Pancake State

Sunday night we were tucked in for the night. Settled down to watch Zach Braff and Natalie Portman in Garden State. It's a film about twentysomethings that are lost.

Rick called and after much fancy old school disc jockey talking convinced Katee and me to go for pancakes. We put the movie on pause. Left Charlie sleeping on the couch and went venturing out (poor Charlie, just when things get settled in his system along comes another med change that keeps him tied to his life-boat-couch).

We ended up at Bossier's IHOP for smokes and strawberry waffles. There is no smoking allowed in the Shreveport IHOP and Bossier's management informed us there would be no smoking there after January 1 because of state law.

Believe it or not they were out of strawberries. Rick had to make due with whipped cream. Katee and I settled (sulked?) for water. No, really we had eaten all day and were not hungry. So we filled our time by taking myspace pictures of ourselves. At which time Rick had to stare at the two of us and make the realization we both have beauty marks just above our lips on the left side of our faces.

I first met Rick when I started working in Shreveport radio. He was the evening guy on KROK and I was hired to do overnights. That was over twenty years ago. It's good to reconnect with someone who knew you back in the day. It's like that Sunscreen Song:"... because the older you get the more you need the people who knew you when you were young."

Or maybe it's what Sue Miller has her first-person narrator think about in the novel While I Was Gone: "But here's what I thought: that if I had a crush, it was on an earlier Eli, one who didn't exist anymore, and the real Eli was just a vehicle for it. Or, perhaps even more complicated, that the crush --- if you could call something so psychologically distorted by such a playful name -- was on myself. The middle-aged Eli contained for me, of course, his youthful self, yes. But he contained me also. The self that had known him then. Myself-when-young."

So we could have stayed home and watched the flick but instead we went out to make our own little moving picture. I wanna script a movie about fortysomethings that are lost. It's easy to be twenty and muddling about but there are oh so many challenges to being almost half a century and still stumbling around. Welcome to my life.

Why Crazy in Shreveport?

Why did we start this blog a couple of months ago? We wanted to document our lives as a family dealing with bipolar disorder. Because being bipolar is more than what medicines you take or who your doctor is. It's also about how you make a life for yourself. This is how one Southern family is living with manic depression. These are the every day adventures of a bipolar dad and daughter and the mom who lives with them.

But if your wanting more information about the bipolar disorder in our lives you need to see our fairly new blog kathrynandkateebipolarjournal.blogspot.com. That one really deals with bipolar issues. This one is more about daily life.

haunted house on crack pt 2.

They had that Sahara from The Ring STARING AT ME, and then directing us where to go (that was pretty wtf-worthy, actually, the "patients" telling us where to go). That thing never ended. It wasn't a huge structure, but they made it all twisty turny and stuff, so it went on way longer than it should have. They had Michael Myers running around, and also Freddy Krueger, and there was a lot of pitch-black fucking darkness and I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO GO and then there was a lot of flashing lights and people with epilepsy should never go there ever.

One of the first rooms we went into was weird. There were all kinds of squiggly red lights reflecting off of everything and I freaked because that fucking noise from The Grudge was ECHOING OFF THE WALLS because these people ARE EVIL and attempting to run through these things is not an option because THERE'S NO LIGHT. And then we went into a room that had one of those bridges that, like, rotate and makes everyone sick and the Burger King I had for dinner wasn't happy with me. A lot of people popped out of places and jumped down from ceilings and it was horrible GOD. One of the last rooms was the padded cell, which was exciting because I was like, "We're in a haunted crazy house, WHERE IS THE PADDED ROOM?"

Only the padded room was FUCKED UP. Jason Voorhees jumped out at us WITH A REAL MACHETE AND HELD IT TO MERU'S HEAD. And then he smacked it on the floor and it SPARKED and we got the hell out of there REAL FAST. I wish I would've brought my machete in because mine is like 18 inches long and would've made his its bitch. And then some girl with a baseball bat was like PICK A DOOR ON THE LEFT OR RIGHT and we all know I have to argue about shit, so I pointed out that there was a door in front of us and she got like all irritated and shit. It was great.

