Orange County with a surprise visit from LA. Vicki is on the cusp of seperating from her mustached husband, which would benefit Jeana greatly, as she divorced her mustached husband, and has admitted she misses the presence of a (mustached) man in her life. Quinn, the new housewife (who is actually unmarried) with absolutely mindbogglingly huge boobs that dates men under 30, went to Vegas with Bobby, but his lack of interest in her Faith and God seems like it is going to prevent the relationship from progressing. All the spawn of the Housewives are as astonishingly goodlooking and maladjusted as ever. I'm sad to bid them adieu.

I'm hopeful about the Housewives of New York City series that is coming on in March, though.

The Midget Dictator

2008-01-22T22:37:00.000-08:00

After reading my sister's blog on how she watches too much TV I was hesitant to make my Tuesday blog about the season finale of Housewives of Orange County, but since I'm not a obsessive TV watcher, I was working hard at justifying it to myself.

Turns out it wasn't necessary as Lucy had an Epic Meltdown. Epic Meltdowns are not unusual for Lucy, but this one also involved Hannah and resulted in my disgustedly turning off the TV halfway through the season finale and getting into bed and grumpily saying "Enough. Go to bed. I don't want to hear any more."

And you see, that is part of the problem. Hannah, Lucy and I all sleep IN THE SAME BED. This is a disasterous habit that started after Katrina at my parents' house when we had no choice. Initially, my grandmother and aunt were also living at Kakes and Deeds', so Hannah, Lucy, Roux, Mesa and I were crammed into one bedroom. By the time the others left, we were into a pretty regimented schedule that involved all three of us in bed with the lights out by 8:30 pm. It was a very stressful time, and to be honest, a fight not worth fighting. Once we moved home in late December, the big change was that Stephan was also in the bed with us. Due to an optimistic miscalculation, Stephan moved all of our furniture upstairs in order to accomodate the remodelling going on downstairs. We could barely walk upstairs, and lived in obnoxiously tight quarters for nearly 10 months. There was a (very) brief period where Stephan and I bought a new bed and moved into our new Master bedroom downstairs. Admittedly, I made the next huge error...I was really starting to struggle with our relationship and couldn't sleep at night, which led me to accuse Stephan of unbearable snoring (it really was unbearable, but I probably would have been nicer about it if I wasn't consumed with doubt over our marriage all the time) and sleep upstairs in the guest bedroom. Which led to Lucy crawling into my bed. And later, of course, we decided to divorce and moved here to Hickory Street, and we are still all sleeping in the same bed.

Hannah's not an issue. She can sleep in her bed, my bed, on the floor, in the car--she just sleeps wherever she lands. Lucy, on the other hand, has been rigid since the hurricane. If she doesn't get to bed by 8:30 she starts to panic. She worries she won't be able to wake up in time for school. She might not be able to run at recess because she is tired. She might fall alseep during share. She'll be tired at swim practice. She will forget her lunch. And on and on and on. This would be fine if it involved her marching herself off to bed at 8:30, which it sometimes does...but it often involves her marching ME off to bed at 8:30, too...which is not so good. She will literally push visitors out the door and say "it's time for me and my mom to go to bed."

TOTALLY UNHEALTHY AND CODEPENDANT, I KNOW.

But what do I do about it? She genuinely gets so upset...she's not doing it to be a brat, she's got some sort of weird psychological fear that she can't verbalize and it's taken root with this bedtime thing. She won't sleep over at her friends' houses, and really...thank heavens Colleen is tolerant, because when Colleen spend the night, Lucy goes to bed at 8:30 and Colleen stays up with Hannah. With the divorce and my feeling so guilty, I really allowed this to linger on too long. Selfishly, when they got back from Christmas (which would have been an excellent opportunity for change) I was so happy to have them back that I was glad to have them in my bed.

Now I have visions of myself at 43 with a college freshman, elderly Roux, a guinea pig, and God knows what other critters in my bed with me as I try to read my Mature Wisdom catalog.

Stephan and I talked earlier about arresting the behavior (she sleeps in his bed, too) and we are considering cold turkey this next week...but cold turkey can go several ways...

1) Cold Turkey, no mommy, Lucy in her own bed...which will lead to probably 4+ hours of screaming and I am not exaggerating.

2) Lucy and mommy in Lucy's bed for a few days, then no mommy.

3) Lucy and Hannah in Lucy's bed, no mommy.

Any advice? Lucy is a smart kid, but she is seriously lacking in coping skills.

MLK Day

2008-01-21T23:14:00.000-08:00

As it's Martin Luther King day, I'd like to write something profound about humanity and racism.

I've written four drafts and they all come off sounding disconnected and stupid, so instead I am going to tell one of my favorite stories about Hannah Bernick's preschool thinking.

When Hannah was three, several moms (myself included) at her preschool were pregnant. Her preschool was quite diverse, as a lot of the parents were grad students or professors from local universities. One of her friends (Isaac) had a nerdy white dad and a mom from Korea. Issac's mom had her baby first--a little girl named Ania. After Ania, Colleen Maloney (the same Colleen Malony that is now Lucy Bernick's best friend) was born. Still waiting on her own sibling, Hannah told everyone she encountered that she was hoping that 'her baby' would look like Isaac's baby, but with red hair like baby Colleen. So Hannah wanted a red-headed Korean baby. After Lucy was born, Hannah's friend Daniel was the only one left waiting for his sister or brother to be born. As we were walking out of school one day, Daniel pulled his mother over to Lucy's carseat. 'I want one just like that. A girl with yellow hair and blue eyes.' His mom laughed until she had to sit down. As we walked out to the car she told me she knew she was pregnant with a boy...and that he was definitely going to be just as male and black as his two brothers.

Happy Martin Luther King Day. I hope we all get it right soon

ICE

2008-01-20T13:16:00.000-08:00

There was ICE on the streetcar tracks when I ran this morning.

