N'Awlins or Bust!

So this is my last day in Little Rock. Almost exactly 4 months ago I evacuated from New Orleans and I've spent the last few months in a weird vortex of school, stress, depression, terror, and hope. I know this is a departure from my normal blogaliciousness but I wanted to say a few Thank Yous. In no particular order:

Mom and Dad: For everything.
Stephanie: For sticking it out, and for being my friend
Megan: For being you and letting me stress out
Juice: For taking my mind off things, letting me spend the night, loving me
Katherine: For emails I needed and being there
Pete: For giving me someone to look forward to hugging, you are missed
Morgan: For your hard work, you're doing great things, and I will help in every way I know how
David: For instant messaging don't-freak-out-everything-will-be-okay pep talks
Jeff: For being a new friend, not chalking me up as a wate of time
Richard: For making me laugh, for being okay with being weird
Courtney: For taking me to dinner, for calling me after the storm
Christina: For the purse, the Christmas card, and the phone calls...for letting me know I'm not alone
Everyone who sent clothes: For keeping me stylish and warm, I cried when I opened each box

To my fellow New Orleans survivors: I look forward to seeing you, hugging you, laughing with you, drinking coffee with you, complaining about reading with you, helping you, and rebuilding the city with you. God bless and see you soon!

Lovies,
Rachel, Rae, etc.

Howdy, Y'all...I'm Headin' Over Yonder

In honor of my flight to Dallas tomorrow I am requesting all people not flying to Dallas to partake of something Texan in my honor sometime before noonish. Eat some barbeque. Wear a ten-gallon hat. Ride a horse. Rope a steer. Swear in an unintelligible language that you promise is English. Find oil. And I shall be back amongst the normal folk in due course. If, however, no one has heard from me by Dec. 21, please place all blame for my disappearance on Stephanie.

Where I'd Rather Be

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? And miss it each night and day...

Velvet Anonymous

My name is Rachel and I have a problem. A problem with velvet. Full thread or crushed, I get my poison the only way I know how: wardrobe injections. I know. It's the worst thing you can do, really, to overload on one fabric. But recently I just ache for it. My whole body begs for just one square of material, just one simple heel, one little cuff, one wrinkle, one belt loop of the stuff...

Today I shot it twice. Twice. Within two hours. I bought brown velvet pants, palazzo-style because they swing more. But the fix didn't stick. I couldn't stop at just one hit. That's how I knew I was really in trouble this time. The last time I overloaded on a fabric was in 7th grade when I wore flannel everyday for a year. I thought I could just WALK AWAY. But the gold velvet shoes just took me in, gave me comfort, loved me the way only an addiction can.

Help me.

My Very Own Marriage Proposal

This little message is in honor of my dear friend, Kitty Kat. Miss Kat recently acquired a shiny bauble for her left hand ring finger and I wish her all the JOY in the world.

But, Miss Kat is not the only one acquiring proposals. That's right, ladies and gents, I received one of my own this past Thursday morning. I was sitting at Walmart doing homework while my four new tires were being mounted or spun or voodooed (whatever you do to new tires) when the main mechanic came in to tell me that I was missing two lugnuts on one tire and he could not mount a new one without said nuts. The problem was that Walmart, being uber-American and so hoighty-toighty, did not carry lowly German Volkswagon lugnuts. So I walked to one auto place and they were out and then I called a cab to take me to the VW dealership. My cabbie arrived in yellow splendor and as soon as I hopped in he said, "Damn! You the sweetest thang I seen a sure long time." Yes, sweetest thang. I smiled my sweet smile and asked him to take me to the dealership and along the way I mentioned something about New Orleans. He asked if I was married and upon hearing my answer he said, "you need to take me down there with ya." Fabulous. So after trapping myself two lugnuts at the dealership, the cabbie asked me when we would be getting married. This question was followed by the truly important one, "you know how to make that jammy-laya stuff? Cuz that stuff is damn good." I assumed he meant "jambalaya" and was about to tell him I did not know how to make it when he informed me that his first tasting of it was when he was in PRISON. Evidently at the state penitentiary in Arkansas they have special days of different varieties of ethnic food. Mexican, Chinese, etc. And his favorite day was Creole day. Awwwww.

I think it's meant to be.

I Kinda Sorta Made a Bomb

I have a cold. I bought Emergen-C powder (100% of your vitamin needs in a handy-dandy little packet). I don't like the taste. I decided to mix it with my Diet Mountain Dew. I was unaware of any fizzy properties contained in the Emergen-C powder. I was in a rush to get to Evidence. I was thirsty in class. I took out the Mountain Dew and added the powder, under my desk, thinking I was being incognito. The drink began to overflow. I did not panic, I thought this was merely a small explosion that could be contained without too much hassle. Then it started making fizzy noises and the overflow escalated to an untenable degree. The professor stopped the class and asked, "what is that noise?" I muttered an expletive under my breath and told him I accidently made some sort of mountain dew-related bomb. He looked at me weird. I went to the bathroom to get towels. Came back. Got called on to do the next case.

End of story.

Halfway

I can measure my frustration by the lack of miles on my car. I'm in a city now where I lived as a child, a small child. I can still remember the halfway points between home and church, home and Mamaw's house, home and school, home and the doctor's office. I would always keep a watch for that halfway point. Usually it was just a bend in the road or a particular tree but that's where I decided "halfway" belonged. And I would picture the car driving up some hill to that point, and then coasting down to the desired destination.

I do the same thing in New Orleans. There's a halfway point between home and the Quarter, home and church, home and Lebanon's (by bike or car...different halfways), home and the bookstore in Mandeville, home and Audobon Park. I used to drive over to Elizabeth's on the West Bank for no good reason other than to feel the halfway point on the bridge. I'd drive over and back again to see the city at night. I miss that drive.

I have only one halfway point now, a patch of grass on the highway, between Mamaw's house and school. I drive around a lot, killing time, but I have no destination. In New Orleans I always had a place to go, to get to, to drive to and then turn around. Here, it's just an aimless meandering. Killing time. That's all I do.

Evidently y'all don't like my heels...

Due to an almost unanimous vote I will be wearing my brown sneakers with pink socks tomorrow. I must admit, however, that I have an engagement in the morning that requires me to dress in conservative heels. I hope this disappoints no one. I was so sad my pretty green heels got NO votes...

