birthday coincidences

This seems especially apropos after my drinks date last night:

I think that there is a place where she [Scarlet] realizes that people come in and out of your life. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for longer. And all of them make you what you are. You can't separate these people out of you. They form who you are. Even the ones that you kind of say well... you know, I don't know if I wanna be formed by them anymore.(laughs) But you are in some way. You are. That's why, maybe, you don't have to look at them so harshly because they have affected you. At the end, though, you know... it's us as individuals with our... mm... with our love for the land. For something intangible, that when soulmates come and go, you're never alone even when you're standing just you in your shoes, because you carry them with you.
-Tori Amos, Scarlet Stories, re: "A Sorta Fairytale"

Happy 50th, Tori Amos. Oof, I feel old.

A letter I can't or won't actually send.

Mama,

When I told you I was engaged, you rolled your eyes. Literally, you rolled your eyes. This was a better outcome than what I expected, which is shocking to most everyone to whom I've told that story. 

Usually my response is to just say something along the lines of, "That's just my mom. She gets stressed out easily. She's still happy for me." The thing is, I believe that. I do think you're happy for me, or maybe I just need to believe that you are. But your happiness for me is blurred by a lens that has only gotten more opaque as the years have passed.

I wonder a lot lately when was the last time you were happy. I realize I can't remember anything in the past decade or so, so I wonder if you do. Was it when Paw Paw was still alive? I can think of times when you've had fun, but I don't remember the last time that you were deeply, joyously happy about something. That is a surprisingly difficult thing to admit. 

It has taken me many years to come to terms with your unhappiness. I'm probably still not there, but at least I have the perception and the toolkit to explain some of it and rationalize it to myself. I'm not quite sure WHY it's there, but based on things you've told me here and there, I have a feeling it began with a string of loves in your teenage years and really took root when you decided that you'd thrown away a lot of opportunities by marrying Daddy. You've told me countless times what you might have been if you'd gone to school--an art teacher, an architect. Even after going into the medical field, a kid at home and a drunk husband made you feel like you needed to be at home after work, instead of going to school for nursing. But even in my childhood years, I feel like you were happy sometimes. I remember dancing with you in the living room and I feel like that was happy. I want to know what broke and why it can't or won't be fixed. 

We've been fighting a lot about the wedding and it occurred to me that I'm a disappointment to you. You'd balk to hear this. You'd tell me how proud of me you are and how much you love me. I don't doubt those things, but I have to reconcile them with your disappointment. I am not who you want me to be. You rolled your eyes at my news because you imagined differently for me. Someone who could "take care of me," to use your words, someone with money who might support me while I got that Ph.D that you're still on me about. To you, my marriage means the end of my possibility too, means getting stuck in a rut that I will spend a lifetime sitting in, a rut so deep that it's not even worth it to expend energy to get out of. Is that how you feel? It's the closest I can imagine. 

You told me once that you wanted me to get my Ph.D because you knew, when I was a baby, that I would go on to do great things. You don't want to hear that people can do great things without a Ph.D, or that a Ph.D in my field would be useless to me, monetarily. You don't really even have a defined vision of "great," beyond "better off than me." You are not great, except through my achievements. I need to be great to somehow be worth all those lost opportunities. I don't think I'm capable of being that great. 

In a way, I think you think my marriage will make me sink lower than you, because I will still be worse off financially than you are. I think your desire to dictate every aspect of this wedding comes from the idea that you can at least make it what you want to see. Maybe that will be enough to make up for that potential greatness I'm flushing down the toilet. You are upset with me that I won't wear your wedding dress. I couldn't think up a better metaphor if I tried. Somewhere along the way (or maybe from the moment I was born), I turned into a vessel for all your lost hopes. I'm not the only person this has happened to--at this point it's a cliche. But it doesn't hurt any less to be held to a standard that judges me as unworthy for not meeting standards I've never been invested in. I quite honestly feel as though you love me less for not being good enough. It doesn't hurt me to not be good enough--I think (with the help of years of therapy, a lot of love, and the power of literature) that I'm just fine. But it hurts to think that you feel that way, that I have somehow thrown away the key that could even possibly unlock your door to happiness. 

Even before I could put those thoughts into words, I knew them on an instinctual level. It took me years to tell you I was going to therapy, because I knew you'd be disappointed in me for being so flawed and for thinking I was flawed. For not just getting over it. It is sickeningly ironic that you live in the kind of unhappiness you do without any help, just so as not to have to admit that you actually are unhappy. 

Years ago, you used to joke that you would never ask your patients, "How are you?" because it would turn into them rattling off their various ailments and complaints. I don't know how to tell you that you've turned into those people, without meaning to, without being old enough to be that damn miserable with life. 

I've had a buzzing tension headache for two weeks now. I suspect it has a lot to do with trying to shove down this rush of emotions and words that have come out of wounds long scarred, now ripped open. These are words I don't want to say to you, because I know you would only see them as a further burden, without ever acknowledging their meaning. I know you would cry and maybe you'd yell. I don't want to hurt you. I love you so much. I just wish that I could make you see. To see that your life is so rich, so full of love. To see that all I want from you at my wedding is to see you happy, for you to celebrate without barriers of anger, fear, and disappointment. You talk a lot of making the most of life, because you never know when you'll die. I don't understand how you can believe that, but treat every day like another step to the grave.

If anything, you've taught me that lesson. I don't always achieve it, but I try not to live in misery, because I don't want to bring down that burden on those who love me. I try to celebrate, to love, to experience, to be my very best, to see the best in people and in life. And I will always try, however useless it may be at this point, to make you see it too.