Spacy

2008-01-19T11:01:00.000-08:00

This morning at 9:30 am we drove to Kenner. We arrived at the Planetarium at 10:02 and were denied entry to the Space Movie. Daunted, we drove back Uptown.

Come 1 pm, it was time to try again. This time Lucy wore her astronaut outfit. This time we watched the movie. This time we also bought a new patch for her spacesuit that has international flags on it, including a Swedish flag.

The Kenner Planetarium was worth the trip, though I suggest doing it once and not twice. The show we saw was about the Voyager Encounters...Jupiter, Uranus (pronounced YOURUNUS, not the way I like to say YOURANUS while snickering), Saturn and Neptune. I think it was a bit above Lucy's head but she was enraptured with the mechanics of the Planetarium in general, so it all worked out.

I bet you are wondering why space plays such a large role in Lucy's life right now. It is because she is doing a report on Neil Armstrong. We've learned much about Neil Armstrong in the past two weeks, including the fact that he is now 77 and owned more than one space suit.

The Daily Lucy: 2 in a row

2008-01-18T17:48:00.000-08:00

"Mommy, can I please have a hamster?"

"NO!"

"I mean a guinea pig...a guinea pig!"

"How would we get a guinea pig?"

"Ms. Williams is giving them away! We can have one next week!"

"Why? Wait...I don't know if I want a guinea pg. Don't they stink? Why is she giving them away?"

"Because they are growing up and soon they are going to fall in love with their mother and make more guinea pgs."

"WHAT?"

"Mom! The babies are growing up and if they don't get adopted they might fall in love with their mom and make new guinea pigs!"

"OK...so they might get pregnant?"

"I guess. I really want a guinea pig!"

"Uh...we'll have to do some research. We already have Roux, Mr. TT and Adam Goucher."

"Well, the guinea pig is black and white and I never notice him stinking much at all!"

More Beard Obsessiveness

2008-01-18T10:48:00.000-08:00

Last night I went and ran with the Thursday night pick-uppers. I didn't run pick-ups in order to preserve myself for the workout I planned on running this morning. The one that I decided I was too cold to run and stayed in bed for. Anyway. After the run a few people made plans to get together for dinner. At Bill Plunkett's insistence, a restaurant SPECIALIZING IN GARLIC was selected.

Between the park and the restaurant I gave Jesus Christ a ride home, which led to a conversation with Xavier (Wayne Wagner's doppleganger/Jesus' roommate). At my insistence, Xavier joined us for dinner. So, when we got to the restaurant Bill Plunkett (GARLIC INSISTOR) was not there. Being impatient, he left after tapping his foot for five minutes.

That was the set up for the rest of the story. The rest of the story is this: Xavier has a goatee that, when fully extended, is a foot long. And, because I am me, I got to pretend I was on a date with him, and his goatee, which was not fully extended. The goatee simultaneously excites me and yet guarantees that I will never have the same feelings for Xavier as I do for Wayne Wagner.

Additionally, Xavier has a small compostition-style notebook in which he writes American slang. It is filled with codes like this: shithead=not a good fellow.

That's all.

The Daily Lucy

2008-01-18T08:38:00.001-08:00

"Mom, do you think Neil Armstrong still has his space outfit that he used on the moon?"

"That's actually a good question-I have no idea."

"Hannah said it might be in a museum."

"She's right...it might be at NASA."

"Well, if I was Neil Armstrong I would keep it at home so I could wear it to dinner sometimes."

"It would be hard to eat dinner in a space suit, probably."

"No. He'd take the helmet off."

Sugar and spice and dirty socks

2008-01-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday I left my car parked at Newman all day and integrated my run into picking Hannah and Lucy up from school. This landed me at Newman a few minutes early so I engaged in some "observation" (SPYING).

Not surprisingly, Lucy was jumping up and down in her classroom with Max. Although he is NOT HER BOYFRIEND they constantly talk about their plans for the future. Which include playdates, roller skating excursions, and recently, talk of being astronauts together.

The fifth graders have recess right before dismissal. I looked around the playground for a minute before I saw Hannah. She was in the midst of a football game trying fruitlessly to provide defense against a team of boys all at least a foot taller than her. She was the only girl on the field. She's like a pitbull, though. She just keeps at it. Her hair was halfway out of a ponytail, her face was flushed, her socks were dirty and as I watched she took a horrendous digger. The bell rang, and she dusted herself off and grabbed her books and headed toward the building.

So, my two grubby kids with messy hair and dirty uniforms came through the door to walk out to the car with me. They both smelled like puppies, which I immediately commented on. We bumped into a friend of ours, another Newman swimteam mom, who said "You girls are such tomboys!" I laughed, agreeing "You're always just coming from a run, and your girls are just like you!" Oh. I realized I was sweaty and smelly and wearing wet running clothes. She meant all of us.

I am going to pretend this means we are well-rounded and open-minded.

Milky Way

2008-01-16T21:53:00.000-08:00

I felt sad all day today. It wasn't a directed sadness, exactly, just sort-of a gloomy-swimming-through-space feeling. The cold and rain probably contributed, but I can't help but feel that something is coming through my emotional pipeline...I feel a change coming on.

I've been in a bit of an emotional freefall since I moved. Initially, everything was very busy. Between the physical process of moving and the rabid efforts I made at getting "settled" quickly in an effort to make it painless for Hannah and Lucy, I had that wide-eyed spastic thing going on. Then Christmas brought the blahs. Nobody around, nothing really great to do, and I felt sort of like a balloon someone let go of. Now that it's January and the New Orleans calendar year is rocketing forward at a ridiculous rate due to an early Mardi Gras, I'm finding that I feel like someone slammed an egg timer down on my desk and said "Do it!"

Do what? I'm not sure. I went on a job interview for a job I "have misgivings about" at best. I spent a lot of money on drugs that are making me poor and fat. Sometimes I go to work, and sometimes I sit on the floor at home and wonder exactly what it is I'm supposed to do.

