August 2006 at CIS

Another month gone...cooler temps have trickled onto D Street, the main headquarters for crazyinshreveport (or as I like to call it CIS which is kinda like CSI but not...).

What you'll find in this month: having company over, Will Clarke's excellent book The Worthy, the emergency room at LSU Hospital, Katee getting her GED and going back to college, no children's hospital for kids with neurobiological disorders, loving your DVR and getting a new computer.

You'll notice we didn't blog much about bipolar disorder. We've started a new blog that deals with being bipolar. Check it out here.
Goals for September at CIS include: putting a family picture under the profile section so you can see what we look like (Sears Portrait Studio here we come... uh, not).

C-R-A-C-K

Wee bit cooler weather means I've ventured out onto the porch again, 'cause I love me some porch sitting in the rocking chair.

Charlie and I sipped coffee while the wind the whipped, teasing us like rain might soon shower down. We heard this c-r-a-c-k and looked to the tall oak tree across the street. A branch loosened itself and fell to the ground.

Shades of Eudora Welty and A Curtain of Green: "...the shady street in front, and the blue automobile in which her husband approached, driving home from work...she could see again the tree that was going to fall...there was the enormous tree, the fragrant chinaberry tree, suddenly tilting, dark and slow like a cloud, leaning down to her husband..."

Unlike Welty's story no one died under our tree branch. After taking a couple of pictures, I tugged the thing up on the curb and then swept up the mess. We never did get any rain.

um. what?

Oh sweet Jesus.


This guy has some serious fucking issues. Because, you know, what's creepier: the person who killed Jonbenet or the person who wishes he killed Jonbenet? Some of his quotes and ideas are equally creepy. The best part about the article is this:

Karr had made graphic claims in a series of emails about JonBenet's killing, describing sexual acts with her, her death and writing at one point that he envisioned Johnny Depp playing him in a movie about how he killed JonBenet.

Okay, first of all, Johnny Depp would probably kick your ass for saying this. And second of all, you wish, Creepy McFugface.




VS.




Lol no. Johnny Depp is not creepy enough to play this goob. Also, Johnny doesn't look like a corpse. And if Johnny Depp played him in a movie I think my soul may die a little because I love Johnny. No sir, Willy Wonka is as creepy as you are allowed to be.

we're still alive and equipped with a new computer!

Okay, we're still here, I promise. It's been an irritating last four days computer wise. My grandpa bought me a new laptop, so I had to unhook and re-hook everything up and getting the Internet back on was a bitch because I didn't have the software for the modem. But now everything's peachy and Mom's computer should be Internet-ready maybe today or tomorrow.

I think we're going out to eat tonight because my parents' 20th anniversary and for my GED, but Mom said something about lunch because it's cheaper. I think dinner would be more appropriate. Seriously, that woman needs to loosen up a bit.

Anyway, I need to go shower and stuff because I have class at 1. I would skive off if they didn't take attendance and I got more than 4 unexcused absences per semester. :(

Driving with a Broken Air Conditioner

A couple of days ago I blogged about the air going out in the van. We are working on getting it fixed (read that last sentence as -- is there money in the budget and when is pay day?).

The good news is that the house AC works. It's the van's fan that's gone on the fritz. Here is the cardboard thing Charlie and my brother rigged up so the back AC kinda blows to the front.

If you look closely you'll see the bad hair cut I gave to myself (it's really hard to get scissors to work right behind your head).

Overheard at a Shreveport/Bossier Casino

Five dollar Three Card Poker table is where I ended up last night.

I get this guy on first base who's my age and kinda fun. Except he's grabbing at his cards before I push them back to him, which is a big no-no. I tell him it happens again, I'm getting my flyswatter. Of course, I say it with a smile.

His eyes light up. "Is it the electric kind?"

"What a waste of money. I saw those at the Bass Pro Shop." I riffle the cards and drop them into the shuffler.

Cute girl at the table asks what's an electic flyswatter? He explains it looks like a tennis racket and it zaps the bugs when you swat them.

"WASTE of MONEY." This time I say it in all caps.

The guy grins. "Me and my buddy were sitting around without shirts..."

... I know where this story is going. The funny thing is he's telling this to total strangers.

"... he takes the thing. Puts it on his nipple. The jolt throws him to the floor."

Aaahh the magic of a casino... what happens in Shreveport stays in ...

do you see what i had to put up with on a daily basis?

Four years ago, not long before I decided to give up high school, I started my sophomore year in good spirits. I had mostly honors classes, except for math and whatever they didn't actually give honors courses for, which (I assumed, anyway) that I'd be learning with generally smart people. I might've gone for AP classes, and probably gotten into them, but that much work seemed like a huge waste of time. Anyway, I was now a sophomore with freshly dyed blonde hair (complete with scabby burns from the bleach that was left on for too long, thanks Mom!) and lots of cute new clothes.