Love, me

peeks

As noted in the previous post, life has been busy and unsettled, so I haven't had time for the blog (also why you haven't seen a 101 in 1001 post in awhile...I'll be doing the list wrap-up this weekend!). In the meantime, here's what the month of March has looked like:

E, A, M, Richie, and I (with a few other strangers) went to Serendipity for Eric's birthday and had three cheese platters, including this birthday one.

Much-anticipated Indian Potluck for the Around the World potlucks.

Helping out Richie and his stepdad at work. I sanded the shit out of some doors and baseboards.

A wealth of St. Patrick's day cabbages. One of these cabbages is not real. Another of these cabbages is actually a Moon Pie.

Resting in my hotel room after a whirlwind day of two flights to Chicago, a business reception, 4 glasses of wine + a cheese platter + a pitcher of sangria with Erin, and a high of 28.

Annual photograph with Erin :) Except this year's will be bi-annual because I'll be back in Chicago for her October wedding! (SQUEE.)

Enjoying Louisiana warmth with Lianna at The Fly.

frenzy, flurry, shim sham, blurry

This is what I've been up to lately:

1) A bachelorette party

From the balcony of the Hustler Club

2) A wedding

"Bridesmaids 4 Life"

3) A birthday party

This weekend, it's Running of the Bulls, biking to the Bywater, flying kites (weather permitting), and making a seafood gumbo. And a little rest too.

better late than never

Shortly after I posted my last post, my laptop charger broke. Between that, lots of stuff going on at work, and a pile of reading I wanted to catch up on, I've neglected the blog.

At this point, I think writing an exhaustive breakdown of the Chicago trip probably isn't worth it. So, the short version is this:
The Amtrak ride up to Chicago was great and really comfortable. I did a lot of reading and writing. AWP was amazing and inspirational (more on that in a second) and seeing Margaret Atwood was totally worth the trip by itself. I bought lots of records and books and my checked luggage was 49 pounds. Erin, Mike, and I ate a lot of amazing food (pastries, popcorn, hot dogs, tacos, Ethiopian, waffles, cheese, sausage, quince jelly) and I drank a magnum of pink moscato champagne over the course of three evenings, because I'm classy. I thanked God every day for Chicago's freakishly warm winter that ensured I did not have to deal with anything except the smallest of snow flurries during my visit. I do not deal well with extreme cold. It was a pretty perfect trip, getting to see two of my best friends (twice in one year!) and visiting one of my favorite cities.

Posing with a festive cow in my cat dress

Margaret Atwood!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giant stack of lit mags I hauled home

Hot dogs! Chili cheese (T) and Chicago-style (B)

Friends :)

Onto the inspirational part of AWP. Two of the goals on my 101 in 1001 list are to submit seven poems for publication and write two non-fiction pieces. I wrote those goals and then avoided them. Mostly because I just didn't feel like a writer anymore. Writing without a goal felt pointless and the goal of publication felt...silly. Calling myself a writer just because I have a BA in creative writing felt overblown to me. Egotistical. Obviously, this is partly an issue of semantics, but there it is.

AWP inspired me to write again. Being around other writers, talking to them, reading them, talking to people who run lit mags...all of it reminded me of how happy writing creatively makes me. I miss crafting poems, connecting moments for non-fiction pieces, writing in a non-academic way. I went around talking to a number of lit mag representatives and found that a lot of them are looking to publish more non-fiction. I got copies of journals and I've been reading them. Last night, I finally had a break in my mental block and I wrote for almost two straight hours. At the end, I had two non-fiction pieces and two poems. All in need of editing, but that's more creative writing than I've done in the past four years.

I made some decisions while I was at AWP. Or, if you prefer, confirmations. I'm going to keep reading and writing non-fiction pieces. I am going to send them to various outlets and try to get published. I want to eventually get good enough and have enough of a reputation to put together a small collection, to be published by a small publishing house. I would also like to publish another (non-creative writing) book, but that's a topic I'm a little too nervous to talk about just yet. :) I want to start writing more, creatively and for hire. To that end, I've emailed my editor at GoodNola and ended my self-imposed hiatus. I've put out feelers (and gotten some responses) about doing paid freelancing.

And, I am revamping this blog. I've already purchased a domain name and I'm in the process of moving the blog to Wordpress. Not all of the entries here will be moved there--some are much too personal for the more public face I want for the new blog. I want to start updating at least twice a week and, ideally, daily. I need to be writing more in general if I want to write more creatively. Right now, my words still feel hampered. I have difficulty expressing my more abstract thoughts sometimes and I fall back on words like "kind of" and "just" that really don't express anything. Writing more helps refine that sort of thing. I also want my name out there in a more public way so I have a public face to point to if I pursue publishing.

All of this is a little scary. I've mentioned here before that I hadn't really considered a life outside of academia. That's always been my goal. That goal has to be reconsidered now, not just because of Ph.D programs, not just because of the terrible economy for academics, but because it has slowly dawned on me that teaching English may not be what I want to do with the rest of my life. It isn't what I want to do anymore. There's no set path ahead anymore. So, for now, I'm going to pursue those things that make me happy and see where that takes me.

"let me stay, please"

I'll post a write up about Chicago later, but for now, this pretty much sums it up:

Some of the people I love the most + cat print dress.