I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE TELLING ME WHAT TO DO. In one room some guy swinging on a bar on the ceiling jumped down and was all in my face, but he was kinda hot, too, so it was cool. We finally got the hell out and it was AWESOME. But by then it was almost ten and Meru had to work the next day and I was exhausted, so we just left before entering the Factory. The most lolz-worthy was the interpretive dance stuff they had going on. These kids were all lip syncing and dancing to My Chemical Romance and Panic! At the Disco and also, for whatever reason, Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. Look, I don't know, the target audience was 15 year olds. The only decent one was when these people did Time Warp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Then we left and drove back and yapped incessantly about everything ever (mostly about the WEIRD LITTLE CLOWN GUY) and I came home, posted the head-chopping off thing everywhere, and fell asleep. Thankfully I take Ambien to sleep which rids me of any unnecessary nightmares, so I was good in that department.


So that was awesome.

haunted house. ON CRACK.

Fucking wireless. Everything's moving very slowly and programs are taking forfuckinever to load. D:

So I guess I should elaborate on last night's entry. :P

I realized that it was Friday the 13th, in October no less, so it was imperative that Meru and I do something awesome, so we went to the Edge of Madness "Scream Park" in Calhoun. That's like out in the middle of nowhere. We brought my mom's machete and other pointy things for protection from potential zombie uprisings and nuclear-testing mutants wandering around (hey--it was Friday the 13th. These things happen). It took about an hour and a half to get there, and despite everyone in North Louisiana driving like bitches, we made it to Calhoun safely. We walked in and paid for all three attractions. Unfortunately, we only made it to one attraction, as the lines were insanely long and the haunted house thing was never ending.



I, of course, insisted that we go to "Insanitorium" aka the nuthouse. I tell you, if psych hospitals/units were really like that then my stays would be a hell of a lot more interesting. So we stood in line for about half an hour and it was kind of hard to tell who worked there and who didn't because a lot of the workers were dressed in all black and goth make up and shit, and some people were just, you know, dressed like that because that's what they were. While standing in line, the workers come up and fuck with you. Meru and I had encounters with a werewolf (I was tempted to ask for his number; he was totally hitting on me) and also a very small, very evil clown. Okay, look, everyone has issues with clowns. But this clown was, in fact, a little person. This dude apparently had problems with Meru because he kept freaking her the hell out. He'd come up and she'd be looking off into the distance and he would get all up in her face and she was all, "WHY DOESN'T HE LEAVE ME ALONE?"

Well, they were around the same height. THANK YOU I'LL BE HERE ALL WEEK. Anyway, I was more irritated with the reaching out and "accidentally" brushing against us because I don't think they can legally, like, grab you but if they accidentally touch you there's nothing that can be done. Well, little dude kept reaching toward our legs and I DON'T KNOW WHY and that freaked me out so I was all like, "HEY YOU NEED TO STOP" and he looked up and glared and I was all *glares*. And then he went away. It was still weird, though. We finally got in, and that fucking asylum had everything that scares the shit out of me.

Continued!

friday the 13th!!

MERU ALMOST GOT HER HEAD CHOPPED OFF WITH A MACHETE IN AN ASYLUM.

That is all.

Ode to On-Air

Bottle Tree

I want to make art.

I've been gathering the materials to make glass bottle trees. The cut boards from Lowe's have been riding around in my van for about three weeks. Their fresh pine scent is a good one. Overpowering in a way that those little green pine trees could never be. And so much better than the giant ashtray smell going on at my place of work at the riverboat casino.

If I get all the base problems worked out I just may have found the right medium to express myself. Especially since my "raw" materials are empty bottles and I have to drink all kinds of cool beverages to get them.

A Party for Your Head

We made to the Revel last night to see Trout Fishing in America.
They'll be there through the week.

Then Katee and I dashed though the grounds glancing at the art. I was thrilled by the photograpy of Charles Bush. His large shot of a family of Roseate Spoonbills was so vibrant in color I stared at it and wondered aloud if he had created the image on his computer. He confirmed that those funky pink birds really do live in Louisiana. His prints were available in a variety of sizes and prices.

Katee begged for coffee and then she decided she was too tired and wanted to come back later in the week. So we tramped down the row of artists on the north side of the train depot and were almost out of booths when I discovered fiber artist Vanessa Cunningham of New Orleans. Her hats are millinery explorations for your noggin. Ladies of all ages were giggling like little girls at a tea party while trying on hats. How exciting to have your art make people feel so good.

Stress Tea

When I was a little kid and would go out to eat with my grandmother I'd get all excited because I got to order a Sprite. Bubbles! We had Pepsi at our house but that was for mom.