And this week's poll? How well do you know me? Well enough to know my middle name? We shall see...

Stupid, Ridiculous, and Fabulous Things I Have Done in the Past 2.5 Months Due to Boredom

1. Baked a cake
2. Drove to Memphis and parked outside Graceland for 5 minutes, drove back
3. Went to school
4. Went on dates with lunatics who cry at dinner
5. Permed my hair
6. Painted each nail (fingers and toes) alternating patterns of stripes and dots
7. Became addicted to America's Next Top Model
8. Cried
9. Joined Weight Watchers (lost 12 lbs so far...hell yes)
10. Ate no less than 200 olives
11. Bought a coloring book
12. Made celebrity boyfriend trading cards
13. Went to movies alone, brought banana chips
14. Discovered the surprisingly tasty combination of strawberry yogurt and fig newtons
15. Picked up a stray dog, played with it for two or three hours, bought it a chew toy, took it to the Humane Society
16. Read the newspaper
17. Watched Wheel of Fortune with Mamaw
18. Climbed Pinnacle Mountain
19. Counted freckles on right arm (89...but I stopped halfway)
20. Plucked off half my right eyebrow (not on purpose...just got carried away)
21. Tried to teach myself how to cross my eyes
22. Planned worldwide tour of places I've never been (Quebec City-->Capital of Iceland that I can't spell-->Luxembourg-->Vilnius, Lithuania-->Sarajevo-->Athens-->Venice-->Cairo-->Nairobi-->Addis Ababa-->Johannesburg-->Sydney-->Kuala Lumpur-->Tokyo-->Los Angeles)
23. Almost bought a ticket to Seattle. Just kinda felt like going there.
24. Tried to do a headstand.
25. Mixed together three lipstick shades, found perfection.

We Have A Winner!

After an intense run-off between Kurt Vonnegut and Henry Miller, it appears that Miller has clinched the title of "Next Book Rachel Will Read" by a mere vote. That's right, folks, one measly click of a mouse. Don't you feel powerful? You are designing my reading experience. With a single motion of your finger you are telling me what to do. Wow. It must be rather daunting, to have that sort of control over a human being.

And now you get to decide what shoes I will wear on Saturday! Those of you who know me well can understand how large a burden I am placing on your shoulders. I am offering up a vital part of my self-expression for your molding. May the force be with you.

The Cutest Thing in Life

http://www.sandiegozoo.org/zoo/ex_panda_station.html

Oh mercy, I want a pet baby panda.

Poemetry

A little blip I wrote after I saw my apartment in New Orleans:

The heat of this place leaves nothing to be wished for. Ever. Hopes float like lead in air that cannot be broken with rain.
And I will not pass this way again.
Not this crack, not this bend with these shoes with this blister against this passion punch painted toe nail. Ever.
I will walk, perhaps. Or skip as I do on some morning when the trees are moving. But I will be faster, maybe, or I’ll be sick and fevered and slow.
I will pass this way again
but not this way. Not this method of motion.
I thought that I should document it, set down for posterity the way my body made its way along this way this morning.
But it’s evening now, and the way is gone, the move is gone. It floated away.

Grease: The New Beer

I just got back from The Flying Fish, a lovable Little Rock establishment dedicated to southern-fried gluttony. I went with two friends, Juice and Richard, and after an hour or more of stuffing our faces full of goodness we got into a conversation regarding the glory that is southern homecookin'. Unfortunately, Richard is not from The South. He is a Kansan and therefore inferior in ways of the flesh. Juice and I, being Southern by blood and birth, felt it was our duty to enlighten our young charge.

Upon our table sat plates of hushpuppies, coleslaw, frog legs, catfish, shrimp, oysters on the half shell, tartar sauce, and pickled green tomatoes; a veritable smorgasbord of edible joy. After completing our meal with the reverence it deserved, the drunkenness began. This is a special intoxication that only worshipers in the House of Hushpuppy understand. The perfect hushpuppy is small, the size of a large kumquat. The size is important as it is imperative that the grease seep deep into the pup. The middle of the pup must be shiny and moist and when you pop the pup into your mouth, grease should slide to the back of your tongue and the top of your throat before any swallowing occurs. This provides the perfect level of slickness to aid in the slow digestion of the pup. It's a science, truly.

The hushpuppy grease, mixed with the crispy fried goodness of the frog legs/catfish/shrimp, creates a feeling of wellbeing akin to the perfect level of drunkenness. It's beautiful, heartbreaking. Every pore of your body rejoices as grease slowly replaces the blood in your veins. Every half-second you feel the pulsating of a happy heart as it joyously begins the work of keeping your fat-soaked body alive. People wonder at the slow speech of Southerners, the almost-laziness of their lives. This is the truth, my brethren, we are a loved and lovable people who know the beauty of perfectly fried dough, the power of perfectly buttered grits, the tear-soaked joy that accompanies the discovery of a kitchen stocked with oleo, karo, rotel, and okra. It is a beautiful life, and too short to be lived without a deep fryer.

*All this being said, and perhaps for this very reason, I am a Weight Watchers member. In the past month I have lost 9 lbs. Hopefully, by the grace of God, the Flying Fish did not completely screw me over. Oh the woes of food and fashion...

