Yes you good sir...

You there, looking at me rather side-eyed...or the Quickest and Most Dramatic Love Affair of my Life.

There I was, minding my own business. Driving to work carefully, obeying the 55mph NYS speed limit because I cannot afford to get a ticket. O.P.P. came on the radio and brought me a nice bit of joy in the form of, "I loved this song. I still know all the words. Why in God's name was I rapping along to this when I was 11?" At that precise moment, I was contemplating whether to buy a cup of delicious gas station coffee, decaf with 1 sugar and skim milk.

Yum.

That was when I saw you, barreling down behind me. If I was going 55, you were going 70. I am in the right lane, I am not blocking anyone, so I figure you'll just speed on by. If I am lucky, I will see you get pulled over, and I will laugh. Instead, you did the bizarre: You pulled up directly behind me. And came zooming right up the back of my neck, slamming on your brakes. I saw your car lurch forward and back, in a desperate attempt not to lodge itself completely in my trunk.

What the fuck?

You were driving one of those little Honda or Suzuki thingies, all lowered body and zippy noises. You probably had those stupid lights under the car too. I think I saw a fairy sticker on your rear bumper. If you think that the fairy sticker is going to get you the ladies, you my friend, are dead wrong. You had that Gotti brother hair, and though I didn't look carefully, I am 99.5% sure that BOTH the collars of your Abercrombie and Fitch polo shirts were popped.

So you proceeded to ride my ass, quite truthfully, for a solid 30-45 seconds. Mind you, there is no one around. You coulda passed me, but instead, preferred to play your sick little game. I started getting tense, wondering why in God's name you won't leave me alone. I speed up, 60-65-68...OK I am not going any faster.

Its like some Jedi mind game your playing with me. Im giving you the "hey asshole! get back mothafucka before I hit these brakes and get you to pay off my student loans and my future law degree!" look. But you drive on, undeterred by my evil glances.

Why are you torturing me, Popped Collar Lost Gotti Brother? Did you get into a fight with your boys because one of them finally realized that none of you are ghetto or tough, and he called you on it? Did you lose the dance-off between you and the rival Popped Collar Gang last night? Did they kick you guys out of the Dunkin Donuts parking lot after 23 minutes of very sad parking lot pimping?

And then I realize it. You are in love with me. Yes, in the few seconds you drove directly behind me, you became enamored of my face in the rear view mirror. While you are a bit young, and probably have a tiny wang, I am, alas, a taken woman. I cannot love you as you love me, PCLGB. Please do not torture yourself any longer by tailgating me. Drive away, and always cherish the memory of us on this November morn.

More traffic comes up behind. You jump into the traffic on the left and keep going. Until the lanes merge into one with the construction. You choose the LAST possible moment to jump ahead of me and cut me off, so close to the car, I felt a layer of paint get sheared off my toenails.

In that exact moment, I realized that you felt our love was doomed. Killing us both would reunite us in the afterlife.

I am sad that you felt so strongly about me. I cannot love you PCLGB! But there will be other girls! I promise, you are too young to die. But I am thankful that you spared me, and I look forward to getting to work alive, in spite of the now missing toenail polish.

As I turn off my exit, I see you waiting at the end. I'm going right, you are going left. I pull up, and glance to the left to see oncoming traffic.

Our eyes lock. I am momentarily blinded by the sun, but it may have been the flare of the sun bouncing of your overly gelled 'do. I am shocked, like a deer in the headlights. I am trapped in the overwhelming reflection of your hair. In that moment, I see you mouth the words.

Stupid Bitch.

And with that, PCLGB drove away. Our affair ended at approximately 8:57 this morning. It was short and turbulent, filled with the type of passion normally reserved for artists, writers, and soap opera characters. It was infused with a strong anger, like that experienced when your cat pees in your favorite shoes. And had a good dose of plain ol' crazy WTF, like anyone who dates Angelina Jolie.

Goodbye my beloved PCLGB. Until we meet again.