My favorite class would, of course, be English. Even if my teacher sucked, I knew it would be enjoyable because it's English and I rule at it. On the first day of school, I discovered that my teacher did not suck and was, in fact, a delightfully dry-humored man who collected canned meat because of the odd ingredients, like plastic or something. A few weeks into the semester, the whole class got into a debate about whether hunting for sport was okay. Predictably, just about everyone in the class agreed that hunting just so they could put a moose's head on a wall was perfectly fine. I should've known, what with all the hunting camouflage that was worn in the classroom.

Interestingly, once the debate got slightly heated, I noticed that I was seated smack dab in the middle of every idiot that could weasel their way into an Honors class. This did not make me happy at all. And then a girl a few seats away from me spoke up and said that she didn't like animals and they're just for food, and that one time she killed a mole with a broomstick. When I snorted derisively and asked this bitch why she'd do that, she said it was because it scared her. OH GOD THE HORROR. WHEN MOLES ATTACK! So, she did what she had to do to defend herself, and that was to attack a mole that was probably all lost and shit with a broomstick. Mr. P looked at her and says, "Um, you know moles are blind, right?"

Apparently this affected the young lady because suddenly she felt all bad, as if killing a rodent that can see for no reason is any better than killing a blind one. And how the fuck do you not know that, anyway? So she says, "OMG BUT HOW DO THEY KNOW WHERE THEY'RE GOING!!!!" Look, I'm pretty sure that after millions of years of evolution the moles have adapted a system of finding their way around. This chick was what I would call a dingbat. As in, she was constantly saying stupid shit. After that incident, I picked up my books and moved to the corner of the classroom that held smarter people (read: the ones that had this look on their face while she talked about the mole incident: O_O). Mr. P didn't challenge this at all. In fact, he didn't even say anything, he just gave me this look like, "Well thank God, there's another one who's not an idiot."

Mr. P was pretty damn cool. He had a sense of humor that isn't appealing to most high school kids ('cause, you know, you had to actually think to get it), and even had a way of mocking the, uh, slower kids while making them think he was laughing with them instead of at them. You know, sophomore year probably would've been cool if I hadn't gone all bipolar on everyone. No, seriously, I got the correct diagnosis in September of that year. I was actually extremely social. After I got out of the hospital, my friend Gene (who ended up being my boyfriend like 3 times after that, but he's kinda dumb so that didn't work, obviously) called me up like five hours after I got home and was all, "You wanna go to a football game?"

Pfft, you know it. This was before I was openly smoking in front of my parents, so I took every chance to get out of the house and sneak a cigarette or twenty. Good times, man. That's when I was all into the baggy pants and clothes from PacSun and Gadzooks before they both got shitty and the colorful bangle bracelets and Chuck Taylors. Except my Chucks were the fake kind from Wal-Mart because fuck paying $40 for a pair of old-school sneakers. I'm actually wearing my Hurley shirt that I got for that school year. Good memories are pretty awesome.

i love/hate scary stuff!

Excuse me while I make a sour face at my mom's defense of her use of the word "snuck" in her last entry. >:^( I don't like that word. I don't like a lot of Americanisms, actually. Maybe I read too much British literature, but whatever. I like "sneaked" and I'm sticking to it. You've just witnessed the English nerd in me rear its little head.

And speaking of words, literature, etc, I just got done reading The Worthy by Will Clarke. Now, I had a good impression of Will when he sent us a signed copy of the book, along with a bookmark and a bunch of little ghost erasers. I was also pleased that it was sent in a giant lime green envelope. So, since I'll pretty much read anything that I can lay my dorky little hands on, I picked up this book immediately. I got three pages in and I knew I was going to enjoy it.

Let it also be known that I purchased Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk about a week ago when Mama and I stopped off at Border's after seeing The Descent, which -- okay, look, can I just say that going into undiscovered caves is a really bad idea? There's probably a reason it's undiscovered, like all the people who've tried to map it HAVE BEEN EATEN. Yeah, more on that in a minute.

So, I get this book and I've been wanting it for a long time, but it wasn't in paperback until a few months ago and for some reason I'd been having bad luck with hardback books (the spines keep falling apart or some other annoying thing), so I wanted to wait for paperbook. I started Haunted a few days ago and generally when I start reading anything by Palahniuk, I don't put it down until I've finished it. But then I started reading The Worthy, and yeah, let me just say, that book is pretty much the shit. See, I'm kind of a sucker for books that are all fucked up and stuff. I think I'm a little morbid, and that probably also has something to do with the fact that I laugh at the most inappropriate things.