Thrillin' Like a Villain

Don't forget to vote on my new poll to the right of the posts. And in honor of this fantasmical celebration of death, stink, and all things crusty I have created the following poem:

I have decided to eat your brain,
with ketchup, peas, and toast.
Please enjoy your final hours,
as you'll soon become a ghost.
The squish of blood mixed in with pus
makes my tummy growl with glee.
I cannot wait to slit your throat
and sip your marrow like sweet tea.
I can't decide what to eat first,
your toes or your inner thighs
so maybe I'll make a casserole
and eat both with finger fries.
Groceries are bought, recipes made
and I'm sharpening my favorite knife
so lock your doors and hug your mommy
and prepare to lose your life.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

The Things I Miss About New Orleans

1. The Roman Candy Man
2. Lebanon's
3. Walking to Audobon Park after class and feeding the ducks with Stephanie
4. Riding my bike to Mona's for falafels
5. Reginelli's tomato sauce
6. Random parades
7. Walking down Bourbon with a Hand Grenade
8. Dancing
9. Bread Pudding at Commander's
10. 25 cent martinis at Commander's with my lady friends
11. My spot in the reading room
12. Driving across the Causeway
13. Muriel's
14. Eating beignets at Cafe du Monde at 3am
15. Standing on my porch
16. Opening my windows
17. Sweating
18. Smelling flowers all year
19. Old ladies on bicycles
20. Tipitina's
21. Complaining about how nasty the Bubble food is then going there anyway
22. Canal Place movie theatre
23. U-turns
24. My laugh (I think I left it there by accident)
25. Music coming from nowhere
26. Crawfish boils
27. Professors Davies and Houck
28. Working at the Advocacy Center
29. Going to my church
30. Orange dreamsicle flavored snoballs
31. My quilt
32. Getting new freckles every afternoon
33. Driving downtown and back while listening to Iron & Wine
34. Sitting in Katherine's apartment drinking wine
35. Watching Scrubs
36. The Bulldog
37. Riding the streetcar to the Quarter
38. Shoenami
39. Discovering new places
40. Everything

This is the Look I'm Going For

So Halloween is upon us and due to recent changes in my hair (ahem...the perm...see below), I have decided to make my hair the focal point of the holiday and dress like, no, I WILL BECOME, Miss Cyndi Lauper. This photo is my inspiration. Thus far the game plan is as follows:
1. use gold glitter spray and black hair streaks to emphasize craziness
2. tease hair until it's bigger than a regulation size basketball...swoop hair to one side
3. huge earrings, preferably in a primary color
4. ripped black tshirt worn off the shoulder
5. bright red satin bra (to show beneath ripped shirt of course...gotta have visible straps)
6. burgundy lace tutu-esque skirt
7. lace and or zigzaggy patterned stockings in a color yet to be determined
8. bangles
9. red lipstick
10. various shades of blue eyeshadow
11. hot pink heels
12. black purse that looks almost like leather
13. attitude

Elizabethtown

Heavens, where do I begin? I saw this last night. I'm a soundtrack addict, love the way a song can transform a scene. I love the way music can underscore the look on someone's face and communicate feelings that aren't verbalized. Crowe, of course, is quite good at manipulating music to fit a scene. Unfortunately, in this film he built the story around the music instead of using the music to strengthen the storyline's emotional muscles. He loved the music more than the characters, more than the journey. Juice de la Juice, my partner in crime and my date to the movie, said it perfectly when she mourned, "He totally prostituted that U2 song." And as much as I'd love to see Bono ho-ing it up in true streetwalker fashion, I would prefer for that to occur on a personal, one-on-one, candlelit basis. A true disappointment.

That being said, I will go see it again. There were some lovely moments. And I love lovely moments.

Holy Crap, I got a Perm!

Um, yeah. This is what happens when I'm bored and/or depressed and/or indecisive about my attractiveness. I always feel slightly guilty screwing with my hair because everyone's always telling me how pretty it is. And I truly appreciate that. But despite the fact that I was blessed with, I admit, gorgeous red hair (hey, we all get, at the very least, one vanity to revel in, right?) it is the same hair I've had since birth. I've had lovely red hair for 24 years and it's been painfully straight the whole time (give or take the handful of months I crimped or permed it in the 80s).

So, this salon was having a sale on perms and I just bit the bullet. I've been wanting a perm for an age but felt a bit sheepish admitting it. But I have stick straight hair and I'm tired of it so now I have CRAZY AWESOME FABULOUS red corkscrews popping out of my head. Sweet! I know, dear friends of mine, it sounds insane. It is slightly insane. But it's joyful hair and my hair was looking sad. We can't have sad hair looking back at us in the mirror. We must have masses of JOYFUL INSANE hair to look forward to every morning. And I've always had this feeling that redheads should have curly hair, a la Orphan Annie. I always felt I'd been robbed of my redheaded birthright. Just rectifying the situation.

Tripping

This morning I went to Barnes and Noble because I've become addicted to iced coffee with cinnamon. I drank half the cup and then drove to school (yes, I relocated due to Katrina. I'm currently studying at University of Arkansas-Little Rock Law School and am counting the days until I can return to N'Awlins). In the process of walking to the building from my car, while balancing my family law texts and wearing my new pink heels, my knee seemed to momentarily dissolve and I landed in the grass. This is my life. I don't know why it made me happy to fall down, but it did. I've been walking around in a semi-daze these past few weeks, missing New Orleans, missing my friends, missing a life I loved. I've been hard as nails and have maintained perfect posture in my classes and have smiled to the point of pain. It felt good to trip and spill things and be clumsy. Clumsy and comfy is what I am in New Orleans. This is so hard to explain. Here I've just been trying to maintain the status quo, try not to feel too much or I'd explode. Never stop crying. But recently I've started to relax again, be happy again.

I still haven't laughed MY laugh. It's odd to think about, that I haven't had a huge outright guffaw (those who know me know what I'm talking about) for weeks. But it's coming, I can feel it. And for some reason, getting grass stains on my knees brings me that much closer.

Much love to my roommate Stephanie, for being a friend and compatriot amidst landlord drama, boy drama, evacuation drama, cleaning-out-the-fridge drama, too-much-wine-in-the-hotel-room drama, etc. You are a blessing. And I can't wait to love New Orleans with you by my side again.

Boogers

Yes, I know, I have not posted in a millenia. But after a mind-numbingly boring, I-want-to-kill-myself exciting, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here, margarita-glass-with-a-garter-around-it type of summer, I have decided it is time to return to the wonderful world of Blog.

I've been working for a non-profit here in New Orleans as a legal intern and am presently counting the days until I leave for ha-vy-ee. Yup, Hawaii (for those of you who did not get my pronunciation key joke). But, my life being my own, I have had a few dear problems pre-Hawaii to deal with and I would like to discuss those with you now.