Last Saturday Hannah told me Stephan is thinking about selling the house on Constance Street. I'm not sure why this caught me offguard, but it did. And although I don't really care too much about the physical structure, it suddenly struck me sad. It's a big house. I used to think about the fact that I could have three more kids and easily have room for each of them to have a bedroom. Nevermind the fact that Stephan didn't want any more kids, I clearly had voluntary amnesia about that part of the equation. I'm not sure what my problem is with the house being sold. It's not like I was going to buy it back from him and have three more children. I guess maybe it's just more proof that I was a dumbass.

I'm also having trouble adjusting to the fact that I no longer run with my friends. I know that is kind-of a "wah wah" gripe. I have friends who moved after the hurricane who have been running alone for three years now. And I run alone in Baton Rouge all the time. And I don't even mind so much the running alone. I think what I miss is the chicktime. And some dudetime, as I ran with Tim at least a couple times a week, too. My interaction with adults is limited to e-mail and work. And as much fun as work is (and it is...really), it's not a substitute for an evening with friends or anything.

Last Thursday night Lucy was jumping around in her bathing suit before swimpractice and she was asking me what my plans were for the evening. (They are usually nothing) I told her I was seeing Juno with Kelly. Lucy says "Well, it's about time. You need to go on a date or something!" To say I was taken aback is an understatement. I don't think Lucy's understanding of what a date is extends beyond Highschool Musical 2, but it was a mouthful coming from her.

I am realizing that when Stephan and I were still living together that my marriage was very lonely, but my social life (through running) was very full. Now my home life feels much more honest and happy most of the time, but my social life is nonexistant. All adages apply.

I still feel like I'm floating around upside down in space.

For my sister:

2008-01-15T07:50:00.001-08:00

By the way...at Thorny's memorial a man stood up to "share"...he had on your typical Jazzfester's uniform of a weathered Hawaiianesque camp shirt and some well-worn cargo pants (shorts during Fest season) with a fanny pack.

I'm going to paraphrase here, but trust me...it's pretty close:

"I remember when I met Thorny and Diane. We were at a show in Burlington, Vermont when Thorny leaned over and introduced himself. We were both music lovers, we had on shirts just like this, and we both had beards. We knew we would be friends."

I KNEW IT! It's like people that drive VW Bugs. People with beards identify with one another. And if they don't all identify with one another, I identify them with one another.

And while I am thinking about it, Lucy put our fake white beard on Roux this weekend. He was her assistant and they were solving a mystery. She was wearing the mustache from the spy kit and false eyelashes.

And, OMG, can you even begin to deconstruct the photo above and identify all the very strange things going on it it?

The canvas can do miracles...

2008-01-15T07:19:00.000-08:00

OK. Although it might be hard to believe, there are times in my life where I feel and even BEHAVE quite awkwardly. This is a circuituous story, so try to stay with me.

I have a group of friends within my running group. We tend to do a bit of offgroup e-mailing. Maybe we e-mail more than we actually work. But that's just conjecture. Anyhow, we are a random little group...my friend Andrew has us saved in his mail settings under "assholes", if that helps any.

Within our group of assholes, we tend to take a rather honest approach toward communicating with one another, and it often becomes rather violent verbally. Since Stephan and I have seperated, certain members of the AG (asshole group) have taken to teasing me about dating whatever hideously unattractive character crosses any of our paths. And it's merciless. If you resemble Jabba the Hut or Ignatious Riley, forward your CV to alilly@cox.net. He'll be certain to accost me with our suitability until I cry mercy.

Last week I told them all the eff off, and that I was going to pursue "John Doe". Young Doe occasionally works out with our group on Tuesday nights. He's a very sweet kid. He is maybe 22 years old. I probably babysat his friends when I was at Tulane. About the last thing I am going to do right now is actually pursue Jonathon Doe. But being me, I failed to see that this scenario could become just as much fun to mock me with as all the Gollums and Captain Cavemans we've already discussed.

So now, instead of listening to chorus of "Kristin and Chris Farley, sittin' in a tree", I receive e-mails with allusions to cougars and the fact that if I play my cards right, maybe JD's dad will drive us to the cinema to see a PG movie. And it has taken on a life of it's own.

Last week I was running in the park while the kids were at swim practice. I had run some pickups earlier that day, so I was kind-of stiff and awkward, and it was raining. I was plodding along, with the volume on Hannah's iPod on like level 60,000 when I bumped smack into Johnny Doe.

And because it was raining and because the iPod was in a plastic bag, but MOSTLY because I am a complete and total spaz, I could not lower the volume. And so, uncertain of what to do, I waved and dashed madly across the street and onto the streetcar tracks, as though my run was absolutely crucial and could not be interrupted for any reason.

And the middle aged cougar slunk away with "SAILING" by Christopher Cross blaring out of her iPod as the young buck sped past her on his way home.

Smooth, huh?

What's on the BBQ?

2008-01-14T19:03:00.000-08:00

Roux has been afflicted with a terrible disease. It is called dumbass. It often symptomizes in conjunction with cooler weather. For a dog that is known for being humble and dumb, if you give him weather below 70 degrees, he suddenly becomes a restless teenager, anxious to tug on the leash, dart toward the street, and shit recklessly on concrete.

This morning I took a few photos of our route down Freret Street. I'll admit that I brought the camera in the hopes of catching crazy alligator head man out on his porch, but unfortunately he did not cooperate. I did take a picture of his porch, though, as he seems to be building some sort of combination vacuum cleaner/running stroller contraption. I also took one of the apparent BBQ grill that incessantly smokes in front of the Stern Building on Tulane's Campus. It has been making me nervous since 1990. It never stops smoking. What is in it? Chemistry experiments? Lunch? The bones of students that my assholian Chem I professor ate for lunch? Also, a photo of the dog that scares me but compels Roux to kick his back legs up in a showoffy way whenever we pass his house. I'd like to get a photo of the kind of dog that terrifies Roux, but there were no weenie dogs on our walk today. Lastly, a lovely photo of the uplifting poster on the front of a school. I hope the schoolchildren understand the sentiment, because I know I want my first grader coming home to ask me about abortion.