Will, if you're reading this, let me just give you some fucking props, dude. Usually when a book is set in the South, it's written by someone from Massachussetts or something and everyone down here who reads it is all like, "Whoa, way to get that wrong." Kinda like when a movie is set in New Orleans or somewhere in Cajun country and everyone talks like they're from Georgia. The Worthy was pretty much awesome. I know I should've expected that because you don't just get a review in the New York Times for no reason, but then again, you never know. Awesome job, man. You described Baton Rouge and Shreveport (specifically Fairfield Avenue) in an awesomely impressive way. See, I like detailed, flowery writing just as much as the next person, but I tend to get sucked into writing that's, you know, real.

So, that's it for The Worthy until I get time to write a proper review. Now I'm gonna move on to The Descent which was seriously the best horror movie I've seen since the remake of Dawn of the Dead. I've been a cave once, but it had been explored enough to have a track with cars for tours, so I didn't have much fear of blind, slimy, humanoid creatures who eat people. Pools of blood and skin and guts didn't seem prominent, either. But look, if someone takes me to go exploring some cave, they better have a map of where to go, the exact time it takes to get there, and where all the exits in that cave are located because if they don't, then fuck that. No way am I going risk getting my intestines snacked on while I'm still alive by a demon that can scale walls and makes the most horrifying noises.

I'm pretty easily scared. I'll jump during pretty much all horror movies, even if they're not all that good, but I'm never like, terrified throughout an entire movie. Any movie with that much tension is A+ in my book. And the ending was brilliant. Go see it. It's certainly not a waste of $5 or $7, depending on what time you go to the theatre. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get my mind off of creepy cave shit.

p.s. Speaking of caves, there's this really fantastic hoax website about a caver who discovers something in a cave that probably shouldn't be there. It's got pictures and everything. If blogger wasn't being such a bitch, I'd show off my awesome [read: simple] html skills and put the link behind a word, but this site apparently has a goddamn vendetta against me, so this is it: www.holyshiite.com/caver/

Diabetic Feet

I go to LSU Hospital's Diabetic Foot Clinic even though I'm not diabetic.

I was in a coma in 1993 for several months. They (Schumpert ICU) didn't do a very good job of protecting me from bed sores. The heels of my feet were practically eaten off. Now they form these horrific calluses. They are very painful and I have to go to LSU Hospital to have them worked on once a month.

Tell your family that if you ever go into a coma to make them take care of your feet.

Charlie

Car Trouble

Slamming down I-20 to Bossier to take Katee to BPCC and day one of her math class we hit a bump and the van air conditioner went ka-put. "It was nice while it lasted," Katee said.

I maintained for the next couple of miles but kept an eye on the little thing that shows if your engine is over heating. Driving a vehicle with 200,000 plus miles, you just never know.

And that's just it. With me car trouble isn't just car trouble. It's all my failures pouring out before me. My brain goes into over-chatter-drive "If you just made more money, your car would be better, newer, bolder, stronger... you wouldn't be a loser..."

Katee went to class and I snuck* into the icebox cold library and scribbled on an editorial we are writing for The Shreveport Times. We made it back home with no AC but also no overheating. The gage stayed right where it should have. I just have one more thing to fix added to my list.


*for uppity college students who hate nonstandard English usage. Snuck is an Americanism introduced in the 19th entury as a nonstandard regional variant of sneaked. Widespread use of snuck has more common with every generation. Even authors are using it: "I ducked down behind the paperbacks and snuck out" (Garrison Keillor).

How Great is My Life? Part 2

Just when you think life can't get any better... after spending Saturday morning and early afternoon with w/authors and writers, I get home and a neon green bubble mailer has arrived.

The package is from Will Clarke. He's sent me an autographed copy of his new book The Worthy. Of course Katee, who thinks she owns every package that comes to this house, had to open it.

Am I reading the book? Nope. She's scarfing it down. Threw down Chuck Palaniuk's Haunted to get to it (Palaniuk wrote Fight Club, Choke, Guts, Survivor, among others).

Her early reviews? "Good. Has to be good to make me stop reading Palaniuk." I'm sure she'll be done this week. Of course, her classes resume Monday so who knows?

How Great is My Life?

I got to play with my writer/author friends today. It's been a couple of months since I've made the monthly meeting of NOLA Stars (North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance). We meet on the third Saturday of the month at El Chico's on Greenwood Road in Shreveport.

Candace "Candy" Havens drove over from the Dallas/Fort Worth area to present a workshop on writing a first draft of a book in two weeks. Good stuff! You can check out her blog and website at www.candacehavens.com (why lookee there, I just figured out how to link...). Her second book is coming out in a couple of weeks. It's called Charmed and Ready.