1. Boogers. Yes, boogers. In my eyes. Evidently I have succumbed to a not-so-rare, not-so-horrible eye disease witha name I forget. Not pink eye, something much more gruesome and emotionally damaging. Imagine someone ice skating over your eyeballs but instead of using your basic ice skates decides to strap machetes to their reeboks and go hogwild. Doesn't that sound enjoyable? And when machetes are NOT dissecting your cornea, you just plain look like a freak because your eyes water relentlessly. I don't mean a tear here and there. Oh no. I mean waterfalls running down your cheeks. Do you know what it's like to be having a reasonable conversation with your supervising attorney only to have him grab a tissue and say, "Really, it's gonna be fine. The court date rescheduling isn't that big of a deal" because amidst the discussion of Client X's concerns you have begun to sob uncontrollably. No, you do not know what it's like. Because only I am the legal intern with an eye disease.

2. Dried Mangoes. Have you had these? Because I need to be stopped. Someone needs to tie me down and keep me away from Whole Foods indefinitely. I can't afford to pay my credit card bill but dammit I am going to get me some dried fruit at $8.99 a pound. Yes. It's life or death. I left my house at 7pm last night in the middle of my new favorite book to drive across town to the Whole Foods and spend $12 on dried mangoes. And a green power shake. In my mind this is healthy. In my soul I know this is a new form of crack.

3. Speaking of crack. And obsession. Have you read the Jasper Fforde Thursday Next series????? Is Jasper married? Does he need an intern? Because I could spend the rest of my life happily making up satirical quips about 6 fooot tall hedgehogs, annoying Dickens characters, Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff's anger-management problem, and Falstaff's disgusting ploys for sex. The man is a genius and I am HOOKED. I read The Jane Eyre Affair and enjoyed it but didn't rush out to buy the second book. I thought it was a cute, semi-dorky book that only a recovering English major could enjoy. But then I found myself obsessing over what Thursday Next would do next, what literary crime would she solve? Would the Prose Portal be rebuilt? Oh the agony! So now I'm on Book Four (Something Rotten) and am already lamenting the absence of a Book Five. I want to be a litarary agent. I want to jump into books and talk to Captain Nemo when he's on vacation in a crap crime thriller. Sigh. Reality is so lame.

Killer Caterpillars From Hell

I love New Orleans. I really do. I love that you can smell flowers year-round, that when I bought groceries last night there was a jazz funeral across the street, that Muriel's serves the best best best duck ever served anywhere. I love how warm it is here, and how breezy it is at night. I love that you can forget you live on the coast until a quick breeze reminds you of salt water not too far away.

But I do have one complaint. The caterpillars have to go. These are not the cutesy caterpillars from your childhood. Oh no, these are heavily documented spawned-of-Satan caterpillars. I was brutally attacked by one of these evil doers a week ago and it is only now that I am able to speak of the harrowing event without breaking into a cold sweat.

I sat on my front stoop (isn't "stoop" a much better word than "step"?) and made sure not to crush any small creatures in the process. I noticed the caterpillars but, thinking them harmless, did nothing to protect myself from their outwardly innocent selves. All of the sudden I felt a brief but powerful sting on my right knee. I squealed and knocked at the area, brushing away an evil doer. As soon as my hand hit the creature, however, I felt the same powerful sting on my right ring finger. I ran up the steps and into my apartment and and ran both wounds under the faucet but both continued to sting considerably, enough to bring tears to my baby blues. After a couple hours of benadryl and pain meds I could handle the stinging but my knee and finger looked hideous, with a sort of grey tinge, tiny black dots, and a painful puffiness. A few days later both the grey and the puff were gone and replaced with tiny red dots. I know, serioulsy messed up.

So, dear New Orleans, I would request that you do something about the evil doers that clutter my sidewalk. They are evil and should be stepped on with escalating ferocity.

And the Beat Goes On

So I've decided to stop being myself. Anytime something big happens, date, job interview, presentation, whathaveyou, all my friends give me a few snippets of advice and then say, "Just be yourself." Well I've decided that that really doesn't give me any options. I mean, if you're going to say, "just be yourself," shouldn't there be some other option hanging around that someone is trying to persuade you to avoid. For example, if you are capable of telling someone, "be yourself" shouldn't they have a choice to be someone else. Next interview I'm just going to give my friends a list of possibilities and THEN they can tell me who to be. The Karate Kid, Artax (horse from Neverending Story), Tonya Harding, Flipper, or Myself. And THEN I can at least make a friggin DECISION about it.

I'm just sick to death of being forced to "be myself" when there really is no other choice.

Can you tell that I hate my life at present?

But I have gotten really good at making things with Tuna. Tuna Melt. Tuna Salad. Tuna with Noodles. Tuna Sushi. Tuna Tacos. Tuna omelet (better than it sounds, folks). I think I finally ate all of the tuna left in my freezer last night so now I'm on to the tilapia. Tilapia Melt. Tilapia Omelet...

I have one of those weekends coming up that you just know is going to exhaust you. Friday I have class til 4:30 and then I'm going to a baseball game and then to a bar/party. Saturday I will spend all day in the library and then head to Stephy's for dinner and Machelle's for the 20s v. 50s Party (I think I'll pick the 50s era but I do have that great flapper dress...). Sunday I have to live in the library and then I have a study group meeting to re-learn contracts. I will need a weekend after my weekend.

But, anywho, aside from exhaustion and crabbiness over tuna overload all is well. I'm just being myself, after all. But perhaps tomorrow I will choose to be someone with a bit more of an edge, someone who eats ketchup with her tilapia, someone who stands up for the rights of turtles, someone cool...

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Ever.

Today I wish I were square-dancing. Look at that young man's concentration. Look at that darling girl's joy. Why can't I concentrate that well, or be that joyful? PROBABLY BECAUSE I'M IN LAW SCHOOL. Stupid law school. Oh well, at least it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. I promise to be my normal, uplifted self as soon as it's pretty outside again. Promise, promise.

Thank You For Reminding Me That I Am An Idiot

It happens without fail. I think to myself, "I'm okay as long as he doesn't ask me to answer X." And then, what happens? Who gets called on? That's right, folks, moi.

I love the process of self-hatred that spirals out of the "I have made a jackass out of myself" moment.

1. Oh, it wasn't that bad..

2. I'm sure I'm not the only one who had no clue about that one...

3. I'm in school to learn after all..

4. But I should have known that.

5. I did read, dammit.

6. I never should have stayed up late watching Real World.

7. And I should have reread the chapter instead of making my grocery list.

8. And I never should have come to law school.

9. I'm not worth dirt.

1o. I should move to Paris.