Enjoy the virtual stroll home from Newman

Thornybration

2008-01-13T18:50:00.000-08:00

This weekend my family has been "celebrating the life" of my Uncle Thorny, who died in late August. I'm not sure if it was his life philosophy, upbringing, or the fact that he was a Quaker that set the tone of the events, but it's worth mentioning that this was the only fun memorial service I've ever attended.

I'm not going to bore the internet with the complete history of Thorny. He looked like Santa, dressed like Jerry Garcia, was an English professor, helped found Tipitina's, and sang a Turkey Song every Thanksgiving. He married into my crazyass family and managed to stand his ground despite wild undulations in the lay of the land. He has gotten me into MOM's Ball almost every year since 1992. He sometimes made me feel intellectually inadequate. He sat outside his house on Moss Street for every Mardi Gras Marathon and Crescent City Classic and yodeled for all of the runners, but especially Shannon and me. He had a library underneath his house. Every square inch of his home was covered with artwork or music posters. He made my aunt peaceful and happy for decades. He was a delighted individual.

The service, which took place at St. George's was led by his sister (a Presbyterian minister) and a Quaker. The music nearly blew the roof off the church, as Deacon John sang so loudly Lucy covered her ears. The female gospel soloist was someone I wasn't familiar with, but I am sure St. George's has never heard gospel like that before. There was a full ten minutes of absolute silence when the congregation was instructed to "collect their thoughts"...during which I sat there and had my usual in-Church conversation with God...during which I think about Josh, Hannah, Lucy, my parents and sister, extended family, friends, the fact that I am healthy (even though my teeth are falling out) and don't have to worry about food and shelter. I tried to concentrate and work out what exactly is going on with my crisis of faith, but I didn't have any epiphanies. Plus, somebody up front (I suspect one of my uncles, of which there are 10,000) kept clearing their nose and throat. The the "sharing" began. Though unconventional, it was really kind-of nice to listen to all those Thorny stories. The other interesting thing they did was that when we exchanged the peace (when you turn around in your seat and shake everyone's hands and say "Peace be with you", we also said "I'm glad you were friends with Thorny"...which made everyone smile and laugh a lot. After the service concluded, there was a Jazz Funeral procession down St. Charles and Napoleon to Tip's for a "celebration jam"...Hannah and Lucy were not in the mood to jam so we went home instead.

So, my final thought and contribution to Thornybration is this:

In 1999 Stephan and I went to MOM's Ball (google it because I cannot explain it) as Poseidon and a mermaid. Stephan, who is notorious for his weird and inexplicable costumes, created the strangest and least recognizable representation of Poseidon ever. He wore a leotard, tights, a fake beard, and had some blue makeup on his forehead. We bumped into Thorny and Diane up front by the band (which is where we always bump into Diane and Thorny)...Thorny was having problems because his MOM's Ball boots were pinching his toes (don't ask, just try to attend one year) and Diane was waving some sort of wand. Once Thorny looked up and gave our costumes a gander, he smiled so widely I thought his face would crack in half. "Stephan," he said "I am so honored." Thorny thought Stephan was dressed as him.

And that will always make me laugh.

The Roller Rink

2008-01-12T20:21:00.000-08:00

My weekend has been filled with swimmeets and the roller rink. The swimmeets were wet and tedious, as usual. Hannah knocked a lot of time off of her 50M freestyle and breaststroke, but otherwise, the swimming was pretty unremarkable.

The roller rink, however, was WILD. For some reason all of the skating parties we have attended have been on a schoolday afternoon. Saturday is a whole new universe.

A WEIRD universe. While Lucy was busy skating around, I was busy observing. If you look closely at the photo above, you might notice the large man in the center. He was incredibly serious about his skating and when they did the "adult skate" where they sheparded all the kids off the rink, he busted out with some moves that had clearly been honed with much practice.

The thing I couldn't figure out...this guy looked like the kind of guy who had been working on his PhD for like 9 years. He looked like a disgruntled academic. A disgruntled academic who can SKATE LIKE A WIZARD!

Yosemite Kristin

2008-01-12T17:43:00.000-08:00

Quite honestly, I hate mushrooms and mushroom soup. In reality, my dad is more apt to offer me spicy pork or something like that. Mushrooms were a nice example because my family knows I dislike them and my mom spent years telling me that "they don't taste like anything"...which leaves me wondering why anyone chooses to eat them. But anyway...

I wasn't talking only about food. For me, it is a convenient analogy because many folks have actually spent a lot of wasted time trying to get me to eat. And I'm not going to do it unless I want to. And even if I did, it would be half-assed, unappreciated, and basically worthless because it's not like I'm going to turn around and do it for myself next time.

Different people have read the "Mushroom Soup" post and interpreted it in different ways. I suppose we all tend to assume something is directly addressed to us...we're egocentric creatures as human beings. While writing it, I sat and thought of the various ways in which I 'forcefeed' people my ideals, or hobbies, and even sometimes my cookies. (They are really delicious, just try one! Really!"

My mom was irritated with me for railing on my dad on the internet instead of speaking to him directly. She thought maybe he had been pressuring me about cars or something...My dad was a nice example here because he really doesn't force me to do much of anything besides look at unusual insects that had the misfortune to fly into his backyard. And try spiced pork. The last time he really "forced" me to do anything was to spend time with my grandfather, who was a bit of an a-hole. Not to me, really, but he caused so much trouble in our huge, macramed family that none of the grandchildren are too keen on him. But since he's been dead for a while now, it's just insects and spiced pork. Sorry, dad, for using you as an analogy.

My bald friend Tim was worried that he had somehow pissed me off, because he is wont to tell people things they don't want to hear and doesn't hold his tongue if you ask him for advice. Nope, nope. Tim and I blab to each other every single day of our lives at this point, so he'd know from me personally if I was mad at him.