"A disposition fell over me"

You know when you're so sick that you reach that dazed state where you feel like you'll never not feel this awful? I felt like that this morning. I have bronchitis and, on top of that, a sinus infection (and suddenly, out of left field, a sore throat that is hopefully from sinus drip and not a manifestation of some other ugliness). I'm going on Day 5 of sickness. Every other morning, I've felt progressively worse, so when I woke up this morning and DIDN'T feel like I had 50 pounds of mud sitting in my chest, I thought I was getting better. But it crept up on me, and I ended up having a coughing spell so bad that, when I tried to get up and go get water, I nearly fell into the kitchen counter and my knees buckled from dizziness. Richie admonished me and led me back to bed, where I spent the next 3 hours. I'm at Z'otz now, drinking honey-spiked lemon ginger tea and trying to avoid others while I do thesis work (or, you know, procrastinate.)

I finished all of my Ph.D applications, so at least I don't have that to worry about anymore, unless I don't get accepted anywhere. And maybe not even then. I called my dad about some car problems (more on that in a second) and he asked me about the Ph.D stuff. My parents both REALLY want me to go to LSU because they don't want me to leave home, but I keep trying to impress upon them how much a Ph.D program matters for later job prospects. It's a little amusing, in a way, because when I've gotten down about this whole business, particularly the "getting a job afterwards" part, they've both been practically appalled that I would dare question my own ability. My parents believe in me a lot more than I believe in myself, which is sort of annoying in its way, because they're so naive about all of this. To my concerns about a job, my mom said, "You can always be a writer!" I asked, "A writer of WHAT?" "I don't know, like a journalist?" *headdesk* Nevertheless, as much as they can upset me, I also appreciate their unwavering support. Thank god for people in my life that have put up with me while I've continually stressed, complained, rent clothing, etc.

In the end, I applied to 3 English programs and 3 WGS programs. LSU, Stanford, and Vandy for English and OSU, Rutgers, and Indiana for WGS. I'd be happy to get into any of them, especially (obviously), Stanford. I thought I'd end up applying to some cop-out schools, but when it came down to it I decided that I was just going to go for it and apply to places I really want to attend. The thing is, I still have a fair amount of ambivalence when it comes to the Ph.D. I applied, in the end, because I felt like I owed it to myself to take the chance. I feel like I would regret it if I waited or didn't do it at all. If I don't get in, I will probably still find a job I'm more interested in and I'll bum around New Orleans a little longer.

This no longer fits with the rest of this post but since I mentioned it above, my car is quickly falling apart. The radiator is malfunctioning again (after months of dealing with this last year), someone busted the glass in my side view mirror, the passenger side inside door handle came off (making it the second handle-less door in the car, the first being the driver's door), the airbag sensor light keeps flashing at me and a parking light is out. I'm tempted to go drive it to the projects, leave the keys in the ignition, and claim the insurance money.

I suppose that's enough procrastinating for now. Back to the grind and here's hoping I don't blow out my bronchial tubes.

simply perfect

Today, I woke up curled up with Richie on Christie's couch. I spent the next hour alternately reading and napping until Josh woke up and made us coffee in a measuring cup. Christie came home and we all ate eggs and spinach and yogurt and cold leftover veggie stew. Richie commented that my shirt was completely see-through, to which I replied, "Everyone here has seen my tits anyway."

Christie left, I dropped Richie off to do some gathering up at his old house and Josh and I had coffee at Highland. We had a really great talk while I painted my fingernails mustard colored.

Josh left, I picked up Richie, got my car washed, then we went to the Baton Rouge Gallery and browsed the Surrealist art show. I found an artist I was interested in. The guy at the desk told me her work was on Etsy for a quarter of the price being charged in the gallery.

Richie and I took a long stroll around City Park, stopping to climb in old oak trees and take photos of ducks. Right now, we're at Garden District Coffee where I'm drinking Earl Grey and he's napping on a jacket. We're killing time until we go watch the Saints game with friends.

Sometimes, there are days that are so perfect in their simplicity.

twenty-twelve

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions

At the beginning of 2011, I made a list of all the things that had happened in the previous year. I don't feel such a need to reflect on 2011. It, in the end, wasn't really the happiest year of my life. It was a tough year where I lost people, both to death and irreconcilable differences. I can't even work up the vigor to be pissed off at 2011...I'm just tired and I don't want to think about it. But, with the new year, I did think back to this time last year.

New Year's Eve 2010 was documented here. A person who believes in Fate might find that kind of ushering in to be rather foreboding. I was incredibly sad that night, sadder than I cared to admit or, really, even recognize. I later tried to blame that sadness on someone else, but really, it wasn't anyone's fault. 2010 had been a weird, weird year and I think that the end of that year was too much to deal with at the time.

This NYE was vastly different. I party hopped with friends and Richie, toasted to the New Year at Snake and Jake's, kissed my boyfriend, then went neighborhood wandering. A group of us ended up back at my house, listening to records, talking, cuddling on my couch and enjoying our friendships. It was, in the end, a night of friends and gratitude and delight, a night so full that it lasted until 5:30am. We napped, then Richie and I got up and made gumbo and cookies and French press coffee and everyone gathered in my dining room and ate. I spent the rest of the evening wrapped up with Richie, watching movies.

When part of our group returned to my house at around 4am on NYE night, they asked what we'd been up to and Christie said, "Well, we walked around and then...we stopped." I said, "We stopped. That was our night." Annie stated, "2012: We Stopped." It's been our joking slogan, fitting in so many ways (the end is nigh, friends!), but I also like "2012: We're Full."

