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.