And there have been a few other reactions, some of which were off-base, and some of which were dead on.

Oftentimes when I start on a rant (and my friend Malla just told me that guys don't like chicks who rant...which means I better NEVER tell the peanut-butter-eating-runner-who-will-move-to-Colorad-with-me-someday that I have a blog.) I have something particular in mind, and by the time I am halfway through it I realize it applies to a gazillion different situations, and half of them are related to my own character flaws.

I've read over and over again and been told by multiple psychologists that when we (being human beings) have a strong reaction to another person's behaviors, it is likely that we exhibit them ourselves. Or that someone we are inordinately close to (parents, siblings, etc) display the same type of crap. So, when I get uber-pissed off over earringplugs, I try to figure out what it is about them that riles me up so much. (I did figure that out, BTW, but that is for another post) And my current state of frustration about being "forcefed" is not without some self-discovery on my part.

And I'm like that. I'm ranting "back off" to the universe, but also realizing that it wouldn't hurt me to back off a little myself.

Thanks, but no thanks.

2008-01-11T10:37:00.000-08:00

Have you ever beed forcefed something? I mean, aside from when you were an infant and your mom shoved mashed peas in your mouth.

My dad has an irritating habit of INSISTING that my sister and I try some piece of something that he finds wonderful. It's not a malicious gesture. He's not trying to control us. He's just taken a bite of something that he considers delicious, and he wants to share. I'd say that 25% of the time I just eat it in order to appease him. The rest of the time, I am irked and tell him no.

Even if the mushroom stew you made is delicious, delicious, delicious, I do not like mushrooms and do not like your stew. I understand that it fills your stomach and gives you a feeling of satisfaction, but it's not for me. And the first time you offer it to me, I will politely decline. The second time you offer it to me, I might tersely say "You know I do not like mushrooms, Dad, eat it yourself!" Afterwards I will become annoyed and finally pissed off. While I once appreciated the gesture I'll eventually find it offensive--as if you presume to know more about my tastes than I do. Ultimately, my disdain for mushroom stew will grow and the entire subject will exhaust me.

So, the next time you are trying to share your mushroom stew with someone, listen to their response, and acknowledge that even though mushroom stew might strike you as delicious, fulfilling, and wonderful...the same might not be true for your compadre.

And this isn't really so much about my dad trying to get me to eat mushroom stew, but more about being aware of what I offer others. Who am I serving? Myself? My friend? Marilyn Manson? My impulse to share, when pure, is lovely. The impulse to share, when I am convinced that I "know better" is less lovely.

Uncomfortably Hard

2008-01-10T11:10:00.001-08:00

I may have blabbed about this a long time ago, but I just got back from a run where I hauled some ass (now, remember...I am actually HAULING MY CURRENT ASS during the hauling of the ass, so it probably is not technically fast, but it's certainly work for me at this point) and pushed myself into that state Andrew likes to call "comfortably hard" for portions of the run.

What I realized is that all of my successful races have been "comfortably hard"...I've never actually pushed harder than that. And if it starts to feel foreign, I usually panic or cry. And sometimes that happens before it even feels that way, I'm just busy worrying that soon it MIGHT feel that way.

Which brings me to Lucy. This summer Lucy Bernick won something like 36 swim races. She finished second in two of the races she entered and won the rest. I was curious and asked her about her swimming tactics. I was wondering if she "tried harder" in a race than at practice.

"Of course I try harder in a race."

"Well, how do you try harder?"

"In a race, once it beeps I swim as hard as I can until it's finished."

"And in practice?"

"I swim however I want until we're done."

"Why?"

"Because it's just practice. It doesn't count, and I don't care if Colleen finishes ahead of me at practice."

"Why?"

"Because she'll never finish ahead of me in a meet."

"Does it feel different?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Because practice feels boring and in a race I feel dizzy afterwards."

How come I can't process this? I've been trying to run the last bits of even my easy runs pretty hard lately. Hard enough to where something starts to make me uneasy. I feel like the feeling of discomfort is one I need to familiarize myself with so that it doesn't freak me out and make me think my arms and legs are going to fall off in a race.

I mean, really. It's not as though I am the PassShit.

The politics of my children...

2008-01-10T06:53:00.000-08:00

Now that the debates are heating up and everyone is talking about the election, Hannah and Lucy are on me to declare my loyalty.

This is tricky because I've been essentially apolitical since roughly 1993. Growing up in a stiffly Republican household (my dad is a doctor and my mom owns a small business) I pretty much followed the politics of my parents during college. Somewhere there is an attractive picture of me at a DKE party with BUSH/QUAYLE stickers on my arm from 1992. After that, I started dating Stephan, who was mainly a hippie, but after that, a European. And now, a near-Socialist.

I might also add that I hate "spirited debate" (arguing). My mother AND Stephan really like to engage in "spirited debate", often with one another. What they don't realize is that they are two completely bullheaded and unswayable people ignoring one another's arguments. During the last election both of them were always nodding with satisfaction after an e-mail exchange, convinced they had scored a point on the other.

They hadn't. They had just irritated the living shit out of me. But, once again, I digress.

Newman actively involves the students in the election process, holding school primaries and elections and asking the kids to explain why they support who they support. In 2004 Hannah was only 7 years old, but she was super-interested in all aspects of the presidential race. Her biggest concern at the time was the war, and she "voted" accordingly. I believe Kerry won the second grade's vote that year, but not by a huge margin. Hannah would come home from school and talk about how all of her classmates were voting and why, and it was pretty interesting to hear it from her perspective.

This year LUCY is 7 years old. And, she is for "Barackobama" Being a different child than Hannah, she has explained her choice to me.

"I like his name."

Hannah, on the other hand, is currently feeling Hillary Clinton. I was curious as to exactly why. Here are her arguments, dumbed down for me:

1. She's a woman, and Hannah believes that women might handle conflict resolution better than men. (!)

2. Hannah liked Bill Clinton as a president.

3. Hannah wants the war over. Now.

4. Hillary has senatorial experience and has been exposed to the responsibilities of the presidency and recognizes what she would be getting into.