One reflection on 2011 that I think is fitting is this one:
I don't really do the whole New Year resolutions thing, because my resolution is always to try and be a better person, but I think part of that is taking care of myself and not getting so lost in other people and what I think they think of me. Not going crazy and losing my shit. Not trying to perpetuate relationships with people who could not give a fuck less.
2010 was a year of massive emotional upheaval. 2011 was about fine tuning my responses to that, about cleaning up my life a little. In that sense, I think I achieved my resolution. I've made some really wonderful connections in 2011, I've filtered out people that don't matter or who don't care, and I've tried to be kind in my interactions with both. I'd argue that sometimes kindness is sternness or knowing when to walk away. I've dealt with some incredibly difficult situations this year and every time, I was surrounded by people who genuinely cared about my well-being. I hope I've been that person to them as well.

So, in that spirit, I don't have a staunch 2012 resolution. The year promises to be a rather drastic one--I'll graduate from Tulane, I'll know whether or not I got into a Ph.D program (and if I did, I may have to move, which will come with it's own set of issues), I have two trips planned for this year (Chicago and San Francisco). I will continue to work, really work, toward being the best friend, daughter, sister, girlfriend, person I can be, for everyone else and for myself. I will try and better myself, try and push myself a little more and not get mired down in the idea that I can't do it, I will make time for fun, and try to sleep more, and love fully. It isn't a penance, it's just the right thing to do.

NYE

NYE, y'all.

(Stan the Sock Monkey was a Christmas present from Richie)

juxtaposition

I had a really really bad day yesterday.
I went to the funeral on about 4 hours of sleep. I spent most of the time beforehand talking to my cousin Joe, the one who recently lost his wife to cancer. The funeral itself was very very hard, made more so by the preacher who spent the entire time trying to convert people to Christianity and making comments like, "I've never had anyone I know die in...this manner but..." I wanted to stand up and shout, "NO ONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOUR LIFE, YOU SMUG FUCK."
One bright spot was hanging out with my 8 year old cousin, who regaled me with tales of how his sister loves cookies, how he loves cookies, how he does a great dog impression, how the Tigers are going to go all the way unless they lose to Arkansas. At one point, he solemnly looked at me and said, "Mandi, you sure did grow a lot since I saw you." I replied, "Well, no. I'm just wearing heels." I took them off and he said, sagely, "I thought so. You're pretty short. I'm almost as tall as you."
On the way back to New Orleans, the front tire on the truck blew and there wasn't a jack in the truck, so my mom and little brother had to come out and Alex changed the tire. Then the spare was flat. So we filled it but it's leaking air.
I finally make it to Richie's and he went to Bayona to pick up his paycheck so we could go out that night for dinner. But his check was postdated, so no one would cash it and I ended up just giving him the cash to pay. Both of us were so frustrated by that point, that we almost skipped dinner and stayed home drinking.

Instead, we ended up having a really fantastic night. We went to Cochon (Richie's birthday present to me) and I had some prosecco while we waited for a table. The food was absolutely incredible--we split the boucherie plate (cured ham, salami, prosciutto, pate, hogshead cheese, crutons, bread and butter pickles, pickled tomatillos with dijon mustard), followed by a amuse bouche of grilled oysters and a bowl of seafood gumbo Richie ordered. For dinner, I got a seared pork belly on a bed of mashed turnips and garlic green beans, while Richie got the cochon with braised cabbage and turnips and topped with cracklins. We split a dessert of a chocolate ice cream "sandwich' filled with caramel ice cream and topped with chocolate strudel and peanut brittle. I seriously almost cried, the food was so good. Hands down the best meal I've ever eaten.
Afterward, we met up with a couple of friends and had a little coffee and a few beers at Avenue Pub.So, a really wonderful way to end an incredibly shitty day.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera last night, but here are some pics from birthday celebrating:
Ladies at my Fancy Pants Party
lady p-i-m-p
Jason and me...I'm drinking from a "woozie"--a wine glass with a coozie--and he's drinking from a wine glass made from a Mason Jar
Nancy and I posing with Margaret Atwood books. Nancy is so gorgeous.
Richie and me, wherein I look exceptionally drunk
Nano and me, after lunch with the family. I am hungover.

come in close

Me: my mind is broken right now
Im on sinus meds because my glands keep swelling up, I've been looking at grad school applications all day and I need to start on my thesis
plus, everything else. funeral, etc
Eric: ugh
we should have traded days
i just sat on my couch the whole time
Me: hahaha you don't want this day!
it's been informative at least
Eric: if i could take your day off of your hands i would

Maybe I don't expect enough from my guy friends, but I thought this was so damn sweet that I barely knew what to say.

nourishment

I'm so grateful that Ravi and I had the breakup that we did and that he's still in my life and willing to listen to me lose my fucking mind and be kind to me about it.