I'm inspired to try her method since I've only been writing nonfiction stuff recently. I'm ready to try writing another mystery or maybe some other type novel set in the South. Of course this means I have to clean up my work area and throw some papers away. Crap.

wee floaty.

My head's been incredibly clouded lately. School starts Monday. This does not make me happy. It might possibly be the heat, or the Xanax. It's pissing me off either way. I think it might be time to wean off the Xanax anyway. I'm not looking forward to it, but I don't fancy walking around with my head feeling like it's floating away. I thought that I might just be going batshit crazy, but then I realized I'm not hearing voices or seeing things, so that can't be it. The 100+ degree heat everyday is not helping things anyway.

Other than my floaty-ness, things have been okay. This morning I went to the Blackboard orientation that was mandatory for people who are taking online courses for the first time. Most of it was stuff I already knew, but I found out that I can get certain extremely expensive software dirt cheap. As in, I can get Windows XP Professional for $13. Yeah, that's like $387 cheaper. I don't really need it, but since I get such a lovely discount for being a college student, I think I'll just buy it just because it's THIRTEEN DOLLARS. The orientation lasted for about 30 minutes, give or take a few. It was mostly people asking questions about how to send attachments, which never fails to make me WTF all over the place. Yeeeeah, see that button/link that says "Att/Attach/Attchmnt/Attachment"? CLICK IT. And then you find the file, and click that. And you're set. WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR PEOPLE?

My only question was if Blackboard was compatible with Firefox, but apparently whoever designed Blackboard is still living in 2001 or something because it only works with Internet Explorer and Netscape. Yes, we still have IE, but I don't like to use it, mainly because I don't want someone hacking into my shit and also because it's really annoying. And we haven't had Netscape since 1999 or something. Seriously, these people need to get with the times.

It ended earlier than expected, and I still had 15 minutes until Daddy got there, so I went out to the "designated smoking area" to have a cigarette. Dude, fuck that. There are like 3 "smoking shelters" on that entire campus. There are five thousand people who attend BPCC. I'm pretty sure 75% of them smoke. What is wrong with this picture? I asked a woman who was sitting in there with me when they put this in and she said it started at the beginning of the summer semester. Apparently there was a problem with people throwing cigarette butts on the walkways and in the grass and it unsightly. Also, it's not unusual for the smokers to congregate in front of the buildings and smoke before class, and there were nonsmokers who got all pissed off because it was unhealthy or something.

Okay, look, I know that cigarette smoke smells awful to nonsmokers (it actually smells awful to me) but OMG, you're passing through the walkway for 10 seconds. Unless you have some severe asthma or allergy problems, then STFU. If your health is that bad, you probably shouldn't be walking around a school with germs all over the place.

You know, while we're banning things, I think we need to ban bad fashion and fake orange tans. Yes, girls who wear mini skirts the size of a belt in the middle of January and complain about being cold should be banned. Self-tanner should be banned. As a matter of fact, let's ban idiots from coming to this school. It'd be much smaller and I wouldn't have to take Internet classes to stay away from them. I think that's better than banning smokers any day. >:O

woohoo!

I got my GED. See? It's a diploma. Notice how it says "High School Equivalency" and not "Kind-of High School Equivalency." See, lots of people think that to get a GED you just have to know how to add and subtract and read Clifford the Big Red Dog. Excuse me while I LOL all over the place. You know, I'm pretty smart. I could pass for intelligent. Sometimes a genius. I thought this test was easy, but I've always been really good on tests like this. Standardized-style tests. What most people don't know is that in order to pass high school, all you really need are two math classes, four English classes, a few sciences, and a dash of history here and there. It's honestly not that difficult to pass high school. That's probably why I dropped out. High school was a horrendous waste of my time. Anyhow. . .there's my diploma that came in the mail with my awesome scores attached. Let's just say I pretty much owned that test and most of the people who've ever taken it.

I Love My DVR

It allows me to record my favorite sitcoms. I must have noise 24 hours a day to keep from hearing the thoughts in my head which keep me awake. My poor wife hates all the noise but there's nothing I can do about it.

Charlie

Lithium Fiend

Nobody is on lithium around here but we drink like we are. Katee stopped cold turkey in January (this is not recommended and her action deserves a blog entry all on its own but I digress...) and Charlie just stopped taking a Depakote and lithium cocktail in May (his violent hand tremors have finally gone away).