My always changing, never consistent life

So yes, I hate that ho named Katrina. She is the most triflin of all bitches. If weather systems could have VD, she'd have the gonosyphaerpesmydia. In her eye. Why this sudden spewing of the venom? Because in the past few days, I have learned about what my future at Tulane will look like.

For anyone who hasn't yet heard, Rosen House, where I lived will not be reopened. I don't think they are ever going to use it again, because hey, it was old and busted and I don't blame them. Fine. But where will they put us lowly grad students? Where shall we live? Two options-trailers or the cruise ships. Now, I was actually pretty excited about the trailers. I figured I could string up some xmas lights outside, tie 3 or 4 stray dogs to the railing, trailer hitch or other metal protuberance on the building. I was ready to buy a 24 pack of Budweisers, chain a plastic chair out front and get down to the serious business of drankin outside. If I was going to be particularly dedicated, I'd even get an old vneck white t shirt, rub some rib sauce on the front, light up a Marlboro Red and let it dangle from my lips. If the finances were right, I was gonna spring for the velcro rollers too. I wish the van was still around, because it would just be PERFECT. (Michael, I am taking the inspiration from your first hand accounts. Don't trip.)

However, in true TU ridiculous fashion, they don't have kitchens in the trailers. I mean, I could be extra silly and cook my meals on a hot plate or on the hood of my car, but I'm just saying....cruise ship it is.

I was on a cruise once. Long ago, my broke ass parents decided to take one of those time share vacation offers. We took an 8 hour cruise from Miami to Freeport, Bahamas. I spent the entire trip in our 6'x4' cabin with 4! beds in it, alternating between puking in the 9" toilet and laying flat on my back. I couldn't lay for too long though, because if my parents had opened the door, I'da been knocked unconscious.

This is my only cruise experience. I am very afraid of what TU has in store for me. My boss also signed me up to help out around the boats, some type of RA thingie. I don't mind it all, I want to help and be useful. I also REALLY want a place to live next semester so I can graduate on time and not be the only person who came in August 2000 who is still there.

Remember though, I am not paying for this housing, OMA is. What does that mean? I'm sure my RA type job will be the shoveling of coal into the boiler in 7 hour shifts. Why? Because TU does not have love for the OMA office. And don't let the boat sink. I know they will lock my ass on the bottom floor like they did on the Titanic. I am steerage. Standing at the gates, talking about some "Please, let me out! I can swim! Shit, we next to Riverwalk, I can wade my ass there! Please!?" And I will get left, and then I will drown.

My stepdad says to me, oh well, cruise ships are really nice. You shouldn't worry. I said, do you think for one second they are going to put me in a nice cabin with a balcony and the midnight buffet? Please. Bottom row, no windows, shared bathroom, coal shoveling, cheese sandwiches.

Bamm went back to N.O. in October to clean out his apt. Lovely TU just started letting people into Rosen last week, but thats another rant... He was kind enough to check on my car, which marinated nicely in 6 feet of "toxic gumbo" (sidebar-Fox News, I hate you) He said when he opened the door, there was a hissing sound. Apparently I had a whole new ecosystem brewing in the Hyundai, and its residents did not like this new air and sunlight that Bamm let in. I can just see them now, "No no! The Big Black Man, the one we have feared the most, has come to destroy our civilization! Retreat into the mildewed recesses of the seats! Residents of our colony, Diet Coke with Lemon Can in the beverage holder, fear for your lives! Everyone hide!!!"

I miss NOLA. Including all its wierdness and quirks. What I wouldn't give to hear someone ask me, "Is you a half-breed?" or "Baby, you sho gonna have to wait" or most of all, "Say red! Big Red! Gurl, I'm talkin to you...aight den, fuck you too bitch."

Because you insisted

I am creating this, but only to make Michael happy. Apparently he thinks I am funny and have humorous shit to say. I find myself about as amusing as well, say, finding a crackpipe in the box of Lucky Charms, but in any case....