Me: I learned something about myself today!
not a good something
Ravi: ?
Me: I think I have a problem of getting incredibly attached to people in part a a way of not having to deal with my own life
Richie and I got in a rather big fight last night (it's too much to explain really but he broke plans with me to go drinking with his coworkers)
and he said to me "you're NOT the center of my life" and I said "I don't want to be" but I think I have a problem with making my loved ones, friends and boyfriends, as a kind of main focus because it distracts me from how stressed and worried I am about my own life
I started crying in the middle of it about not having any idea what was going to happen if I didn't get into a doctoral program or even what would happen if I DID and he was like "wait, where did this come from"
I think that's why I had such an existential crisis when you and I broke up. not just because the break up itself but because I had to deal with that stuff head on
Ravi: makes sense
Me: still really fucking depressed 
I don't know how to have a...casual relationship.
I know how to have a sex only thing. and I know how to have super serious "we're living together" relationship
I'm not good at regular dating. 
I also think I'm a difficult person to date
Ravi: I'm not good at dating in general ;)
i wouldn't say you're difficult to date
Me: no?
Ravi: I mean, you have your moments.  everyone does
but in general no
Me: thanks 
I just feel like I'm a total emotional wreck
I've also been throwing up my food again 
I think I'm going to try and see a counselor
Ravi: on purpose?
Me: yes
Ravi: :/
yea, you probably should
Me: I know
I just....it's just a fucked up way of enacting control on my life, you know?
and also just because I've felt so ugly and awful lately
Ravi: you aren't ugly!
Me: thanks
I just feel like it lately
this is what happens when I get stressed/depressed
I eat like shit, then I start feeling super fat and ugly
then I start vomiting up my food
Ravi: you are beautiful
Me: thank you
AND NOW I'M CRYING
ahahaha
srsly
Ravi: freak :)

a collection of tiny stories

The Perils of Jungle Juice
On the 22nd, I went to a friend's costume party and there was a large bowl of "Witches' Brew." I had two large cups on an empty stomach, followed by a beer. Then I drove to the Quarter to go pick Richie up, but his phone was dead and after an hour of waiting for him, I angrily went home and locked the deadbolt, because I am vindictive. He came home via taxi (turns out we'd just missed one another and he'd been in a cab for awhile) while I was in the midst of removing my makeup. He started knocking on the door and as I walked into the living room to go unlock the door, I realized I was going to be sick. So I ran to the door, slamming my leg into a side table in the process (resulting in a really beautiful bruise), unlocked it and yelled "I'M SICK" in response to his "what the fuck is wrong with you?" He followed me into the bathroom and held my hair and stroked my shoulder and gave me water while I asked him to go away. Then he put me to bed and asked me if I wanted a PB&J. I said yes, then promptly fell asleep. He found me asleep, ate my sandwich and also went to bed. I woke up around 2am, feeling dismal and looking for my sandwich.

Fall Festivities
Jason, Lianna and I carved pumpkins and drank pumpkin beer in a non-ironic festive way. Jason carved a yin yang, Lianna carved a TV and I carved a martini glass and a bottle because I'm a drunk.

Voodoo Hoodoo
I went to Voodoo all three days. On Friday, Eddie and I biked there and saw Ani Difranco, Band of Horses and Soundgarden. All were great shows.
Saturday, I went alone and caught a bounce show, Social Distortion, Snoop Dogg (with Mystikal) and Blink 182. Blink's set kind of sucked, was full of inane dick jokes and I left halfway through, after my inner 14 year old was mostly satisfied (I really only wanted to hear "Dammit" and they didn't play it before I left). I admittedly teared up slightly during this set, despite it sucking, because it made me think of when Candace and I used to blast Enema of the State in her backyard and sit upside down on her swing and sing the lyrics to her next door neighbor (the crush of my teenage life). I biked back to Richie's, where I'd left the truck and as I was tying up my bike, two gay guys approached me and asked me if I'd give them a ride to Palmer Park. I was kind of hesitant at first, but I figured what the hell and let them in. They invited me to a party, but I politely declined.
On Sunday, I went with Richie and Matt. We saw Dr. John, then met up with Lianna at TV on the Radio (fantastic show). The boys left to go see The Meters, while Lianna and I caught the rest of TVotR, grabbed food and went to see The Clash. We wandered over to catch the end of The Meters set, met up with the boys to see The Ranconteurs. I got pretty high during the TVotR show and I started getting kind of paranoid during The Ranconteurs, but Richie and Lianna calmed me down (I'm not good at being high. I either get stupid silly or paranoid.) Richie and I went to Finn's afterward and got drinks that I almost fell asleep in, because I'd only had 4 hours of bad sleep.

Frenchman Follies
On Saturday night, post-festival, I got dressed up in voodoo doll drag and Matt and I headed down to the Marigny. We met up with friends at Mojito's, started drinking a lot. I had a brief blood sugar episode, which passed when I found a muffin. We went to The John and there was a boyfriend/girlfriend incident that culminated in the decision that everyone needed to eat, which is how we ended up at some hot sausage place on St. Claude at 3am, eating poboys and taking ridiculous and cute pictures. Then we walked over to Big Daddy's to play pool and finally ended the night at Mimi's until dawn. Richie and I ate more PB&J in bed (it's kind of a thing), before falling into some really bad sleep. We finally got out of bed around 1, coffee'd up and headed back to Voodoo.

T.C. Obsession
I've been reading T.C. Boyle's The Women. I really ought to know better than to pick up a Boyle book while I have other pressing matters to attend to, because he always sucks me in. I started it because I didn't want to be bored between shows at Voodoo. Richie said, "You're going to a festival with tens of thousands of people and you're going to be the one reading a book?" I replied, "I don't think you understand how antisocial I really am with strangers."
So now I'm toting the book everywhere, reading it until 2am and it reminded me of the first time I ever read Boyle. It was "Greasy Lake" in my high school English class and I was so taken with it that I went to Barnes and Noble that weekend and bought every collection of his short stories, which cost around $80. I remember being worried that I was spending that much but then I went to the car and started reading at stoplights on the way home and forgot all about it.

