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.