Our favorite Summer 2006 beverages:

Charlie- Coffee (Folger's Columbian)

Katee- Diet Coke, Diet Lipton Citrus Green Tea, bottled water (Dasani, Aquafina, Ozarka)

Me- Water from the fridge door with lots of ice, homemade wine coolers, lemonade

We have also been known to down Mountain Dew, orange soda, strawberry soda, Dr. Pepper, and microwave brewed iced tea. We try to stay away from Sam's soda from Wal-Mart because that drink makes you burp as soon as you put the can to your lips.

Our favorite refreshment this year has to be Diet Lipton Citrus Green Tea. It runs about $6 for a 12 pack of 16.9 oz bottles and finding the diet version is damned near impossible in this town. However I do have a secret source that gets me the stuff for $2 a 6 pack but they are usually out of the diet. I know, I know we drink entirely too much stuff with sweetener and carbonation. I'm trying to get them to cut down.

My overall favorite liquid is the milk I get from the cafe at work. It's free and I get the big 16 oz cup and pull the lever down and the white stuff froths to the top. Tasty!

Fine Print

This ad appeared in the Sunday Shreveport Times on page 7A. It should make parents feel good to know so many smiling experts are standing by to take care of their children at the Christus Schumpert Sutton Children's Medical Center. Pictured are specialists in the areas of pediatric intensive care, pediatric gastroenterology, pediatric orthopedic surgery, neonatal intensive care, and pediatric surgery.

Under the multi-colored word specialists the copy even explains "When a child needs care, it is important to have a team of pediatric specialists, nurses and staff like those at Sutton Children's. They combine child-centered compassion with a wide-range of skill and expertise. Together, they are making a difference in the lives of our children."

Where are the smiles when it comes to taking care of children and adolescents with neurobiological disorders? Does the mental health of the kids of our community not matter? Who is lining up to take care of them?

Silly Boy

No. He is not peeing. I do not know who he is. Some random man-child paying for his classes at BPCC (Bossier Parish Community College).

I just thought it strange he wore his sunglasses and cell phone smack-dab in the middle of his back so I shot him. When the flash popped he turned around.

"I think it's funny you've got your phone and glasses on in the back. I'm gonna have to blog about you." He grinned. That's when I noticed they were both the same color. "You like orange?"

"Yes." He grinned again. Katee saved him by coming up and fussing at me for taking pictures of as she puts it "random" people. We're hoping he'll be in her 098 Math class.

drugs are bad. D:

Sweet Jesus the last week or two has been bloody miserable. Not because anything depressing has happened; it's just really hot. Last summer it didn't get this hot. Last summer it rarely went above maybe 95 degrees. Last summer the heat was tolerable even on the hottest days. This summer is a completely different story. The heat index is 105 almost everyday and I think the heat has sapped me of every bit of energy I had left. My brain seems to be leaking out of my ears.

I suppose this summer could've been more sociable and more "fun" for me. It's not like people don't invite me places. It's just that those places generally involve alcohol and all kinds of illegal shit I don't want to be around. A friend of mine put up pictures of herself rolling. As in ecstasy. Apparently it was supposed to be impressive, but. . .eh. It just looked like a bunch of teenagers acting like shitheads. Maybe I'm supposed to act like that now or something. Whatever, it doesn't appeal to me at all. I'd rather be writing, reading, singing, or something creative and productive. Partying lost its appeal a long time ago. As did sucking on a pacifier and having other people babysit me.

Besides, being caught with illegal drugs comes with that inconvenient incarceration stuff, which is, quite frankly, a waste of my time and would make me ineligible for future federal loans and Pell grants. Also, I can think of a whole lot of other stuff I'd rather buy instead of drugs, like clothes or books or CDs or DVDs or a new computer or something. Or a baby pit bull. Yeah that was pretty random, but I like pit bulls. I tried to convince my grandpa to give me his, but he won't do it. D:

Tomorrow we're [as in my mother and myself] going to church because we haven't been all summer, and because it's Artist Sunday which is guaranteed fun. Art, music, and all kinds of fun stuff. ^_^ Daddy, of course, cannot be bothered with going to church because going without smoking for an hour is pure torture for him, or something. He also doesn't like because our minister generally doesn't talk about Christianity. This would make sense because it's a Unitarian Universalist church and not a Christian church, but you know, god forbid he actually listen to anything we tell him.

I might've done something for Artist Sunday, like sing, but I just didn't get around to preparing anything. Ah well. And then next week is the swim party which I'll probably go to because OH MY GAAAH it's hot outside.

Classes start the Monday after this one. This makes my head hurt. :( It's too hot for school to start.

Work Pants 1:46

[warning: there's a lot of foul language. if it offends you, don't read this.]

There's a reason I don't watch a particular local news station, and that's because it sucks and its news is always five days too late. And they never update their goddamn website. We're gonna call this Channel X, so I don't piss anyone off.