Trains and Planes
Mike posted on FB that he's going to AWP and staying with Erin in Chicago. I've wanted to go to AWP every year and I was toying with the idea when I saw that Margaret Atwood is the keynote this year. That settled it for me. I signed up to volunteer at the event, to get my registration covered, then I started looking into flights. They were about $350 round trip, which is way more than what I wanted to spend. Then I checked out Amtrak. I ended up booking a train passage, leaving New Orleans on Feb 28 and arriving in Chicago the next day at 9am. (I'm taking a one-way flight back to NOLA that Sunday...still cheaper than round-trip flight). I'm really really excited--I've never been on a train and we're going to go through Memphis. I was thinking about bringing some 1920's lit to read on the ride, until I remembered that I will be deep into the thesis at that point, so fun reading will probably turn out to be something like Halberstam's Female Masculinity. Ah well. Train! Atwood! Friends! Chicago!

dress out

fun party :)

"and its just light enough to see"

This weekend wasn't really super exciting, but it was good enough that I wanted to write it down for the memories.

On Friday, I went out to karaoke with some lady friends. They'd never done karaoke, so everyone was a little shy at first, but by the time the night ended, we were all standing on a couch, shouting Britney Spears, like we were in some shitty rom com. Girl power! (it was awesome.) Afterwards, Alyson and I drove out to River Ridge to pick up Richie's paycheck from his mom and hang out with her for a bit. I got Richie from work, then went to bed while he and Matt partied.

The next morning, I woke up to bring Marla to the vet and found both the boys passed out in the living room, my front door open, an empty bottle of Maker's on the coffee table and a guitar laying on the floor. Neither guy was responsive, so I herded Marla into her kennel and brought her to the vet. Afterwards, I picked up guava pastries from the patisserie for everyone and headed home. I was finally able to drag Richie off the couch and we ate pastry in bed and talked for a few hours until he was sober enough to be out and about. We went to Z'otz and he bought us some coffee. We sat outside and walked around Oak St. for a bit before going thrifting for Halloween stuff. I was digging for something to cut up for my voodoo doll costume and he pulls out this beautiful brown linen dress. It has a very 70's cut and is in wonderful condition. Also, $10. We got gas station fried chicken afterwards and went back home.

This next part may be kind of TMI but it's part of the story and also funny, so bear with me. When we got home, we had some rather intense relations, so much so that when I stood up, the room started spinning and I fell back onto the bed. Richie made some joke about fucking my equilibrium up and we laughed and took a nap.

A couple of hours later, we got up to go to the BBQ and Blues festival. As I was driving there, with Richie and Matt, I started feeling really nauseated and hot. My vision started tunneling. But we were also late, so I started stressing out about finding parking. Richie kept telling me to pull over, but I was intent on finding parking. We finally did and as we were walking to the festival, I started getting dizzy again. I made a comment about feeling like I had vertigo and Richie said, "Sweetie, you need real food. I think it's your blood sugar."

We got to the festival, I ate a poboy, drank a beer and felt better. We danced to Kenny Wayne Shepherd and, at one point, Richie picked me up around the waist and held me in the air. This woman behind him fist-pumped and yelled, "YEAH!" It was kind of a country moment.

Afterwards, we went to Avenue Pub. The guys played pool while I hung out at the jukebox and drank beer. Eventually, Alyson showed up. Janis Joplin's "Try (Just a Little Bit Harder)" came on and I was singing along. Richie commented on it and I said, "If I get really shitfaced, I do an amazing 'Piece of My Heart.'" A little while longer and not nearly enough alcohol later, Richie starts grinning at me as "Piece of My Heart" came on. We started singing it together and generally acting like fools. Afterward, CCR's "Travelin' Band" came on and Richie was positively screaming the lyrics and dancing with me while I buried my head in his shoulder and laughed. He picked me up again and swung me around, to the amusement of other bar patrons and then put me down and said, "I beat you. I'm crazier." 

In the midst of all this, I started to feel sick again. I'd only had two beers, so it wasn't a drunk thing. Alyson accompanied me to the bathroom to puke a few times, but I wasn't to the point where I needed to leave. I just chatted, drank, puked, sang, danced, puked, etc. But things gradually got worse. Richie and Matt were playing pool with these two really weird guys and trying to hurry up and finish because I'd told Richie I was ready to leave. I went to the bathroom to puke again and a girl was standing in there crying. She was looking at her phone and wailing, "WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME?" Of course, I felt a little awkward purging, so I walked back out and told Richie I was really really ready to go and that I needed to throw up. Alyson asked what was wrong and I told both of them about the girl. Before I know it, Richie has walked over to the bathroom and cracked it. I looked at Alyson and asked, "Is he really doing this?" Alyson said, "Is that her?" I looked up and the girl walked past. Richie came back and said, "I opened the door and said, 'Excuse me. I know you're upset, but my girlfriend is really sick--not drunk, just sick--and she needs to throw up. I don't want to be an asshole, but could you please step out?" The girl replied, 'IT'S OKAY, YOU ARE AND SO IS HE."

I wasn't able to drive home but, problematically, Richie doesn't have a license and Matt can't drive a stick shift (which is what I'm driving in lieu of my broken car at the moment). I kept trying to say I'd drive, but Richie and Alyson both firmly told me there was no fucking way that was happening (I was leaning on Richie to stay upright by this point). We decided Richie would drive and Alyson would tail us closely. Unfortunately, while in the bar, it had gotten foggy outside. The truck does not have working windshield wipers or a defroster. So Richie is wildly swerving because he can't see out of the windshield and I'm screaming that he's about to hit cars and he's screaming at me to stop screaming at him while Matt is patting my leg and telling me it'll be okay. I spent much of the rest of the drive with my hands over my eyes. I removed them at one point, only to start flailing my hands helplessly, saying, "ohmygodohmygod" while Matt put his arm around me. I calmed down when we got closer to home and we finished out the drive singing "Don't Stop Believin'." I walked in, promptly threw up everything left in my stomach and went to bed.