I thought my grandmother was crazy because most of the time she would order water. So not cool or tasty. I'd look across the table at Howard Johnson's and think I'm never going to eat out and order just WATER. Many years later I now find myself ordering water most of the time.

There's new study from the University College London that suggests drinking regular black tea may speed up recovery from the daily stresses in life. That's good news. I've had so much green tea in the last couple of months that I'm burned out. I'm trying the regular tea. Drinking it without sweetner, sugar or milk. I'm suffering from pucker tongue. I hope I get used to it soon because right now I'm sipping and cringing.

We Have WATER...

... and a new dishwasher and a new faucet and a big mouthed daughter...

After going weeks (really days but it seemed more prolonged) while Charlie installed the dishwasher and put in a new faucet we finally have plenty of running H2O.

I only had to make half a trip to the laundromat to wash my white work shirts, although since they're polyester I could have beaten them clean in the yard with a rock. After spending $2.50 on the wash Charlie drove up to say the water was back on and why not dry my pretty things at home and save that ten dollar bill I was holding.

The WATER ON situation didn't last long. In the midst of our celebratory dance under the ta-tas of the naked mermaid mural in the kitchen, Katee mentioned how I hated the new faucet since it was so low milk jugs couldn't be properly rinsed and why wasn't there a sprayer? I could have throttled her.

The next day he came home with a new one. And the next day, my day off, he wanted to install it. Since I had been reading The Zombie Survival Guide I knew the bare minimum I needed to do was fill the bathtub so the toilet could be flushed. As I dropped the drain plug and opened the taps, with big, droopy eyes Charlie looked at me and said, "You have no faith in me."

I shouldn't have doubted him. Hours later we had another new faucet complete with sprayer and running water.

whaaaat.

Well, that's the end of that relationship.

Let me tell you about this situation. Last night, after not hearing from Mike for like, 5 days and not seeing him for about 2 weeks, I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands and A) see what the hell was up, or B) break it off. I so did not see this coming. So I walked the three or four blocks to his place, in the crazy humid ass weather, saw his car in his driveway, knocked on the door, walked in the house, went to his room, opened the door, and I pretty much almost died.

There was another girl sitting on his bed sitting right next to her, and they'd been "watching a movie," but don't give me that bullshit, I know what happens when someone "watches a movie" with the lights out and a door closed. So he reached up and hugged me like it was nothing, like this was a normal occurrence. Wait, seriously? It was like he thought that if he didn't freak out, I wouldn't freak out, which I didn't. And then I took a look at the girl (Amber, apparently), and realized she looked like a goddamned chipmunk. Actually, she looked like me, in chipmunk form. Let me tell you, it was like looking into a Twilight Zone mirror of fug or something.

Dark red hair up in a half bun (like I always wear my hair), green eyes (!!!), glasses (!!!!), and I would say she was around my height and weight, but her teeth were kind of fucked up. AND UGLY. I thank God that I am stable (and possibly that I was too shocked to do anything) because if this had happened six months ago, there would've some Jerry Springer shit going on. So the whole time this is happening, my brain is only dimly aware of what's going on. The whole thing is hazy because it was so surreal. I mean. . .who does that? So I called him a son-of-a-bitch and walked out and I was in my This Is Not Acceptable mode, where I get very calm and pissed at the same time. He comes out after me (quite obviously stoned), like nothing was going on. It was fantastic.

Best. Break-up. EVER.

He was spewing all kinds of bullshit, "IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE REALLY I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T CALLED I WILL CALL YOU I PROMISE YOU'RE OVER REACTING PLEASE I'M SORRY." Mmm, no. First of all, I'm pretty sure it really is what it looks like. Second, you can call, but I'm not picking up the phone. Third, I am most certainly not over reacting. If anything I'm under reacting. Over reacting would've included me stabbing someone in the fucking head, and possibly setting some things on fire. Over reacting does not include me being completely calm about things and walking away nicely. Last, don't you dare make anymore promises to me ever again. You also "promised" not to hurt me again, and not to be a complete ass.

Why I choose to date drug addicts, idiots, douche bags and/or sociopaths is completely beyond me. So, that's the end of that. Thank God I didn't sleep with him. I really don't fancy another pregnancy test. And wouldn't that be a bitch? Anyway, I called Meru after all of it happened who said she would come right over after work (which she did 'cause she's awesome) and I came home and wrote a Livejournal entry and then I got a bunch of comments and yeah I love my friends. I told Mike's brother Scott what happened and he's like the greatest little guy ever, so there was a lot of LOL's at the "chipmunk" comment. Scott rocks.