11. In Paris no one would think I was dumb for saying, "I don't know."

12. In fact, they'd be impressed I could say, "Je ne sais pas."

13. I should just lock myself in my apartment, chain myself to the couch, and watch reruns of West Wing and calculate the calories ingested when I eat kumquats for dinner.

14. Yup, that's what I'll do.

15. Because I'm worth nothing.

16. I'm worth negative nothing.

17. Like, negative infinity nothing.

18. I should have my toenails removed. With pliers.



Yeah, that's pretty much the progression of self-loathing.

Send me hugs.

HALLELUJAH

SPRING BREAK! I'm so happy I could lick something unsanitary!

But instead, I shall play with my compadres and watch lots of Celebrity Poker.

happiness is a full house and leftover shrimp primavera.

For Stephanie's Sake

I have been informed that I must post on the blog at least three times a week, preferably the night before property class, so that dear Stephanie has something to read during class. So, far be it for me to disable a comrade's procrastination shipwreck, here she blows...

I spoke on the phone with my sister, Caroline (aka Scaroline, Pickle, Carebear, Lungzit, Bucket, the Black Falcon). Caroline is the baby of the family and she loves it. She's a realistic child and she knows that one kid under the roof equals a lot more crap for that kid. It's a law of physics. Or biology. Or something. I will now evaluate the financial situation of the three children.

Moi. I am broke. This is to be expected, of course. I am a graduate student living off loans and the occassional surprise cash that Marmee send my way. God bless her. I don't do laundry because it's a waste of water. I get gas ONLY when the gas light turns on. I buy my food at the "sketchy" grocery store. And when I shop and spend loads of money, I always end up bring back 3/4 of the haul due to guilt. But, I don't really feel broke. My parents will help me if I get into serious financial trouble. My friends are equally poor so cheap adventures suit us all. And I'm in school, what would I do with money anyway?

Mon frere. Roberta (aka Robert Houston, Rob, Loser). Roberta is a freshman at a private university in Chicago. He's awesome. And as he is a freshman, he is still under the assumption that money is imperative to happiness and that Daddy is a walking wallet. I have no doubt his money goes to pizza at midnight, pizza in the morning, CDs, beer. Such is college. The last playpen. The final Daddy Warbucks living experience. Sigh. How I do miss those days.

Ma soeur. The Pickle. 12 going on 18. We spoke on the phone last night and she's definitely got that snide, supercool, I-rock voice going on. I hope she keeps it. Moneywise she's a smart cookie. She saves for things she wants and what she wants but can't afford she asks for for birthdays or christmas. The key being that she doesn't have to WORRY about money. And she shouldn't, being 12. She SHOULD be coddled and cooed over and given things and sent to camp, etc. It's what my parents did for The Loser and I. I just didn't know how great we had it.

WHY did I not appreciate childhood? WHY did I not sleep in more? Or watch more cartoons? I really think from age 14ish I was thinking of college, not parties. I had my fun, of course. But I certainly didn't play as much as I should have. Oh woe is me. So, to remedy this loss I will do the following...
10. Stop setting my alarm for 5am when I don't have class til 10am. That's 5 hours. What am I doing in those 5 hours besides stressing out over NOTHING?

9. Feed the ducks with Stephanie.

8. Talk to my sister on the phone more. Live vicariously through her 12 year old crushes.

7. Make weird things to eat. I used to be addicted to ragu+green pepper sandwiches. Now I eat more "mature" food. Bullshit. Ragu+green pepper sandwiches are the bomb diggity. Who said immature combinations of food were a bad thing? I'm no BobbyFlay but potato chips dipped in yogurt kicks my ass.

6. Stop apologizing for my obnoxious laugh. Obnoxious is hot.

5. Tell my friends they're gorgeous. All the time.

4. Drink beer in bed (alright, I didn't do this as a child but it seems somewhat teenagerly).

3. Play softball. I will get my glove when I go home for spring break and then it's on, bitches.

2. Have a crush. Whole 9 yards, folks. Find out his schedule. Stalk him. Kiss my pillow and pretend it's him. Wear colors I know he likes. Have a meltdown when he says "hi" to me. And then, one day, wake up and decide I'm SO over him.

1. Wear shirts that display my boobs (I already do this...some things never change).

The Things that Went Wrong Today

1. I accidently set my alarm for 4am instead of 6am. I got up, took a shower, did my makeup, and did not realize how early it was until stepping outside at 5am and seeing that it was oddly dark.

2. I poured coffee on my grapenuts and did not realize it until I took a bite. Quite possibly the most disgusting bite of anything ever.

3. My blackberries, which I bought 2 days ago, are already moldy.

4. I broke the heel of my shoe while running up the stairs (after seeing that it was still dim outside).

5. I put creme eyeshadow on as lipstick. Thank heavens I looked in the mirror before walking out the door. Makeup companies should be forbidden to place different types of makeup into identical applilcators.

6. I dropped my right contact down the drain. Then I dropped the left one. What type of moron drops BOTH contacts down the drain within a 80 second period?

7. Denise Richards and Charlie Sheen broke up. First Brad and Jen, and now this? I can't take it anymore. Where is the love????

8. My first thought upon waking up was, "I have to go to class, do my con law between property and con law, do my contracts work, figure out my oral argument, do laundry, clean my room, deposit that check, balance my checkbook, figure out what's making my car smell like spoiled cheese,..." It sucks when your first thought of the day is a list of crap you have to do.

9. My favorite coke machine is out of order. I had to get water. It's 9:30am. I don't need water. I need chemicals.

10. I have over 12 hours before I can go back to bed.

Wow, I Don't Know What to Do With Myself

The appellate brief is finished.

Give me ideas.

Love,
Me

Important Things to be Able to Say in Dutch

Belangrijke Dingen Zullen Bekwaam Zijn Te Zeggen in Nederlands
1. Ik ben een kalkoen.
2. Kan ik nog een bier hebben?
3. Ik beloof u voorgoed te houden van indien u belooft te stoppen ademen
4. Ik zou houden om van 4 beha's, 3 stellen van panties, een zwemmende poel en een dozijn oesters.
5. Komt u over en toneelstuk.
6. Een in de hand is waard twee in de struik.
7. ZOU rode haar, blauwe ogen, u meer perfectioneren KUNNEN ZIJN??
8. Nemt u mij naar uw leider.
9. Ik spreek Nederlands vlot.
10. Zuigt u op mijn tenen, hoer.

