Haven't posted in 2 years! But needed to get these things written down somewhere, for posterity.

Choice words spoken to me by fucking texan assholes:

Bitch: "Do you have your green card with you?"
Me: "Uh.....no. I'm not an immi...I have my drivers' license?"
Bitch: "Well, what about your social security card?"
Me: "..."
Bitch: "You are going to NEED a social security card before we can hire you."
Me: "Got it. Thanks."

Bitch #2: "Oh, YOU have a boyfriend?"
Me: "Yes, I do."
Bitch #2: "What's his name?"
Me: "Wallace"
Bitch #2: "Well, that doesn't sound Hispanic."
Me: "That's because it's not."
Bitch #2:

Bitch #3: Stares at my drivers' license for about 7 minutes
Me: "Yes, it's me. Here is my teacher ID as well as my Tulane ID."
Bitch #3: "This looks fake."
Me: "Well, it's not. NY makes their licenses floppy to make them harder to fake."
Bitch #3: Walks to bailiff of traffic court-"Does this even look real to you?!"
Me: "..."

New Orleans, the old days

I left New Orleans last month, with much sadness. You see, that crazy, dysfunctional, ass backwards city had been my home for nearly 6 years. In spite of myself, I fell in love with it. I had always considered myself a NYer through and through. While I still feel that NYC is the center of the world(bite me if you disagree) I have an affection for NOLA that is impossible to match by any other place.

In an effort to remember all the crazy things I did in my time there, I've decided to spend some posts on my memories. You could call them a "Best of NOLA." Some of you who read this have starred in these memories, and I hope you get a chuckle. I did thinking of these.

Freshman year at TU started with a bang. Arriving in NOLA, my mother and I woke up early in the morning and dressed in nice clothes for the big move-in day. Within 3 minutes of stepping outside, my makeup melted off and my hair wilted, confirming my fear that I'd meet my roommate looking a hot mess. Not that it mattered. The first night I spent in my room with her, I tried to chat about who she was, what home was like, general first roommate stuff. After asking questions for about 5 minutes, I realized she was sound asleep. Great start, no?

A and I lived on the same floor, P3, and spent quite a bit of time out and about town. You see, I had a 9pm curfew growing up. My parents view was to simply keep me locked in the house, thereby keeping me out of trouble. (If only they knew how lame our nights out would have been...but thats another story.)

Our favorite haunts were the HOB on Thursdays, downtown anywhere on Friday, and the best times were had at Jimmy's Wednesdays. Jimmy's. Ladies night. 5$ cover and drink all you want. TU kids today have no concept of the beauty of a Jimmy's Wednesday. It was within walking distance to campus, but through one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Uptown. We never went before 11pm, so 2 18 year old girls walking alone at night...well, let's just say its a wonder I'm still alive today. Our defense? We would tie a sparkly bandanna around our heads a la Cash Money, smoke a Black and Mild and talk really loudly. In our 18 year old brains, this was a foolproof strategy for staying alive.

E was my first introduction to crazy club life. This girl was absolutely insane. E's idea of a good time--
Hey y'all, let's go out tonight.
OK where we headed?
I don't know, let me call "one of the random ass club guys I know" and we'll see what list I can get us on. It'll be free, don't worry. I ain't paying for shit.
K, I'll be over later.

At which point I'd head over to her place about 9:30. She would be sewing together, by hand, a small napkin, 7 feathers, two shoestrings and a bandanna, and from this assortment of objects a rather sexy outfit would emerge. E's clothes were like a phoenix rising from the ashes of her kitchen junk drawer. Normally, while she was making these outfits, she would be drinking a similarly classy drink. For example, Bacardi Limon, on the rocks, with extra crushed lemon on the bottom. Or her personal favorite, orange flavor MD 20/20. I'll never forget the time we are all over her place pregaming, and my girl E is SQUATTING IN THE CORNER DRINKING MD 20/20 FROM A BROWN PAPER BAG. No joke.

E, you were and still are, my inspiration.

Damn you snow!

I love the cold. I really do. I might bitch about it, especially when it comes to starting the car up in the morning. You sit down, all nice and cozy, turn the defroster on...and get blasted by the icy breath emanating from the cold vents of death. It feels like the 9th ring of hell has suddenly transposed itself to upstate NY. I understand, thats what I get for waiting until the last possible minute to leave for work. Now I can't sit in the car and wait for it to defrost because my snot has frozen into little icicles that stab me as I breathe. I must get out and scrape the frozen highway sludge off the windshield.

But I digress...as this tale is not about the car and its icy embrace. No, this is an embrace of a completely different sort. The kind that hurts, leaves marks and scars, the embrace that bruises and leave you feeling a little hollow and empty inside. The embrace of the iced-over driveway.