I think the most amusing thing about the whole situation was (besides the girl being ugly WTF) the fact that one of my first thoughts was, "Aww, man, now I'm gonna have to redo my Top 8 on MySpace. GOD THIS SUCKS."

Fin.

September 2006 at Crazy in Shreveport

Is it me or are the months just whipping by? Here at CIS in September you'll find postings about Katee's new hair color, pagans in South Highlands, Gold Dome Book Sale, Hurricane Katrina, Andrea Yates, talking microwaves, Katee in college, recycling and plumbing woes.

Still no picture of all three of us. That was one thing we wanted to get done in September. Oh well, tomorrow is another month... maybe then...

Faces of Katrina, an arts exhibit featuring stories and photos is now hanging at artspace on Texas Street in Shreveport through October 20.

Resurrected Car Thieves

Toting Water and Zombie Latrines

Had I read The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection From the Living Dead I would've had plenty of water in large covered containers to weather Charlie installing a new dishwasher and faucet.

But I hadn't so I didn't. I've been forced to tote water from the neighbor's outside faucet. I slosh a jiggly seven gallon trash can across her yard and up two sets of steps so we can flush the toilet. At least we haven't been forced to designate a corner of the backyard to serve as a latrine.

Washing dishes is a nightmare since everyone keeps using the real things thinking the dishwasher and faucet are almost finished. I've cleared Brookshires of their cheap gallons of water. Of course all the big pots are growing mold in the refrigerator so I can only heat up tiny amounts of water at a time.

I've lost count of how many days it's been since we've had real plumbing. If this siege of my kitchen doesn't end soon we'll have to follow the advice on page 91 of The Zombie Survival Guide: "Remain entertained!... keeping a positive mental attitude is essential. Find the natural entertainer in your group and encourage him or her to develop a routine of shows... Who's going to plan a talent show when hundreds of zombies are scrapping at the gates?... Someone who knows that a group of rattled angry, frustrated people are just as dangerous as the hundred of zombies scraping at the gates."

I guess we should count ourselve lucky since we have cable TV and I don't have to wield a machete on the way to water refills.

i really must stop neglecting this.

See, the thing is, I have been told that I have the attention span of a goldfish. This is a problem when there are things I need to do, but cannot concentrate for shit on it. It's like school. It usually goes like this: "Hmm, I should read that chapter in Art His--OMG A NEW MYSPACE SURVEY!" And then I forget things. It's really quite depressing. The picture on the left demonstrates what happens when I procrastinate, usually ending in lots of pictures being taken of myself.

I've actually gotten more done this week, on account of how bored I have been. All 2 of my friends have been working a lot, so I've been attempting to get things done. I painted the front of my bedroom door purple and placed a fairy poster there, mostly to signify that my room is infinitely better than yours. :P I've gotten some reading done and a lot of math homework, too. This test is sooooo not gonna be as easy as the last one. Grr.

Meru and I are supposed to go see Talledega Nights tomorrow afternoon when I get out of class since I haven't seen it and she is like in love with Will Farrell. Meru's prettttty great. So yeah, basically nothing exciting has happened at all in the last week or so and it really, really needs to before I die of lack of excitement. :(

Overheard in a Shreveport Bossier Casino Parking Garage

Man in a newer model gray pick up flags down a woman in a flowered shirt. He leans out the driver's window. "You reckon I can get out of here?"

"Yes, sir. Just keep circling around and eventually you'll get out." She points to the exit sign hanging overhead.

He drives away. She notices the Texas license plate.

They really ought to not let those rice farmers out of east Texas.

The Dirt on Shreveport Recycling

Here's the visual for a great cartoon: A woman stands in front of three bins. They are marked PAPER, CANS and PLASTIC. She places her separated trash into these containers. What she doesn't see is that under the floor there are tubes that send everything into a trash truck headed for a landfill.

THIS ISN'T HAPPENING IN SHREVEPORT!

A post at Shreveport.blogspot.com on September 16 entitled "Garbage and the mayoral candidates" worried me enough to leave a comment. It was about the efforts to green up Shreveport.