The next morning, Richie and I woke up early and went to brunch at The Ruby Slipper. On the way home, we stopped so he could look at a potential apartment. It seems pretty perfect, so here's hoping. He went to work after, along with Matt. As much as I enjoy having them there, it was really really nice to have my house to myself again for awhile. I cleaned, made pizza dough, did some sewing and listened to music.

So, all in all, I didn't get anything done that I NEEDED to get done, but I got to destress, which was pretty valuable. Though I may need more of that, since I woke up screaming in the middle of the night last night from a nightmare and cried while watching a video of kittens meowing earlier. All in good time.

quarter life crisis (and other dumb catch phrases that are sometimes embarrassingly accurate)

me: my doctor fussed at me today
telling me that I was staying sick like this because I was taking on too much
but I mean...:/
don't have much of a choice
Eric: and he was correct in that fussing
me: she
and I know
but I have a GRE to take, a thesis to write
Eric: whatever
everybody knows that all doctors are male
me: ahhahahaa
right
I'll call you when I get that ph.d
if I don't get into a program after this shit, I'm running away
gonna go live in a field and get high 24/7
Eric:i was about to say you gotta get accepted first
me: actually, I'm full of shit
yeah
I'd probably just stay here and try to find a job I like more
and rethink my entire life. which may not be the worst idea
Eric: im pretty sure that you're going to be accepted to a good program
me:I don't know
people keep saying that
but the thing is...look, I know I'm smart. my professors know I'm smart
I know my subject. but on paper, I don't look that great
Eric: how so?
me: 2.9 undergrad gpa. 3.0 in my last 60 hours. 3.6 in english classes. a masters in a program that a lot of people don't respect and a 3.9 in that, with my only B+ being in an english class.
a probably 1100ish on the GRE
I look solidly average on paper.
even though my professors fucking love me. to the point where I've had them ask me to take their classes
my thesis won't be defended by the time I apply, so I'll be able to say I'm writing it but I don't have it as an example
Eric: nobody expects a masters level thesis in the application for a masters or phd program
my indiana conversation told me that the ideal writing example (of course not for an english related field) was 10 pages long
and that is exactly how long my writing example is!
me: mine is 20
I know no one expects a thesis
I just want to have something that puts me head and shoulders above
Eric: yeah I know that feeling
thus my desire to improve my GRE score
me: yeah
I don't want to take that fucking test again
unless I absolutely have to
Eric: it just sucks that the GRE is the smallest part of my application and but what will take the most time and effort
me: yup
same here. I was reading something where this professor at columbia said he barely looks at GRE scores
and I was like *headdesk*
it pisses me off so fucking badly that LSU wants this stupid english GRE
because the questions are motherfucking useless
Eric:is that the only school your doing the English GRE for?
me: well. yes and no.
in my top 5 list of schools, they are the only one that requires it. so in that sense, yes
but, stanford also requires it and I might apply there just for fun. since I'm already taking it
and another professor, one from LSU, told me that it certainly wouldn't hurt me to submit those scores to other programs if I did okay
Eric: word.
me:I don't know. I'm still questioning this whole fucking decision
a big part of me feels like I'm doing this out of some sense of inertia
like, it's just the next logical going forward step
at least a small part of it is because my parents really want me to do it
a part of it is that I've put in this much time and I want that fucking degree
Eric: yeah I know what you're saying
me: yeah
but, you know, there's this other part of me that realizes how happy I am when I'm learning and pushing myself
I want to do that research and learn and write and do something useful but sometimes I have trouble reconciling the idea that my degree might be useful
to anyone except me
Eric: yeah
me: sorry. didn't mean to go all existential conflict on you
Eric: well i have the same issue
i could go through get a phd in a tiny and shrinking field
or just do the other idea and try to start a private music school in new orleans
me: right
yeah, I mean part of the reason I talk to you about this is because we're in a similar boat
Eric: yeah
i think its worth it to try
if we get into good programs then do it
if not fuck it
me: yeah
you're right
I just keep doing that whole "the money. I like this city. oh look, a boyfriend" thing
Eric: well boyfriend should be the last thing you think of
and shouldn't even be a part of the thought process
me: oh it is
believe me
it is something I isolate to the periphery
I just think, in a larger sense, am I making sacrifices that I will regret in the long run?
will I regret giving up a potentially good relationship? will I regret that 5 years of my life? etc.
Eric: yes but if you don't make the sacrifices you'll regret something that could lead to something even bigger
me: when it was Ravi and me, I was very certain about what I wanted to do. I was sad, but I didn't experience much regret and what regret there was was tempered with that certainty
that is...not present here
Eric: its definitely worth the attempt
me:yeah
that is the stronger pull. I KNOW I'd regret if I didn't apply.