Tonight I was watching the 10 o'clock news on Channel X because I was too lazy to get the remote from the coffee table a foot away from me. I was copying notes merrily from my psychology textbook, when I heard a story about LSU Medical Center bitching about something or another. It turns out that the emergency room nurses are angry because people are getting violent in the ER or something else that obviously doesn't ever happen anywhere else in the world. The news media around here seems to have some kind of vendetta against people with neurobiological problems because they constantly refer to us as "mental patients" which always makes me think of one of those huge asylums in old movies that have people wandering around with no clothes on and shit.

Anyhow, the nurses are apparently sick of dealing with us, since we all know that "mental patients" are not "med compliant" and should therefore be turned away so that nurses have less fucking work to do. They're tired of being abused and spit on by the "mental patients." Oh, boofuckinghoo. God, your life is so hard. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the people spitting on you are just pissed off that you're a whiny bitch? Come on, you work at the charity hospital, what the fuck did you think would happen? THE HOSPITAL TREATS PEOPLE FOR FREE. FREE MEANS NO INSURANCE. FREE MEANS LOWER-CLASS. People who can't afford medication come in there and (since they AREN'T ON ANY MEDICATION) are usually (and quite understandably) a little unstable.

Okay, look, I'm sorry that you bloody chose to work at a charity hospital. And I say "chose" because hospitals are always short on nurses, so don't tell me you couldn't fucking find work anywhere else. If you're unhappy, then leave. Get the fuck out. Quit complaining. Find another job, put in your two weeks notice, and go. The last thing people who are depressed/manic/hallucinating/etc need is some haughty bitch getting pissed at them for something that isn't their fault.

You know what? I'm tired of the kids with every other disorder/disease in the world getting better treatment than I did, but I'm working to change it. That new Sutton's Children's Hospital has a ward for every health problem except anything to do with the brain. It pisses me off, but by writing in this blog, working on a psychology degree, and doing something about it, I can goddamn well help. You want to cut down on the "random mental patients" that come into the ER? Then do your FUCKING job. Campaign for better treatment of these individuals. They are scared, they are depressed, and they are looking for help. I don't give a shit about your problems. Compared to the suffering I've seen in my fellow "mental patients," your life is a fucking piece of cake. At least at the end of the day, you get to leave it all behind. We don't have that luxury.

Ignorant motherfuckers.

More People

In the introduction of Rita Mae Brown's memoir Rita Will she writes "In one year's time you and I meet more people than our grandparents met in a lifetime."

Is this good? What does meeting more people mean? One night at the casino on a $5 blackjack table I probably see as many people as my grandparents did in one year.

How does this contribute to my quality of life or does it? We may meet more people but we have less friends or at least I do. I find it impossible to maintain friendships and work full time. Something about working 40 or so hours a week crushes me. Squeezes me like a trash compactor. I feel very disconnected from my community. When I worked three or four days a week I seemed to have more time for volunteer work, attending my Unitarian Universalist Church and working with my writers group.

Maybe one of these days if I'm lucky to make my living as a writer the work will nourish me enough so I'll regain that weightlessness that comes with not being couped up in a workplace and I'll be able to rekindle friendships.

Living the Author's Life

Will Clarke came to Bossier for a book signing last month. That same Sunday his two books were reviewed in the Sunday New York Times. Hot Damn! Excellent for a couple of tomes that started out self-published and have now been picked up by Simon & Schuster.

I may have to take back everything I've ever said about self-publishing. (Beat Beat Beat) Umm, no. Because there's way too much around SB of self publishing of not ready to be published stuff. If folks would just join a good critique group and work on their writing until it was ready for publication then I could put away my soap blog. And yet... here I am self-publishing on a regular basis via this blog.

I didn't buy his books. I plan on it. But it was the Sunday before pay day and with our medication costs eating up my disposable income (wow there's a term from the 80s) I'll have to wait until after I get Katee's college books.

I did stalk him and take some pictures and I did splurge for The New York Times that day. $5.00 for a newspaper. I'm holding onto it. I can't bare the thought of throwing it away. Will's review has had a place of honor in the magazine rack in the bathroom. Check out the boy's blog -- www.booktourvirgin.blogs.com. It's interesting. And makes me think his books are probably good reads.

One final note. The New York Times called him a Texan. That pisses me off. Yes, he lives in Dallas but he was born in Shreveport.

This is Spinal Tap

It was a surreal experience living in Hollywood almost 20 years ago. Charlie and I would be getting groceries or gas and run into folks like Charlton Heston standing in the express lane at the Safeway in our neighborhood. I'm experiencing some of that again now that movies and television shows are being filmed in Shreveport since Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans a year ago.