After reading it I was concerned that my newly separated cans and plastic bottles were landfill bound. I blogged about it at my myspace site. Noma suggested contacting Liz Swaine. Here's what she had to say:

"Yes, there is always a market for aluminum. I also did some checking and found out that your plastics are being recycled, too, so you ARE making a difference! Here is the response I got from our superintendent of solid waste on the question: Plastic received at the Recycling Center is dispersed nation wide and processed to construct everything from polyester used to make carpet and other products containing polyester to new products made of plastic. Several of the companies we use are, Clean - Tech, a company in Dundee, Michigan and K. W. Plastics, in Troy, Alabama."

Didn't ask about newspapers because I don't recycle those, yet. I mostly reuse them in the litter boxes (yes we have two, sometimes three).

About the picture: These are cans waiting in my kitchen to get squished.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

Porch sitting. It's a fine tradition here on D street.

It was even better Sunday when neighbor Bob delivered delicious cookies his wife Pam baked.

Not only were they tasty (full of pecans, almonds, and chocolate chips) but also came in a beautiful package.

Charlie's only complaint. "I wish they'd bring them over every weekend."

academics and friends.

I've been neglecting my writing, but then again all of my online instructors decided that they should give their exams in the same week. I've been studying and it is certainly paying off. I have an A in math, probably for the first time in my life. Maybe since elementary school. Either way, it's awesome. Usually by the first test I'm down to a D and trying to work my way up to at least a C. It's different this time I think because my GED teacher actually worked with me, and the instuctor I have now is really great. It's all pretty much a review for me since what I'm doing now is around the ninth grade level and I had to learn it to pass the GED.

It's cool. I'm not even using a calculator because Ms. Black won't let us. She said it won't help in the next course we take, but I'm hoping I can just test out of that one. I never knew how to do fractions and now they're surprisingly easy to understand. The process is tedious and boring, but it's not hard. I resent the amount of time I spend on it because there are a lot of other things I can do with the hours I spend doing the homework, but that's okay. I feel kind of good about knowing how to do this stuff.

It's not just math that's been keeping me busy. Art History, which I thought would be much more interesting than it is, is a lot of reading. I'm not an art nerd. I appreciate visual art (paintings, sketches, sculpture, photography, etc) for its beauty and the passion an artist puts into her work, but I have always been partial to words and sounds. I find studying famous authors and listening to Beethoven far more interesting than reading about why the artist put a bit of coral pink paint on Jesus' thumb, or the symbolism of a certain hair cut. It's easy, but I'd rather learn guitar.

Adolescent psych is okay. The chapters in the book are quick to read and have some good insight on the way the average teenager's mind works, but it bothers me that there's no mention of chemical imbalances or any kind of psychiatric disorder other than typical teenage depression. It's as if the people who wrote the book failed to observe that teenagers can have psychiatric illnesses as well, and I would think that adolescent psychology textbook would address this issue. In the section about eating disorders, they only included anorexia and bulimia, completely ignoring binge-eating. Bulimia does have binge-eating, of course, but it's almost always followed by purging. Binge-eating by itself is very different. I'm going to have to take this course over again, as the credit doesn't transfer to LSU-S, so perhaps it will be different there.

And, lastly, there is History 101, which is Western Civilization I. We study civilization from the beginning of time to the renaissance. I'm quite into to history, especially the kind that doesn't get written into the textbooks and was hushed up for a long time before someone decided that writing a book about it would probably make a lot of money. While I like the subject, this particular course leaves something to be desired. When we studied the Greeks, the only mention of Greek mythology was a list of their gods with no explanation of what they were the gods of, nor any ancient Greek beliefs. The reasoning for this is that there are whole courses devoted to Greek mythology so if we want to learn about it we should go take one of those. This is stupid reasoning as there is no Greek mythology course of any kind at BPCC.

Other than school, I've been trying to make my room more aesthetically pleasing and hanging out with friends a lot more than I have in a while. My cell phone actually needs to be charged on a regular basis, which is an accomplishment because I used to only charge it maybe once a week. It's mostly been Megan aka Meru or Mike (and usually whoever is over at his apartment, like his brother or random other people) that I've been hanging out with. Life has actually been quite pleasant, other than the god-awful PMS I had for at least two weeks. My period finally came today, and I realllly hope it doesn't last for more than seven days. Despite the PMS of doom, Mom says my moods have been better than when I was on birth control. Odd.

