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.