"I don't care who they are; there's nothing in the world more important than human beings. And you learn about those people. You take some things that you can use, and then things you think you can't use or your mother wouldn't allow you to use, you don't take. And that's how you grow and that's how things should be with people's lives. That's what I'm trying to tell young people today. They're moving and they're moving good, and I'm proud of those who can move. But are you stopping to help somebody else? Are you stopping to see how you can make another person feel his worth?"
-Leah Chase, interview with The Southern Gumbo Trail
(really, I could have copy/pasted most of the interview and I definitely think it's worth a read.)
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
shame
I was painting my nails (this color) and it reminded me of a time with the abusive ex.
I must have been about 19, so he would have been 25. We were in the Quarter and browsing a little gothy shop. We went to check out and I picked up a bottle of burgundy nail polish that was in a basket on the counter. He grabbed it from me and said, "That'll look good for when you have your hand wrapped around my dick" as he handed it to the salesguy with a wink.
I still remember how hard I cringed, how embarrassed I was, how fucking ashamed I was. The guy gave me this incredulous look and all I could do was look at the floor.
I think about that moment from time to time when I paint my nails to get dolled up. I stopped wearing "sexy" colors for awhile after that, started to wear matte blacks and grays and greens. Any time I do a conventionally sexy color, I think about that piece of shit and I still feel ashamed, just a little bit. I really hate to say I hate people but I'm as close as I can be to hate with him.
And for the record, I never wore that fucking polish for him or anyone. When Ravi and I were moving out, I found it in my basket of polishes and summarily threw it in the trash.
I must have been about 19, so he would have been 25. We were in the Quarter and browsing a little gothy shop. We went to check out and I picked up a bottle of burgundy nail polish that was in a basket on the counter. He grabbed it from me and said, "That'll look good for when you have your hand wrapped around my dick" as he handed it to the salesguy with a wink.
I still remember how hard I cringed, how embarrassed I was, how fucking ashamed I was. The guy gave me this incredulous look and all I could do was look at the floor.
I think about that moment from time to time when I paint my nails to get dolled up. I stopped wearing "sexy" colors for awhile after that, started to wear matte blacks and grays and greens. Any time I do a conventionally sexy color, I think about that piece of shit and I still feel ashamed, just a little bit. I really hate to say I hate people but I'm as close as I can be to hate with him.
And for the record, I never wore that fucking polish for him or anyone. When Ravi and I were moving out, I found it in my basket of polishes and summarily threw it in the trash.
feeling like a half-rate stripper
I am actually wearing lingerie under my clothes right now. This feels...cheesy. But kind of hot. But mostly cheesy. Maybe not so much after some wine and when I'm not alone.
(my sexy room isn't helping matters much.)
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
"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.
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.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
I must become/a lion-hearted girl
Current song obsession:
(I'm not using the actual video because the song is abridged and the video is stupid...I'm pretty sure it's about people doing the Macarena at a Ren Faire.)
(I'm not using the actual video because the song is abridged and the video is stupid...I'm pretty sure it's about people doing the Macarena at a Ren Faire.)
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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.
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.
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