More later.

Overheard at a Shreveport/Bossier Casino

Yuppie frat boy sits down at a $15 blackjack table. "Please don't blow smoke in my face," he whines to the female dealer. "The Horseshoe dealer blew smoke in my face four times last night."

She lifts her left eyebrow and looks at him. "I didn't know they let'em smoke at the table."

"They don't. I was smoking and blew it in his face."

"Four times?"

The young man smutches ash all over the green felt. "I forgot."

"Honey, I make no promises. You blow smoke in my face. I'm gonna blow it right back. Changing one hundred." She pats the table and scoots a stack of red cheques to the boy. "Good luck."

We're all gonna need it.

There is Something Bradburyish about a Talking Microwave

andrea yates.

I've just read a story about Andrea Yates in Texas Monthly. When this actually happened, I was about thirteen years old. I was far too busy being excited about entering high school to do more than watch the stories on TV about it. I don't think I would've been able to appreciate the magnitude of the situation at that age anyway. All I knew was that a mother had killed her children. But I also knew that things like that happened. Over the years, though, I've watched news stories and video clips from the courtroom and have found myself horrified at all of it.

The story is by Skip Hollandsworth and I was very impressed at the delicacy and tact the story is written with. I mean, here is a woman with five children (none of which were more than two years of age apart) with a history of post partum depression. She is encouraged to keep reproducing by members of her church even though it was a very, very bad idea to do so. I suppose her husband got tired of her being dependent on himself and his mother, as he announced that he would be leaving her alone for one hour in the mornings and one hour in the evenings to increase her maternal responsibility. He didn't bother to tell her psychiatrist.

I also understand that Andrea Yates was not acting like herself and that her mother was stunned at this plan because of Andrea's actions of late, like giving a toothless infant solid food. Her mother said Andrea was meticulous about this kind of thing because she knew solid food is not exactly good for a baby with no teeth. Her psychiatrist had taken her off of the antipsychotic she was taking, and instead upped her antidepressants. On June 21, 2001, she drowned her children in their bathtub because she felt her children were damned and she needed to save them.

I have not had a child, so I have never had post partum depression or psychosis, but I do know the signs and symptoms and I do know that this woman was suffering from both of these. There are people who still say she is selfish and evil and just wanted to be rid of her children, but they're wrong. Someone who is evil does not show remorse when she comes to realize what she has done. Someone who is evil does not miss whomever she killed. Someone who is evil would shed no tears.

I am appalled at the mental health treatment she received. I am appalled that she was encouraged to keep having children. I am horrified that a psychiatrist lied during the trial just to see her go to prison, suggesting that she got the idea from television, especially when the episode in question was never made. I am saddened that people still think she is evil. And I am disgusted that people are angry because she was sent to a state hospital, thinking she's getting off easy. I know what state hospitals are like, and I'd rather be in prison. Those hospitals are horrible. A patient has no rights. Prisoners have more rights than patients confined to a state psychiatric hospital.

Andrea Yates might get better. She might not. Either way, she will have to live with the knowledge that she killed her children, even if she didn't mean to, even if she believed she needed to at the time. I think that will be enough of a punishment without ignorant people calling her evil and condemning her to hell. The entire thing makes me sad. It makes me wish that people would take psychiatric disorders more seriously. It makes me wish that they would understand we did not ask for this. We do not enjoy it. It's not for attention. I wish they would understand that it is not demons that need to be cast out and that it won't go away just because we find God. I feel for her and her whole family and anyone involved. It is a sad situation, but I can't help but think that if she'd had more support and better care, I wouldn't be writing about this.

men are kind of clueless.

Men are so. . .urgggh. It is apparently absolutely impossible for them to pick up a phone and call. Okay, look, in this day and age of cell phones it's pretty easy to call someone. I know I even call people without meaning to if I forget to lock the keys when I have a non-flip phone. If you're out of minutes, don't tell me that there is no one else you know that has a cell phone that you can borrow. I mean, holy shit, just about everyone has a cell phone or at least a land line.

I only bring this up because when my mom and I got home from running errands, my dad was gone. This was 4 pm. We figured he'd gone to the grocery store or was getting stuff looked at on the Blazer. I decided to take a nap, and when I woke up at 6 he still wasn't home and hadn't called or anything. My mom went to take a nap, but kept getting up every 5 minutes to see if my dad had called or was home or something. We were all freaked out. He finally came home like 15 minutes ago and sure enough, he'd been getting the Blazer worked on, as he came home with a car CD player front in his pocket.