Eric: unrelated funny story. i went to the story last night to buy batteries. Left with $20 of beer.

yin yang

Good: Radio Bar visit on Friday
Bad: Horrible sinus infection= no sleep
Good: Chinese buffet, mailing a birthday present
Bad: Stuck in tailgating traffic, Richie screaming at a cop, having a miserable headache from sinus issues and lack of sleep
Good: Nap in Christie's bed, party with friends, Fleur de Lis pizza, lots of beer, eating Louie's in bed
Bad: More shitty sleep, being a fat ass, another headache
Good: Coffee outside at Highland
Bad: Stupid fucks at Subway
Good: Reading while cuddled up on a couch with two puppies, more partying, some cute pictures, seeing parents
Bad: Washing a cat pee covered blanket, telling Richie the entire abusive ex story (maybe more on this later), getting heartburn as a result
Good: Looking at old pictures, snuggles
Bad: A UTI. Jesus, vagina. Really?
Good: Spooning, Richie officially moved to NOLA.

hazy memories

Me: if La Ha parties taught me anything
it was how to play flip cup
I fucking dominated last night and I was the only girl at the party
against 7 dudes
Erin: hahhahaha
that's awesome
Me: I talked so much shit
one asshole got so pissed off that I beat him 3 times
I was sitting on an ice chest and he pushed me off of it
and then all my dude friends there were like "uh dude, wtf."
and I was telling richie about it later and he was all "WTF"
but I told him "but then I got up and ran over to the dude and punched him in the kidney and kicked him in the dick."
Erin: did you really?
Me: yes
I was really mad
the ice chest spilled over on me
I got soaking wet
and he was being a bitch
Erin: he sounds like it
i just can't imagine you kidney and dick punching anyone
Me: I was pretty drunk
I ran over and went to kick him and he grabbed my foot
Erin: you have to be after 3-7 games of flip cup
Me: so I punched him in the kidney
and he let go of my foot and I kicked him in the dick
oh we played a good 15 games
at least

Me: when I first started drinking, we were like...chugging beer
and it was spilling and peter started excitedly yelling "BEER ON TITS! BEER ON TITS!"
and I'm trying to flip the cup and going "really peter?"
Erin: it's the little things

Me: also, I guess richie and I are all official and shit
he referred to himself as my boyfriend
and I said "are you? you never asked"
and he looked at me like "are you fucking serious?" and said "sorry amanda. do you want to be my girlfriend?"
and I said "maybe" and he said "come here, you bitch"
we went on a very high/low date friday night
we were going to go see lion king but he was hungry, so we stopped beforehand
to get wings. and they were PACKED. so the movie had already started by the time we left
and he was like "you wanna go somewhere nice and just get a glass of wine?"
I said sure, so we went to the grape in perkins rowe and there was a live band
so it was actually really really nice
Erin: that sounds really nice
very low key
Me: it was. we just hung out and talked and laughed at drunks
and I told him about you bursting into the wine loft and announcing that it was so cold that it was making your nipples hard
and he laughed really hard
Erin: maybe one of my favorite stories ever
Me: it's definitely one of mine
man. we have been shitfaced so many times in front of each other
like, I can think of 6 times off the top of my head that I've thrown up in front of you
Erin: or in near proximity
when i went to that bachelorette party, one of michael's coworkers asked me for a ridiculous drunk story
and i couldn't think of anything
put on the spot like that
Me: oh damn
Erin: so since we were drinking champagne, i told about my flirtini night and how i was hungover for 3 days
Me: we peed off the back of a boat
Erin: but i wish i'd told the cold nipples story
Me: there's that one
there's the christmas party
when we were both shitfaced
Erin: and you stripped
and i passed out in my closet
Me: and we made mike and katie take care of the cats while we passed out
yes
we are awesome
Erin: yes
Me: honestly, I think I'm more of an embarrassment than you though
I mean, there was that time I took off with a 5th of vodka, ran down the street and passed out in a yard
there was the time I threw up out the car on the way back from new roads
of course there's the time when C had to come get me from your parking lot and brought me home with a bucket
Erin: yeah, that one was a classic
Me: I am awful
at least I've mostly gotten my shit together
last night, I drank drank, made myself puke, drank a liter of water THEN resumed drinking
like a motherfucking adult.

why don't you sit right down and make me smile

Lately I feel like my life is this constant cycle of getting really fucking stressed out, having a few brief moments of clarity, then sinking back under. Or, for a more-than-cliched metaphor, I feel like I keep breaking the water and sinking back under.

In this past week, my radiator has gone out twice. I've been reduced to carrying gallons of water and a roll of paper towels in my car. It is chugging along with water and prayer. I'm thinking the radiator will need to be replaced next week, which means getting it to Baton Rouge.

My mom has had the first round of injections in her back for pain management of her arthritis and a slipped disc that is causing some nerve damage.

The family dog has cancer. A surgery was performed last week to remove a tumor but biopsy results have come back and shown that they didn't get all of it, so they have to go deeper. The dog is 2. My parents are devastated.

Um, I gained like 4 or 5 pounds. Not a big deal in the scheme of things but I'm already stressed so, you know.

A very dear friend is having some heart problems, right on the heels of her mother having a health scare. My childhood best friend's father (who was like a second father to me) is having to undergo a heart cath after having had quad bypass 4 years ago.

I have a sinus infection.

I have been having a pretty bad bout of stress-induced insomnia and have been averaging 4-5 hours of sleep a night.

GRE+ school shit. ugh.

But.

None of this scary shit is happening to me. To people I love, yes. But I can be there for them. Fall is coming up and with it: my birthday, Voodoo Fest, Halloween, the holidays, NYE in Oklahoma to see Flaming Lips, Alyson's wedding, the Angola rodeo, cooler (hopefully) weather. I went on a couple of dates with a real sweet dude, someone Alyson described as "one of the nicest people I've met in awhile." I have a fantastic support network. I did some freelance work and it became a bit of a big deal. I saw Ani Fucking Difranco at Target.

so, life ain't all bad. But I'd still take some calmer waters.