I mean, she's not a political analyst or anything, but I'm impressed at her level of thought. And Stephan is not pro-Hillary and neither am I, so she's doing this on her own. I'm curious to see who she eventually "votes for" next fall because they all pay attention to the nuances of the campaign. Hannah was displeased with Hillary's tears because she felt they were manipulated.

Me? I'm still confused. I tend to use my heart to make all of my major decisions, and with all the posturing and rhetoric, it's hard to tell what's bullshit and what's not. I'm an easy target for propaganda. I've always quietly agreed with my mother's stance on endless welfare, but on the other hand, I am far more liberal on social issues. I have stuck my head in the ground about this for years. I suppose this year might be an opportunity to change that tide...

Or, like Lucy, I could hope my decisions were as easy as Barackobama.

All this blogging about KK's music

2008-01-09T16:43:00.000-08:00

Makes me wonder if in 20 years I will be reading Hannah and Lucy's blogs...

"Remember when we'd drive around in the PassShit and Mom listened to Marilyn Manson? That was SO fun!!!"

(Do not think that the fact that Marilyn Manson has WEIRD EYES has escaped my own EAGLE EYE. A Marilyn post is coming down the pipeline.)

Eyes

2008-01-09T06:09:00.000-08:00

Did anyone notice how many songs about Eyes were popular in the 1980's? Private Eyes? Edwin Edwards Eyes? Bette Davis Eyes? Eye of the Tiger? That does not even consider one of my mom's favorites, by CRYSTAL GAYLE...

"Don't it make your brown eyes blue?"

Also, once my parents went to some weird cabaret thing and they got two copies of a lounge singer's album...I'm pretty sure the lounge singer's first name was Bonnie. Anyway, I kept my album shiny and new and tried really hard to like it. I listened to "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and sang along and may have even danced to it...I'm not sure. But the cover was glossy.

Nanny? Hers was beat up and dusty and she probably threw the record away.

Because she's like that.

At Finicky's Request

2008-01-09T05:06:00.001-08:00

I'm answering these questions at Fininky's request. In exchange, I expect Finicky to comment, giving us her vital stats and bloglink. And whether or not she'd eat a Lucky Dog in the French Quarter. And, preferably, a picture, via e-mail. (It didn't happen if there isn't a picture.)

I think this is one of these things bloggers send one another because I've seen it on other blogs...so if you haven't answered these questions on yours, or if you haven't received this like 40 times from bored friends at work, answer them on your blog. I'd certainly like to read KPECKFH's answer to the hotdog question.

Many may like to read your answers to these questions, just for fun:

1. Do you still have tonsils? Yes, I do.

2. Would you bungee jump? No.

3. If you could do anything in the world for a living what would it be? If I could have handled Chemistry better, a reproductive endocrinologist. Otherwise, I'm unsure.

4. How many tattoos do you have? Zero.

5. Your favorite fictional animal? Bunnicula the rabbit.

6. One person that never fails to make you laugh? Lilly.

7. Do you consider yourself well organized? No.

8. Any addictions? Cookies, probably. Not the crap kind, either homemade or Whole Foods made...which I suspect are way worse than me than the kind I make, but they are really good. The Lemon Sugar cookies are the ones I like.

9. From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news? My boss George. Also, we watch Fox News all day long at work, but I filter out more than half of that. Celebrity news from Santilla.

10. Would you rather go to a carnival or circus? Circus.

11. When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up? Doctor or teacher.

12. Best movie you've seen this year?Uh...I tend to see movies less than once a year. So I only saw 10:15 to Yuma, which was not necessarily "good", but good all the same. That Christian Bale was hott even one-legged.

13. Favorite alcoholic drink? I'm trying to change my drink right now. Generally I drink either an Ameretto Sour or a Bourbon and Diet Coke (thanks to Malla)

14. What is the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning? Currently, make breakfast for Hannah and Lucy. Hopefully, eventually I'll be able to run in the very early mornings again.

15. Siblings? http://www.nataliedepp.blogspot.com/

16. (make up your own question here) Make up my own question?

17. Have you ever gone to therapy? Quite. Even the nuthouse.

18. If you could have one super power what would it be? To fly.

19. Do you own any furniture from Ikea? No.

20. Have you ever gone camping? Yes!

21. Gas prices! First thought? God, I hate the PassShit.

22. Your favorite cartoon character? Schmoo.

23. What was your first car? A silver Volvo. It had a manual transmission and a manual sunroof.

24. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual? No, but I think it is far more complicated than I did when I got married. I guess divorce does that.

25. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons? Housewives of Orange County. Last night one of them god a boob job. They are so charming, those Housewives of OC!

26. Do you go to church? Infrequently. I am currently in what I consider to be a spiritual crisis, but it has more to do with the role religion plays in the world at large than any problem with the faith in which I was raised.

27. What famous person would you like to have dinner with? Right now? The Dalai Lama.

28. What errand/chore do you despise? Hm. Picking up dog poop?

29. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? No alarm.

30. Last time you puked from drinking? Embarassingly, last month.

31. What is your heritage? Mostly German.

32. Favourite flower? Peony.

33. Disney or Warner Bros? NEITHER.

34. What is your best childhood memory? They all involve murky bodies of water and discovering something...either tadpoles or mosquito eggs or slugs or something like that. I also loved doodlebugs. My sister and I were intent on making a doodlebug habitat for a while.

35. Your favorite potato chip? Good Lord, I don't know.

36. What is your favorite candy? Pear Jelly Bellies. Be quiet about the word 'Jelly Belly', all of you.

37. Do you burn or tan? Tan.

38. Astrological sign? Aries, baby. But, I'm on the cusp.

39. Do you own a gun? NO!

40. What do you think of hot dogs? I think they are hilarious.

Uncle Sam may want me, but I am disinterested...