LEAVE A NOTE OR SOMETHING. Jesus, what is wrong with you people? Every store in the world has a phone that you can use! Paper and pencil work wonders when you can scribble down "I've gone to run around, be back later!" so that we know you haven't been like kidnappedand set on fire or something. Women are natural worriers. DON'T MAKE IT WORSE. Pick up a goddamn phone and call us. YOU HAVE FINGERS, USE THEM! If you don't, then get someone else to dial the number, DAMMIT.

*flails*

Emergency Pet Carrier

Will we always remember the beginning of September as the time of Katrina and 9/11?

All this news coverage reminds me that with four dogs and four cats and one hard plastic pet carrier it would be difficult for us to evacuate everyone safely.

Skye, the Min Pin, is test driving our in-a-pinch emergency pet carrier. It's a mesh laundry bag. They are two for five dollars at our neighborhood Walgreens.

am i the only one?

I think I've become completely bored with my life, which is odd because lately I've been out doing stuff with friends. It hasn't been the same, though. I've reconnected with a lot of old friends. Even Cory messaged me the other day on MySpace. He even called, which was strange because I deleted his number from my phone forever ago and assumed he'd done the same. It's just. . .I've been thinking about how grown-up we've all become.

My friend Meru and I went out the other night and had a whole lot of fun and everything, but it was so different. Meru's kind of been doing the same thing that I have for the past year. We've both been having some pretty difficult times, so when we hung out for the first time in probably about a year, it was awesome because we just picked up where we'd left off, like we hadn't been completely isolated from people for the last year. We were always great friends, though. I think it's mostly because our personalities are so similar: We're loud, silly, unashamedly and undeniably ourselves, and people either love us or hate us. I'm pretty sure no one has ever said, "Yeah, I know Katee/Meru, she's okay."It's always, "She is so awesome!" or, "Ugh, I hate her."

Anyway, it just struck me how much we've matured. We're still ourselves, but just, um, calmer, I think. More laid-back and more serious and focused about our futures. It used the be, probably two or three years ago, that when we went out, we didn't stop going until about 5 in the morning and even then we were reluctant to go home. We had a pretty great adventure on Tuesday night and even talked for hours on my porch until sleep started calling because of classes and work the next day. We tried to go out last night but we were completely exhausted and the night ended at abou 9:30. It was sad.

Maybe I don't have to try so hard to prove that I'm happy because I actually am happy now. I mean, everything's just so different. I'm still me, but like a more low-key version. I still don't hesitate to call someone out for being an asshole, but I don't go out of my way to pick fights. It's too exhausting and frankly, there are a lot better things I'd like to use that energy for.

I think it's like this with all my friends and former friends now. A few years ago it was so not unusual for someone to get arrested. Now we just don't have time for all that nonsense anymore. We're too busy going to school or working or both to go out and wreak havoc on the Shreveport/Bossier area. It's really kinda of depressing. I remember being ready to leave whenever anyone called, even if it was like 11 pm. Ending up in the outskirts of town at a gas station with a bunch of scary Texas Chainsaw Massacre looking people was quite common and enjoyable, and I miss it. I miss the spontaneity and adventure of it all. Growing up kind of sucks.

I'm also aware that I sound like a shithead talking about all this because I'm only 18, but holy crap, it sucks. I don't care if you're 70 years old, you know you miss being completely carefree. There were no student loans to worry about or GPAs to fret over. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely content with my life, but I miss being stupid like that. Now I'm more cautious, which makes me feel pretty lame.

Sigh. It's too late to be writing about this. I've been trying to make my history notes legible and now I'm irritated at how tedious that can be and am pretty pissed that I had to do it at all.

woooow busy!

So I definitely haven't had to time write anything in any journal in forever. I've been so busy, holy crap. I've barely been in my room and poor Kizzy is all sad and lonely. The good news is that my mom has her own computer and I have my laptop, so all is well. And our wireless actually works. Yay.

Does anyone remember that guy that I was talking about a few entries back? You know, the one who was like my first love and all that stuff. Heh, about that. He randomly called me one night and said, "I just got off work and I wanna show you my car." So he did and we drove around a lot. I finally saw the house that his family moved into, which wasn't that big of a deal because it's directly across the street from their old one, and he moved out of it like two days ago anyways into his own place with this other dude.