Having lived in NY the first 18 years of my life, I learned to navigate the frozen tundra of the family driveway without too many problems. Because my mother was a bit neurotic, I always wore very large, thick and heavy snow boots. Big treads. They practically had chains on them, like the snowplow's tires. Do I own boots that are anything like that today? Of course not. Having spent the past 5 years in Louisiana, I got rid of the boots in favor of flip-flops, sunglasses and a stock portfolio of Speed Stick, Secret and Degree. I no longer own the necessary equipment to handle the harsh winter. Considering my rather hasty return to NY this fall, I didn't have the time to pack my one remaining pair of winter boots, which I pray are still sitting in my closet, untouched by mold or shady contractors' hands.

This morning, as is the usual routine, I had to take the 2 dogs out before heading to work. Normally, I take one at a time, because they are crazy and jump all over each other. A large Boxer puppy trying to take down a speeding Italian Greyhound...its not pleasant. However, this morning, it was 8 degrees out. Too damn cold for me to make 2 trips. So I bundle up, scarf, gloves and buttoned up coat. With little brown flats, so cute with my green and brown striped shirt. Adorable shoes really. With these cute little shoes, I make my approach to the walkway.

I don't know what in God's name I was thinking. Why would I put on cute shoes? Did I miss the 7" of snow that's been sitting there since last Thursday? My mom has boots, my sister has boots, I could have borrowed my stepdad's boots. Instead, I take the cute route.

My ass is paying for it this evening.

We make it down the walkway and towards the driveway with no problems. Then I hear the sound of geese or ducks honking. I panic. I'm walking a sight hound. As soon as he sees whatever is making that sound, I am screwed. He's going to start pulling, then the big guy will be chasing, and the next thing I know I'll be trying to hold back 80 lbs of animal that just wants to see what is making that delightful noise. To make matters worse, I see a car coming down the street. The dogs will run right into traffic, because they are dumb as bricks. Shit.

Put the brakes on the expandable leashes, but they keep pulling. Feel my left foot start to slide...no, shit no! This whole side of the driveway is completely iced over, and we are all sliding down one side. Why the hell can't my stepfather shovel? WHY? The big dog slips a bit, yanking the leash in my hand, and I'm trying to hold myself up but its just not working. I am falling backwards and I know what's coming, and that is the shooting pain in your tailbone when you land hard on your butt.

Boom. Now I'm laying on the ice, head back. I struggle to sit up because my huge coat makes it hard for me to move, the dogs aren't moving because I am heavy enough to stop them, and my butt feels sore and cold. Somewhere inside of me, a little girl who was made fun of in elementary school opens her eyes, and I remember that dreaded feeling of "oh my God please, tell me no one saw me fall."

I sit up just in time to see my neighbor's slutty bitch of a daughter drive past our house in her BMW Z3 and laugh at me. She actually had the balls to turn and laugh at me, mouth open, ha-ha-ha-ing.

Now I am sitting here, my ass has a bruise in the shape of Wisconsin and I am pissed. Not so much because I fell, but because that bitch laughed at me.

That's alright though. I knew it was you and not your sister driving because your impressive schnozz is visible from the street.

Yeah, I fell down. I probably would have laughed at myself had it not hurt so bad. I got up and brushed it off. You are still ugly inside and out.

Take care Gonzo.

What in the hell...

Conversation overheard the other day...I've invented names for sharing purposes.

D: I don't understand why I am going to get in trouble with the ethics board. I'm not the one who broke the rules.
S: It doesn't matter, she mentioned your name. Says you do it all the time. Told her it was OK to do it.
D: But I didn't do it. I don't care if she said my name. Yes, I let people in all the time, but who cares? It wasn't about me.
S: GODDAMMIT why don't you understand? They will take you down too on the ethics violation. You will lose your license.
D: No I won't.
S: (clearly losing her patience with D) Look asshole, I have defended you to everyone I know. I told everyone who asked, no, D would never do that. You are going to stick to the story no matter what. I lied for you dammit. I can't have you fucking it up now. You need to deny you ever let people in, you need to deny all of it.
D: I am not going to get fired for a damn ethics violation I didn't even really do this time. I'm not gonna lie because I'm not gonna get in trouble.
S: You gotta stick to the story! You gotta lie! Don't you get it, if you don't lie you will lose your job because of this!

Basically, he needs to lie to an ethics board, in order to avoid losing his license on an ethics violation charge.

All this said in front of the couples children, who were clearly old enough to understand the terms "ethics" and "lie" and "stick to the story."
I don't know what these fools did, but I know their kids are growing up with a very skewed definition of what is ethical and what isn't.

AHHHH gringos. You amuse me more and more each day.

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....