(copy and paste the above text, go to www.freetranslation.com, and choose Dutch to English)

Appellate Brief, Bowler Hats, and Megan's Sleeping

Today I am living in the library, sitting next to Katherine and across from Stephanie, working on The Brief.

I've been getting death threats due to my recent blog laziness so in order to preserve my own vitality I have decided to set down a few thoughts to satiate the masses.

1. My interviews went well. I looked cool.

2. On the way to school this morning I thought, perhaps, the wine from last night was still doing a number on me. It is not mardi gras season nor is it near any type of National costume-related holiday. However, a bearded man wearing a red silk robe and a bowler hat was riding his bicycle (with a clothed dog in the basket) down Freret street this morning. Yes, I thought I was hallucinating, too. But he was whistling. Can you see AND hear hallucinations?

3. My bestie, Megan, is spending a week down here with me. We are trying very hard not to kill each other. Megan is pretty much my sister (sometimes older, sometimes younger depending on our moods), she's known me since I was ten. Unfortunately, she picked the worst possible week in the history of mankind to visit me thanks to the appellate brief. So she's having to play by herself a lot, which makes me sad. And when we're together for longer than @ 3 hours we start to nitpick each other.
the real problem with Megan
1. she's prettier than me and that pisses me off
2. she thinks I'm pretty but when she says so I think she's lying
(3. these are largely thanks to my own issues, obviously)
4. she thinks I'm smarter than her so she's self-conscious around my school friends
5. she asks me permission to do things (turn on the fan, turn on the heat, etc.) which
makes me feel like a bad host/friend/southerner
6. she doesn't understand how much work I have to do
7. she lives too far away
8. she's the only human being on earth who knows when I'm kidding myself and she's
sometimes not smart enough to let me figure it out on my own
the real problem with this week
1. I have to do work
2. I wanna play with my sista.
3. Those two things seem to be mutually exclusive.
how I will solve the problem
1. go home at 8 to watch a movie and bake pizza and cookies and make guacomole (we
keep adding stuff to the menu...it's starting to get out of hand)
2. ride the streetcar to the quarter tomorrow and eat beignets and go to Mass
3. give her more hugs

4. I wear strange color schemes when I'm stressed out. For example, today I am sporting a melon-orangish-reddish shirt, green velour sweatpants, huge red hoop earrings, red flats, and a red and green ring...oh!...and my new chartreuse eyeshadow. Interesting, no doubt. But odd.

5. When I am stressed out I become obsessive-compulsive. For example, I applied my makeup alphabetically last night. Blush, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lip gloss, mascara. Hmmm. I normally apply my makeup as follows: eyeshadow, eyeliner (if I'm wearing either), lipgloss, mascara, blush. So, you see, my routine last night was quite bizarre.

6. Megan hates my feet. I just do not care about feet. I walk on them, they get me places, they wear fun shoes. Who cares if they're dry and cracked and otherwise unattractive? Since she has arrived I have applied more lotion to my toes than I have in the entire school year.

7. It's lovely outside and I'm indoors.

8. My ring is red with green vines and a little ladybug on it. It's heavy. Makes my right ring finger really sweat to keep it upright. I should give my finger a rubdown tonight after all the strenuous ring-lifting exercise.

9. I miss my non-law school life.

10. I want to go home.

Juice is my Friend

My friend, Juice, went to a talk the other night given by a scientist dude on the String Theory (alternate realities) and I was thinking, instead of doing Constitutional Law, it would be much more productive to contemplate what my other selves are doing in those other realities.

Rabbit Rachel: Hopping

Sea floor sediment particle Rachel: Sitting around, sedimenting

Me: Reading room, writing on my blog, scratching my nose, rearranging my bracelets so that the colors are arranged alphabetically (top to bottom of course)

Rae-of-the-Future: Riding a seahorse to work (in the future we will all be very, very tiny)

Clive Owen's Girlfriend: Um yeah. We'd be doing several different things. Several times a day.

Shadow: Under a really big tree, covering an ant hill, changing at random into ridiculously scary shapes to scare small children

Freckle: on the nose of a Moroccan child

Those are a few of my alternate realities. In comparison to the OCD of "Me" I'm sure we'd all prefer a smidge of alternate reality today. But it is beautiful outside and that's something.

Blonde Redhead

No, dearhearts, I am not speaking of myself.

I went to the Interpol concert Friday night and Blonde Redhead opened. They are amazing. If you do not own them, you should. Because owning's fun, and fun is good. I think I had a sorority shirt that said something like that once. Not the "ownership" bit. Something else...bleh.

I have decided that appellate briefs are created only to make law students psychotic. My friends now randomly cry in the halls; I stare at that damn Nathan Hale statue in the reading room and SWEAR he's checking out Bitty's boobs; in that last phrase, instead of "statue" I wrote "statute," that says it all.

So hear is a Top Ten List of Things I'd Rather Be Doing:

10. Anything
9. Eating steak with a straw. Blended steak. Yeah. In a blender. Liquified meat.
8. Ripping out my eyelashes
7. Reading McCulloch v. Maryland every hour, on the hour, for the rest of my life
6. Grinding diamonds to dust with my teeth
5. Hot glue gunning my toes to the floor
4. Licking the windows clean
3. Translating Ashley Simpson lyrics into Latin
2. Sleeping with a goat
1. Anything

Sigh. Yes, folks, it's that bad.

I am Physically Unable to Dress Like a Lawyer

Houston, we have a problem.

Yesterday I went shopping for interview clothing. Sigh. Why is everything so freakin' boring?? I tried on a dozen suits and each one made me want to scream. Is color SO evil? Can we not break out of this black and grey rut? I'm not asking for much, just a tiny bit of pop-bang-wow-oomph-yowza excitement.