2008-01-08T13:55:00.000-08:00

So, as I casually mentioned in my post about "Edwin Edwards Eyes", I had a job interview today. I'm not ready to talk about the specifics yet. Partly because I don't HAVE the specifics, but also because I'm really avoiding dealing with the fact that I am going to have to leave Southern Runner.

I mean, I know I have to, as come November Stephan will no longer have to drag the ball and chain that is me behind his back anymore, which means I have to forage for health insurance and perhaps an hourly salary of more than $9.00.

Anyway. On my run this morning I was thinking about the year 2003, when Stephan suggested I join the military.

Crap!

2008-01-08T10:50:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time I was falling in love.

Now I'm only falling apart!

There's nothing I can do...

A total eclipse of the heart.

When I just got home from my job interview I found Nanny in bed listening to a compilation Charles Ventura made called "Yacht Rock". Bonnie Tyler's original hit has made me nostalgic on a morning where I already almost sang out loud to "I can't go for that" (No can do) on my run this morning.

I remember riding in the WAY BACK of my mom's Volvo station wagon in elementary school singing along to "Private Eyes" (They're watching you) Being from Louisiana, there was also a brief time where we sang along to "Edwin Edwards Eyes" a remake of "Bette Davis Eyes." And that is scary.

But it also reminds me of when the song "Eye of the Tiger" was crazily popular and how exciting it was to be an LSU fan when that song came on WFMF. Which somehow ties into this wild BCS shit.

By the way...

2008-01-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

Lesley Nash called me at 2am last night to tell me she lost Nanny. I'm not too concerned because my sister has a way of turning up in the morning. But still. Is it possible she got Tiger Fever?

This reminds me of the time...

2008-01-08T06:46:00.000-08:00

Ellen and I had to explain to my mom that the phrase "Quit acting like a pain in the twat" was much more offensive than she thought.

Redneck National Champions

2008-01-08T05:22:00.000-08:00

LSU won the BCS game here in New Orleans last night. In case you hadn't noticed, LSU is in the SEC, and we take our football seriously around here. And by "we", I mean people raised in the South. I know folks in Nebraska are going to refute this and that's fine. But I grew up in Baton Rouge, under the iron fist of LSU, and I know what I am talking about.

As a child, I said I'd play the Tiger Fight Song at my wedding.

Which didn't make much sense when I attended Tulane and married a guy from Connecticut by way of Berlin and Stockholm. So instead we played Fais-Do-Do music. But that is another story. Completely.

At about half-past one last night we were awoken by Roux ferociously woofing. Roux is pretty mellow, so it was a dramatic event. Lucy immediately started shushing us and Hannah, who sleeps like a brick, woke up and said "Huh? Wait! Who won?" After several minutes of wildfirecrackers and bellows of "GEAUX TIGAHS!" Roux calmed down. We all lay back down to sleep. And two minutes later the exact same thing happened again. After another 10 minutes of nonsense we heard a deep and authoritative voice speaking:

"Are you the idiots setting off firecrackers?"

"Mmmnfgggghjhh"

"Well, cut it out!"

"Mmmmfgstenhhgh"

"If you don't cut it out, I'm going to have you arrested."

Lucy immediately perked up.

"It's the policeman!"

A policeman lives across the street from us. As one might imagine, Lucy is very interested in his car and outfit and horns and guns, and basically everything he does. It is especially exciting when he is picked up by another cop in another cop car.

Anyhow, eventually we all fell back asleep. And this wasn't as good a story as I envisioned because unless you live here you can't appreciate the fact that on my run last night I saw literally dozens of women dressed in tiger print ensembles heading downtown. I passed hordes of dudes in what they have inevitably deemed their favorite "LSU shirt" in various states of inebriation. It felt like Baton Rouge, but with streetcars. And people light firecrackers and do dumb things in New Orleans all the time, but it is usually in the name of the Saints, or Mardi Gras, or Jazzfest, or Wednesday or something like that.

Tiger Country...expanding its borders as we speak.

The Dope Show: A rant.

2008-01-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

FYI-I have rewritten this post several times in an attempt to make it less boring. It's still boring.

I've often made references to my prescriptions or medication or dope or whatever, and now my irritability with the situation means the internet is about to get an earful.

When I was 22 I was prescribed Prozac for a myriad of reasons...anxiety, depression, and a tendency toward obsessive/compulsive behaviors. Although my doctor told me it would take a few weeks to begin working, I felt a little better pretty quickly. And thank God for that, because Josh would die within 6 months of my starting the drug. I'm not sure what would have happened if I hadn't had that medicinal cushion during those dark days.

So, I kept on with the Prozac until I got pregnant with Hannah. The hormones and craziness of pregnancy sort-of alleviated my normal OCD issues and kept me focused on the baby. It wasn't until the winter we moved back to New Orleans that I really felt myself begin to slip...and slip I did. I started avoiding eating anything again, and really was probably kind-of psycho, when Stephan told me he'd throw my ass into treatment if something didn't change. So I got back on Prozac and joined an eating disorder recovery group. Which was not very helpful, come to think of it. The ground stayed solid until I got pregnant with Lucy the following winter. We had just bought a house and moved, and I was pregnant and again...OFF THE DOPE. And again, pregnancy carried me right through it. But by the next winter I was back in the doctor's office asking for a new prescription. What followed were brief flirtations with Zoloft, as well as some ADD drugs (I was diagnosed ADD before it was even cool to have ADD. I was one of those kids that took Cylert and burst into tears every afternoon at 4pm because the drugs wore off and made me feel suicidal.) None of them worked like my old standby, so I eventually returned to Prozac.

And stayed on it until LAST winter when I got so run down and tired and apathetic that I thought I had either an iron deficit or mono. After a doctor's visit, it was determined that the dosage of Prozac had probably become ineffective. Given the fact that I was still on a minimal dosage, I shouldn't have been surprised. but I was. Anyhow, rather than increasing the dose, my doctor suggested I try a new drug. And I did.