Friday nights I go to work at 10pm. I was dealing blackjack in pit three Friday until they closed my $25 table a little before 3am and sent me to pit one to the sit down table (it's lower than the other tables to accommodate guests in wheelchairs).

It's a $15 table so it's not full. There's a black woman on spot two and a white guy on spot seven. She leaves before the shoe is finished. He hangs in there and starts pissing me off. Instead of scratching the table to indicate he wants another card he does this wavy flying hand thing and then dives his fingers to the table for a scratch. It's a good thing I'm not the fastest dealer in the world otherwise I'd have taken that gesture for a wave off and flipped my cards over when he showed an eight.

He keeps doing it. I contemplate calling the floor over to let them know I think he might be taking hits. But it's my break time and I'm tapped off the table at 3:20. Maybe he'll be gone when I get back. He's not. I deal another half a shoe and take his remaining money. He gets up and I recognize him from the side. He's a funny guy. I mumble I love your work. He doesn't hear me. It's the guy from the movie This is Spinal Tap and A Mighty Wind. He has also appeared on X-Files and Smallville.

I rack my brain to remember what else I've seen him in. The floors are no help. They are all too young. Lenny and Squiggy. He was the tall lanky blond one. He's got good hair for a guy his age. I have to look him up on the internet before I know his name. Michael McKean. He's in town filming A Year Without Santa Claus.

The hand swoop? I slap my hand to my head. Comedy. He was performing C-O-M-E-D-Y for me. A joke. Private showing. One on one. Took a while but I get it now.

you're the brightest little firefly in my jar.

My mother and I were at Exxon today getting gas, which cost an ungodly amount of money, I'm sure. I wasn't worried about the gas, though. We'd just come from Walgreen's to pick up some prescriptions and a box of hair dye and other things. I was reading the hair dye box (Light Golden Brown, for you curious people; it's my natural color), when I looked up for a minute and a boy working in the garage caught my attention.

He's not a boy anymore. When I met him he was sixteen and I was fourteen and he had the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen. He was also the unhappiest person I'd ever known. Misery loves company, I suppose. Today when I saw him I felt a twinge of remorse and loneliness. His hair dark brown hair that he keeps in a ponytail is longer than mine now, and he smiles more. I haven't actually talked to him since March.

He and I go way back. At the end of my freshman and his junior year in high school, we flirted with the idea of a relationship, but I suppose at fourteen a serious relationship is completely out of the question. We had a falling out of sorts. Some girl was in love with him and she was gonna kick my ass or some other nonsense, so he stopped talking to us both in order to keep either of us from getting hurt, physically or otherwise. Later that year, in November, after I'd gotten myself a new boyfriend, he started talking to me again. He apologized, and then chased me for a year until I finally gave in and started dating him.

Well, what can I say? I fell in love. I was sixteen and miserable and clung to anyone who gave me any attention at all. He wasn't perfect. He was never perfect. In fact, he was an idiot for the most part. But oh, did he love me. I don't know if any guy has ever loved me that much. We broke up two years ago. It's hard to believe that it's been two years. He was so unhappy, but from what his friends told me, he'd been ten times worse before I'd come along.

He was persistent. He never gave up, that boy. After I broke up with him, we fought and we stopped talking for months, but it always came back to the two of us in the end. He kept on chasing me, but I couldn't do it. Not again. I know. . .I know he loved me. He probably still loves me. And I could probably be with him for a long time except that I know he loves smoking pot. Not just as a party thing; he does it everyday, multiple times a day. I can't put myself through it again. I can't watch him destroy himself.

I think I ruin them. Guys date me and they self destruct. Or maybe I just attract self-destructive men in general. Hell if I know. But I know I can break a heart. I could never get him to get a job. While we were together, he had one job. He worked at the golf course in Southern Trace, cleaning up rich people's trash and blowing the leaves out of the pool. I pushed him and pushed him to get a job, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't go to school, he wouldn't do anything. Eventually I gave up and left.

He got a job at a local bakery. I think he worked there for about a year. It was a nice, easy job, but he didn't make any money. I always wanted him to work with cars. I told him it would be a good job and a good salary, and I knew he would be good at it because he was always tooling around with some car part or another. He's a perfectionist. That's one thing I adored about him: He always got the job done perfectly.