I didn't buy a suit. I bought a sweet little silk skirt and a precious little lavendar top that I will wear under my brown blazer with my kicky new round-toed creamish plaid pumps. That's the outfit for interview number one. Interview number two, as it is with a big-wig firm, requires more corporate-ness. I'm still gonna go suit hunting Sunday but I will probably stick with my navy and cream dress with my oh-so-demure red cardigan and long red necklace. Sigh. WHY CAN'T I HAVE A JOB WHERE I CAN WEAR MY NEW URBAN OUTFITTERS SKIRT OR MY FAVORITE "greens-against-Bush" SHIRT??? WHY?????

Sigh. I hope I don't ever start LIKING to dress like a lawyer. That would be spooky. Maybe if I had gobs of money and could buy super fancy-shmancy suits with perfectly placed lapels and tiny little buttons and ridiculously sexy heels I could be content. I have always liked those pantyhose with the line up the back, a la Casablanca. I could work the menswear. I guess.

But today I just cannot envision myself in a pinstriped suit. I love my bright twirly skirts and my slightly offensive conversation tees. And I love my neon green heels and my orange snakeskin stilettos. And I love wearing flowers in my hair. Bleh.

I shall single-handedly overhaul female lawyer attire. My blue velvet kitten heels and my orange cat-eyed glasses will show no mercy. I am Fashionista J.D., hear me roar!

Ode to the Reading Room

Great vestibule of self-destruction;
Under whose watch was this madcap crucible created?
Wireless cordless electric power doom
I'd cry but that seems so dated
so lacking in precedent
so void of intent


I place my books in a semi-circle around me
Like some Druid circle of old
And my lipstick crusts on Diet Coke bottles
While the moan of Cardozo pulses, "And we hold..."

And I'm accepting 20 years of debt for this wooden chair?
Scalia, Ginsburg, Posner, Holmes, oh shit!
I used to be an actress, a volunteer, a woman
And now I am fingers and a keyboard and a contested circuit split...

At least Elizabeth is on the other side of the table,
eyes crossing, my comrade in arms, highlighters piled.
And Sarah is sleeping somewhere with visions of amendments
bruising her sexpot style

Katherine stares out her window and dreams of a boy
and assures us of high hopes, sometimes makes us tea
and Stephanie curses and calls me Miss W and reminds me
of a stronger woman I used to be

My girls, my fighters of fights I couldn't fight on my own,
Sit at this table and question it all, too.
So at least I'm not alone with my redbound books,
not alone in this home-hell-res-ipsa-loquitur Room.

Dedicated, quite obviously, to Miss P, Miss N, Miss V, and Miss M, with much love on this gloomy day.

Trolls, yes, Trolls

This is how I feel right now. I feel like my red hair (it would be cool if it was hot pink) is standing on end and in completely whoppyjawed (see translation below) fashion and my blue eyes are exploding out of their sockets (it would be cool if they were pupil-less...or are those sunglasses?) and the studious pencil of academia is shoved through my spleen. Today, I admit it, I hate law school...but those silly trolls do look rather happy. And there are three of them. That's it. I'm psychotic and am now suffering from multiple troll personalities. Yippee!!

Nah, don't worry about me. I have my appellate brief to keep me company. We're good friends, the appellate brief and I. I call him Alfie. If only he looked like Jude Law. Alas, he is a wreck of papers, some of which are decorated with curse words and blue highlighter drawings of puppy dogs. Alfie and I have bonded recently over outline formation. We argued briefly about which should come first, Annoying Issue #1 or Annoying Issue #2. I argued that since Annoying Issue #2 was the MOST annoying, I definitely wanted to get it out of the way first. But noooOOOOoooo, Alfie put his foot down and made me go with Annoying Issue #1 in the beginner slot. He's such a jerk.

But aside from organizational arguments we really do get along swimmingly. He thinks the whole blog idea is horribly de trop but he lets me post here while he hangs out with the other briefs in the student lounge. He has a special place in my apartment (no, to answer your question, we are NOT sleeping together) and I feed him bonbons and grapes whenever he's hungry. And occassionally he lets me go for walks in the park alone.

Well, Alfie is back from his smoke break and he's rolling his eyes so I guess that means I have to sign off for now. We have to hammer out Super-Ridiculous Sub-Issues #1-4 before he'll let me go home to watch Scrubs.

He insisted his name be highlighted in red. A Biblical reference I'm sure.

Pete and a Girl I Don't Know

This is my friend Pete. Pete is fabulous. See that smile? How can you not LOVE that face? He's one of my favorite people in the world. On my list of favorite people he's only slightly below Clive Owen on the hotness scale and slightly above Snoopy for cuteness and loyalty. And yes, I consider Snoopy to be a "person."

Yummy and Easy Recipe

Cilantro-Lime Rice Salad

White rice (sushi rice works best)
2 teaspoons fresh cilantro
half a lime
1 pat butter
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar

Mix all ingredients into cooked rice when rice is still very hot. Place in fridge once it's mixed well.

Salad base: 2 chopped cucumbers mixed with 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, 1 teaspoon olive oil

Place chilled rice mixture on top of cucumber salad.

YAY!!!!!

I want to go fishing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Things I Learned Today

1. "Patently Obvious" is redundant.

2. My rice cooker is very, very slow and makes rice taste mildly of iron.

3. My friend Sarah is going to the birthday party of a police officer tonite and I am cordially invited.

4. I prefer the company of fish to several members of my law class.

5. The reason people put up with New Orleans in the summer is that they get to live in New Orleans in the "winter" (read: 80 degrees and not a cloud in the sky).

6. I have a subscription to Entertainment Weekly.

7. I don't like Entertainment Weekly.

8. I am looking forward to watching Scrubs more than 24 hours in advance.

Books You Should be Reading and Why

Since I hold a very prestigious B.A. in the very prestigious field of English, I feel it is my right, no, my DUTY, to enlighten you lesser mortals with the intellectual fodder that will make you worthy of my consideration. This is a beginner's list:

The Flounder Gunter Grass: You must read this. Today. Is it poetry? Is it prose? Is it history? Is it sciene? Is it romance? Is it philosophy? Oh my land! It's EVERYTHING, all wrapped up into a soul-splitting morsel of perfection. Own it, sleep with it, lick it for good luck, this baby is a winner.

Anne of Green Gables Lucy Maude Montgomery: Anne has red hair just like me.