Apparently said other dude doesn't ever clean because that place is gross. I mean there's not like, clothes and crap everywhere, but there's a fair amount of food sticking to the kitchen countertops. I attempted some cleaning, but they didn't have any paper towels. I did wash their dishes which was easy because they have a dishwasher. But, um, it seems to be too much work to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Eurgh.

So we're not really dating but we kind of are. I don't even know if I want that to happen, but I feel really comfortable around him, even if he can be kind of a dick. It happens, I guess. He irritates the shit out of me when he "forgets" to call. He's all, "It's not a big deal!" I don't really care if we agree to like not see each other until the weekend or something, but it is SO rude to say "I'll call you tomorrow" and then. . .you know, not.

Eh. Whatever. I stayed at his house last night. Attempting to sleep when there's a giant snoring male beside you in a twin bed isn't all that spectacular. I think he should get a bigger bed 'cause. . .yeah, I don't dig being pushed off a bed. But hell, it's something. He's only 21; it's not like he's gonna be able to afford a mansion or anything. Mike's job pays well, but he's definitely not rich.

Also, he has a flat iron. And a blow dryer. Because he is apparently a girl. Seriously, um, he's about 6'5" and like 250 pounds and watches football and drinks beer, but his hair is longer than mine and kinda curly, so. . .hahaha. Yep, a flat iron. Jesus.

Okay, Meru is coming to get me and we're gonna go attempt to find something to eat for $20. This might be an adventure.

Gold Dome Book Sale

You didn't think I was gonna let the Gold Dome Book Sale on the campus of Centenary College come and go and not post an entry about it, did you?

I waited in line Friday night to shuffle in with everyone else and bought $53 worth of used books. My problem of how to tote two big bags back to my van was solved when Josh raced up in his golf cart. This nice young man took my parcels and swung them into the back while I plopped onto the seat next to him. Josh plays baseball for the Centenary Gents and was part of all the great volunteers who make the sale such a success every year.

I'm only sad that I didn't get back over there on Saturday. Oh well, I've already got the 2007 sale marked out on my calendar.

Change

All the little (and big) fibers in my body are trembling because of the changes going on around here. They're good ones like new computers so we can write more but getting the things up and running are shaking me. I'm such a creature of habit.

Getting blog posts out has become nearly impossible because of all this shifting around. I need to be squished under a giant body pillow or someone should come install a hot tub in my back yard... never mind that would involve more change.

One interesting thing all this has stirred up is the really strange relationship I have with money. Who would've thought having enough money would cause a person to have anxiety?

Pagans in South Highlands

My new addiction is night walking. I do it on my nights off. Load up Eko, our black cocker-poo mix goofy dog, and head to the side street of The First Baptist Church of Shreveport.

I snap the automatic dog leash onto Eko's collar and we're walking the streets of South Highland making observations: Most of those people don't turn on their porch lights. And a good number of them live in the back of their houses because they don't put up curtains in the front and leave all the lights on so I can see the fashionable colors slicking their walls.

Earlier this week the sky was fairly bright because the full moon is tonight. Two streets over from the big church I ran into a group of young adults standing in their front yards. I think "Yeah, it's pagans celebrating the full moon." Turns out to be they're waiting for the realtor to show them the house next door because it's for sale. Oh well, I should have surmised South Highlands wasn't paganland because there were too many Jerry Jones for Mayor signs. However I did note there was a Liz Swaine sign planted at a house directly across from the Baptist Church.

Getting Your Hair Did

Katee's got new hair! Make that new color. She went from black and orange to a nice rich red color.

Over at KKBJ I posted about using a national pharmacy for getting meds. Then I started feeling guilty cause I normally try to go to locally owned places.

Well, you can't get more local than Brothers Hair Design. It's in our Highland neighborhood and was the official hair salon for the Miss Teen USA Pageant for 1998 and 1999.

While I didn't get my hair did, I did take advantage of their mirrors and noted my home hair cut job wasn't too shabby.

"Pretty good," I said.

"Oh for God's sake, at least break down and go to the beauty college and get a five dollar hair cut," Katee said as she flipped her new do this way and that.

What and waste six dollars (I do tip) when the Gold Dome Book Sale is this weekend? Nope.

Brain SWAT

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