So when I saw him working at the garage today, I smiled because I knew I'd been right. He always told me he'd never amount to anything. He had daddy issues, of course. In fact, I've known him almost five years and I've never, ever met his dad. There's some serious shit there, but I digress. His father always told him he wasn't worth anything and I hated his father for it. I couldn't help but fall in love with him. He had this big, beautiful smile, long beautiful hair that I practiced braiding on all the time, and is just a huge teddy bear. And I mean huge. He's 6'5"ish and built like a linebacker. He's a manly man, but with girly qualities. His hands are calloused from playing his guitar, but soft and gentle. He likes to cook, but only on his grill. And he's incredibly loyal. Unless someone does something absolutely horrible to him, he's a lifelong friend.

We've grown apart in the last few months. I guess he got busy with his job and I've started this new life thing. But I miss him so much sometimes.

As colorful as the Big Easy Mayor's race

We are nice and polite here in Ratsborough/Port City/Shrevetown/Casino Capital of Louisiana. That's why I had to chuckle when I ran across this tampered with political sign when I found it in the parking lot of El Chico's in Madison Park.

I went back the next day to get a photo of Jerry's Frenched-up look and the sign had been pulled down to the ground with sand bag sitting on it. I propped it up and had a fleeting thought as I was trying to frame the shot "someone just might think I did this." I blew off the notion and continued on as a citizen journalist. Then I put the sign back like I'd found it.

I got into the van and noticed a mini truck parked at an odd angle next to me. I backed out and a man from the truck middle-aged-not-a-big-exerciser hobbled toward me. "Did you do that?" He asked.

"I'm just documenting it."

"For?"

"Blog."

At this point I think he asked me if I was part of The Noise. Katee swears he asked me if I was part of The Noids (which is a local band). I said no and mumbled something about it's a shame someone had to do this and political races shouldn't be about this. I lied. The grown up part of me thinks that but then there's a part that just grinned.

mm sleepy now.

I reeeeally don't want to wake up at 8 am tomorrow to get ready for a doctor's appointment at 9:30. I have to go see why my period's being wonky. I always thought my period would've figured itself out by now, really. I mean, I started it when I was 9. You'd think it would've learned that it's supposed to come once a month rather than twice, and sometimes not at all. *sour face*

On the bright side, I registered for classes. This semester I'll be taking three Internet courses and one class that actually requires me to show up at school. The Internet classes are Adolescent Psychology, Art History II, and Western Civ I. And the other one is, of course, math. :( Hopefully I'll be able to concentrate more this semester. I haven't got any friends, so I certainly won't have a social life getting in the way of things. I didn't get all the classes I wanted, though. I'd hoped to retake all the classes I withdrew from and take an extra one, but, eh. All the English 102 classes were already filled, so I'm taking Art History II instead. I need an arts class, anyway. The teacher is my advisor and I wanted to take a class from him to see what he was like.

I've been going over my Intro to Psychology book from last fall because I'm a masochist, apparently. I'm also a Ravenclaw, and those of you who are Harry Potter fans will know what I mean. For those of you who don't, it means that I'm an academic nerd and like learning things, even when it isn't necessary! It also means that I enjoy the color blue and am pretty. :P Well, it's true! All the Ravenclaws in the books are pretty.

What the bloody hell? A case of the hiccups just accosted me. I'm going to go do all those stupid tricks that are supposed to make them go away now.

Company

I don't have much of a social life. Working full time at night seems to suck my networking-with- friends-time down some big swirly hole.

And yet amazingly our house has been run over with boys lately. An old friend dropped by and two of nephews have been to visit -- all in the last thirty days. We've hit the company jackpot! And I do mean company. Charlie has determined that despite our culture's recent trend toward entertaining -- we have company over.

If one is to entertain I would think a dining room would be required and since we turned ours into a TV room we're back to the category of "company's coming!." We have TV trays -- old rusty ones that have to be duct taped together.

I'd like to be entertained by May Sarton. In her journals she writes how she picks flowers from her garden and makes lobster salad and serves champagne and celebrates birthdays when folks come to her house by the sea. May's company usually arrives stylishly late and she waits for them on the terrace while lying on the chaise lounge looking over the calm sea. She breathes peace and basks while waiting for her guests.

Me? Company comes over and I'm naked in the shower and I make them close their eyes while I dash to the kitchen with a towel wrapped around me so I can brush my teeth in the only working sink in the house.

There are a few luxuries here at the D street place. We have cloth napkins. I've been busy hand sewing a new batch. They are soft cotton with a pretty flower pattern. And ketchup. We have plenty of ketchup. When Charlie and I first got together he asked that I never fuss at him if he left a glob of the red stuff on his plate. His daddy used to do that to him and he didn't want anyone else to do it. I've bitten my tongue more than once but we can afford it. It's not like he insists on the name brand stuff like my father did. He would only eat Heinz. If you don't like ketchup we've got bar-b-que sauce and Katee might even share some of that ranch dressing that comes in the little veggie trays she's become addicted to.

Not Perfect