Their Eyes were Watching God Nora Zeale Hurston: I have wept (and I mean truly wept) reading 3 books. This is one of them.

The Screwtape Letters C.S. Lewis: I'm a Christian so I have very personal reasons for loving this book/essay. But even if you are not a Christian, this is a remarkable examination of temptation and at the very least the author's style and intelligence will leave you scrambling for those boxes in the attic to unearth those childhood masterpieces, The Chronicles of Narnia (which, if anyone is asking, my favorite is Voyage of the Dawn Treader).

Frankenstein Mary Shelley: The most brilliant comment on the birth of feminism and the rise of the industrial age ever. Ever ever ever ever. And the story's cool and creepy, too. Yay!

Women in White Wilkie Collins: I groaned in agony when I saw I had to read this book for a Victorian Gothic class (gross gross gross). But this and Frankenstein changed my view of that period in literature forever. It's amazing, really. In a period of immense change and discovery, when you would expect optimism to ring out in every bit of literature, instead you find works like these that are desperately trying to illuminate the innocence that is likely lost in the midst of such expansion.

The Lexus and the Olive Tree Thomas Friedman: I lived in a "globalization is da bomb" bubble until I read this book. Everything has risks.

The Hunger Artist Kafka: This is the best short story. No qualifiers. No "ever" or "that I've read since college" or "written by a European." It is, quite simply, perfect.

Of Human Bondage and The Razor's Edge Somerset Maugham: I came to Maugham only recently. I read Razor in two days and then reread it. Human Bondage is even better. But start with Razor, to get a feel for his style and his sense of people and narration.

William Butler Yeats: All of his poetry. All of it. I wrote my senior thesis on Yeats so anyone who thinks he isn't amazing cannot possibly be my friend. I took his collected poems with me when I left for the Peace Corps and that book has the sand, blood, and tears of Morocco in its pages now. If you must be choosey, here are some of my favorites: No Second Troy, Wild Swans at Coole, The Stolen Child, Prayer for my Daughter, The Black Tower, Leda and the Swan, The Three Beggars, The Second Coming, To a Young Girl, Two Trees, The Lake Isle of Innisfree, Sailing to Byzantium, Easter 1916... Edit: How, how, how did I forget "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death"?? How? Law school is sucking out my soul, one well-loved poem at a time. I shall have to keep you with me, dear, to remind me of such things.

That will start you off.

I am an Adult

Today I went to a cafe to study and eat soup. After doing laundry I will get gussied up (see Southern dictionary below for exact translation) and attend an art opening with my friends. After this I will go to a bar to celebrate a colleague's birthday. All of these activities will occur before midnight and I will likely be asleep by 1am. When did I become so mature?

I did have peanut butter for dinner last night so at least my sense of fun hasn't totally evapoarted. Yes, I know, eating peanut butter isn't exactly a hoot for most people but I like to rage against the dietary machine and last night I took no prisoners.

Tipitinas,etc.

Tipitinas is one of my favorite places in the entire world. Tipitinas, a certain hotel in Marrakech, my backyard in Little Rock, the brick path that leads to Lee Chapel, stage left of the Johnson Theatre: little places that make me believe in Heaven.

Tipitinas is a bar and music venue about five minutes (by car) from my house in Uptown. I went tonite and thought of what my favorite places will be next year or five years from now. I expect that hotel in Marrakech will always be in the top five, but I'm sure the others will fade. Tipitinas has that aura of fade already and it's only been in the top five for 3 months. I think it's odd, how the mind/heart works, how you can enjoy something (even love it) and at the same time recognize that it's fleeting. Seems like a chore sometimes, or at the very least it is a massive waste of emotional energy. But I guess I'd be a little less happy if I did not have favorite places, songs, prayers, people, movements, skirts, lipsticks, books, words, fish, and fruits.

Curlers and Other Tomfoolery

Many of my law school friends are not Southerners. I know, I know, but it can't be helped. The poor dears didn't have any say on what side of the Mason-Dixon they'd be born on. We shouldn't fault them for their misfortune. The following is a guide for said friends who occassionally stop and ask me what the hell I just said.

Curlers: some people call these "rollers," they are the round objects that make my hair wavy

Fiddlesticks: another way to say, "aw, shucks"

The Sticks/The Boonies/The Boondocks: way out there in the middle of nowhere

My land: I have no idea where this came from, I only know the females on my Mom's side of the family say it when they are shocked by something. Maybe it's a genetic phrase. Maybe I was born with a predisposition for bizarre phrasing.

Heavens to Betsy: another weird phrase that means, "My land!"

Bloomin: A word used to emphasize another word (either an adjective or an adverb depending on my whim at the moment); example: I have no bloomin idea what we're supposed to read tomorrow (I don't know if this is from my family, actually. I may have picked this one up elsewhere.)

Dagnammit: Self-explanatory. I use this and shoot, dang, and darn interchangeably

My word: Similar to "my land" but usually used in a shocked-sorry context. "My word" would be used if someone broke their arm and this was a shock to you. "My land" would be used if you found out a friend who said she'd never get hitched finally agreed to take the plunge.

Gussied Up: Dressed up. Fancy. This is not the terminology used for dressing nicely in the corporate sense. This is definitely more in the "I feel like wearing high heels, curling my hair, and wearing red lipstick" vein.

Whoppyjawed: Messed up. Totally crazy. A wreck. Think of a wreck involving a train carrying ice cream and a Mac truck carrying a tank of butane. Ice cream. On fire. That would be messed up. Or, if you know me, think of my room. Yup, that's whoppyjawed.

Alright, I'm sure others will come to me but for now these are the phrases that have proved to be the most confusing to my Yankee friends.

If I were a Victorian caricature...this would be me. Redheaded, with a flower on my boob. And insane pigtails. But I do not believe my nose is that pointy. And my nostrils aren't that messed up. And I definitely wouldn't do my hair like that with that outfit. Totally clashes. But otherwise, she's definitely me.

Jemaa L'Fna, home away from home

Zoom Zoom Zoom (like the commercial)

And it begins

I decided to make a blog because I need another way to procrastinate. I'm a law student in New Orleans and it's very important to manifest creative means by which I can ignore my appellate brief and the number of light bulbs in my apartment that need to be replaced.