I've been on Effexor since last winter. And honestly, the drug made me so sick at first I was in a chronic state of nausea. And then a DIFFERENT doctor (the marriage counselor shrink) figured out that the prescription was being missfilled...I need Effexor XR and I was taking a regular dose. Which sucked ass. And now I'm also on some weird permutation of The Pill, which seems to affect me in one way...Totally Awesome Weight Gain! And, I am OFF my ADD medication, which means I am not as good at getting things done.

This is incredibly boring. I'm going to fast forward.

I went to pick up my Effexor on Saturday and it was $150.00. I've been using sample packs for like 6 months. With my other stupid medicine the bill was $190.00. I can't afford this shit! Even the PassShit is less expensive. I'm going to have to go BACK to the doctor and get a different prescription.

Which is after already talking to the doctor about my medication, my insurance, the possiblity of having either PMDD (which for some reason strikes me as a disease especially named for Delta Burke) or SAD (which just makes me feel like a loser, because I love cold weather, and why would I have Seasonal Affective Disorder if I LIKE WINTER?

Anyway, at what cost sanity, I ask you? PMDD, OCD, SAD, ADD...am I overdiagnosed?

And even for all of this...I can say with absolute certainty that I definitely have serotonin-related problems and that I am a better person medicated. A poorer and more alphabetized person, also.

Hmpf.

Upside down...or maybe just bipolar...

2008-01-06T23:58:00.000-08:00

Good Lord. For as bad a day as I had yesterday, you'd think at least some lingering discontent would have survived. But it didn't and doesn't.

This morning I woke up at 7am and called Tim to see if he wanted to go to the Jackson Day race...I was completely apathetic about going. If he had been excited to go, I would have gamely laced up and gone. But he was not. He was hungover. So, instead of running 9K semi-quickly in the humid Quarter we ran ~15 miles easy all over the city. It was a great run. We chattered the entire time and ran a different route than usual which netted some new and interesting scenery. Such as the crack ho wandering down around Camp and the interestate wearing Doug's Sigma Nu letters from 1988.

And then I had nothing else to do all day. Which, if you haven't tried it lately, is kind-of awesome. Since Hannah and Lucy are just at Stephan's for the weekend, my angst is not as high as it was during The Hard Week of Mexico. And my sister is in town visiting me. And I ate cookies in bed. And then my sister complained that there were cookie crumbs in the bed and I told her to eff off. She also tried to control the TV even though she was also using her computer. And really, if it is not my God-given right to watch MTV True Life on a Sunday after a long run, I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to do.

And for dinner? Because Tricia is interested in what I eat, other than cookies. (The answer is DINNER, I eat DINNER in addition to cookies). Artichoke hearts and bread and then afterwards some blue tortilla chips that were leftover from something. I'm no gourmet, you know.

Oh, and I've taken some of my $190.00 worth of medication, too. I think tomorrow I'm going to bitch about the cost of sanity/dope.

You can't beat...

2008-01-06T11:02:00.000-08:00

Nights like these...

2008-01-05T19:36:00.000-08:00

If I were more tolerant, I'd tell you the whole story...my day from start to finish...or maybe not. It'd probably be so benign and boring you'd just slowly shake your head and wonder if I should take up yoga.

I wound up so angry after work today that I found myself silently cussing at people on the road, people in line at CVS, people walking their dogs. I even silently cussed at someone in Whole Foods, but felt inhospitable and mentally took it back.

After I picked up my $190.00 worth of prescriptions that are going to result in a rant in a day or two, I angrily drove home and angrily thought about how completely incapable I am of putting on a cute outfit and socializing with normal human beings.

Tonight is/was an engagement party for one of my oldest friends...well, not that she is so OLD herself, but of all the people I've known since grade school, she's the one I still share the most with. I should be there right now, toasting her future. I feel terribly that I'm not. But I just couldn't do it.

And yes, Felton, IT'S ALL ABOUT ME. Tonight, I'm a selfish sack of shit.

And ANGRY!

Anyhow, I took myself and my aggravation for a short run that turned into a medium sized run. And on that run I listened to:

1. "Sailing" by Christopher Cross

2. "Beautiful People" by Marilyn Manson

3. "100 Ways" by Porno for Pyros

4. "Rhinocerous" by Smashing Pumpkins

5. "Porcelain" by Moby

6. "Justify" by GD Rage Against the Machine (and the people at CVS)

7. "Personal Jesus" by Depeche Mode

8. "Lithium" by Evanescence

9. "Come as you are" by Nirvana

10."Lullaby" by the Cure

11. "Breathe" by the Prodigy

12. "Please don't stop the music" by Rhianna

So, I am either having a wild hormone surge of angst, regressing to the age of 16, or plumb crazy. Plus, my first and last songs really indicate some issues.

On the run, I waved my fist at two different cars for cutting me off. Cutting me off! Waving my fist!

Did I mention that I also got my hair cut today and I look like a Harajuku girl? I'll get a new picture up before Monday. Additionally, I will need to write an apology letter for being such a darn grump and avoiding human contact.

Excuse Me...

2008-01-03T10:07:00.000-08:00

I am Blog-tending today. Depending on when you check this address, you might find:

a) same old, same old.

b) nothing

c) porn

I'm not the fastest chip in the hard drive, so be patient.

The gourd doesn't fall far from the gourd tree.

2008-01-02T20:28:00.000-08:00

I meant to post these earlier, but only downloaded the photos recently. As a child, I was obsessed with my mother's nativity set. The instant she unpacked them I started arranging and rearranging them...and then re-rearranging them again.

It only seems right that I would have my own nativity set. Despite my current state of confusion about religion, I have always considered myself a happy Episcopalian. The kind of person who might have a nativity set and not worry that the Lord was condemning her and excluding her from his flock. Oops, I'm digressing again.

So, here are the two nativity sets. Can you guess whose is who's? (I have no idea how to punctuate that sentence.)