part of growing up
The first time I saw my grandparents' house after it had been renovated, it had been flooded with four feet of water.
They'd moved into that house when my dad was eight years old. It was brand new. They were still living there when I was born twenty years later, and my sister and I grew up spending nearly every weekend there.
We would play on the swing in the backyard, watch my PawPaw work in his shop, buy homemade popsicles from the next door neighbor and stop to pet Mr. Pittman's dog, Freckles, on the short walk to the park. Mr. Pittman told my sister and I that he had fairies in his shop behind his workbench, but when I asked if I could see them he said they would hide when I came in because they were shy. Back at the house, my sister and I would fight over who got to hold the remote, even though we only ever watched Nickelodeon (a special treat given that we didn't have cable at home), and cook ourselves up all kinds of random things. My parents NEVER let us cook at that age, but my grandparents would help us cook whatever we wanted. And they always had all of our favorite snacks: bananas, Sprite, tomato soup, sausage biscuits, ice cream, hershey's syrup, eggs, chicken pot pies.
As we got older, we inevitably spent less and less time there, but I learned to see my grandparents in a different light, especially my grandma, whom we called "Nanny". She was such a good listener, and she was always so proud of everything I did. My sister and I could talk to her about boys and friends, even the ones our parents hated, and she would always understand and sympathize.
To make a long story short, my Nanny died when I was 19, my PawPaw remarried a year later and moved to Texas, and I wasn't happy about any of it. I was okay with nanny's death, although I missed her deeply, because she had been in a great deal of pain for some time before she passed away. I knew that my PawPaw was terribly lonely after she was gone, but I was selfishly unhappy with his new life. I wasn't ready to let go of that bit of my childhood just yet. I refused to discuss it with anybody, especially other members of my family.
My parents spent several months renovating that house, the entire time telling me that I just
had to come see how great it looked, but I adamantly declined their unyielding requests. Seeing it meant having to accept that things were changing. As long as I stayed in Baton Rouge, I could pretend PawPaw was still back where I'd left him. Eventually they rented it out, and with the presence of the new tenants their comments subsided.
The next August Katrina hit, and I was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that my PawPaw had moved to Texas, because he has never once in his life evacuated for a hurricane. I can't even imagine what he would have done if he'd been in the house when the water came in. It was then that I saw their house for the first time since it had ceased to be the place where my grandparents live. The tenants' belongings were strewn about haphazardly, casting shadows without the benefit of electricity and beginning to grow mold. The carpet was still wet, its spongy consistency squishing under my feet. And at that moment I knew, that everything happens for a reason, and change happens, and I have to learn to cope with it like an adult. Nothing ever stays the same forever. Kids move away, grandparents die, hometowns flood and people fall out of love. That's life, and it's tragic and it's beautiful, and I'm just here to get all that I can out of it.
Sweet!
I just got called for an interview to a job I applied for yesterday, and I'm ecstatic. I still think the job is probably a long shot for me, since I'm a little young and I have neither a degree nor commensurate years experience, but I have a little of both and a lot of enthusiasm, so we'll see how it goes.
On another note, the flame control on my lighter is broken, and I singed my eyelashes. Perhaps this is a sign from the Gods that I should stop smoking.
it comes and it goes...
I counted last night, and I have had no less than six qualified applicants express romantic interest in me in the past week. Not to brag, but this has been a pretty good week for me as far as such matters are concerned.
They range from a friend of my-ex boyfriend who I have a coffee date with on Friday, to a cheerleader I had a class with last semester (and haven't seen since) who sent me a facebook message asking if I'd like to go out sometime, to a guy with a labret who I think is TOTALLY hott but seems to not at all be over his ex.
These little spells of popularity with the menfolk seem to occur once every couple of months or so, and I try to just enjoy the attention and the possibilities. On the other hand, very few, if any, of these prospects seem to hold much potential as boyfriend material, but I could be wrong. One of these days, I'm gonna find a guy who just knocks me off my feet. But I'm not too anxious. I kind of like having my feet on the ground.
when did i get so old and boring?
It's 4/20, and I'm at home on my computer, playing with my rabbit. Damnit I want some pot. The downside to maturing into a responsible adult is that I've lost contact with most of my friends who could help me obtain illicit substances. And if I'm not gonna get to smoke tonight, a girl could at least use some good sexual activity. Unfortunately, it appears that I am in a rut, and thus will go to bed sober and sexually frustrated. Sad day.
Excerpts from I.M.
(screen names changed to protect us from stalkers)
Mandy (10:15:16 PM): i want a man
Mandy (10:15:19 PM): haha
Char (10:15:20 PM): ooooh me too
Char (10:15:25 PM): let's go buy some
Mandy (10:15:50 PM): where do they sell them?
Char (10:15:53 PM): i wish we could just pick them up at the store
Char (10:15:55 PM): that would be nice
Char (10:15:58 PM): hobby lobby
Char (10:16:03 PM): cause they sure are a hobby of mine
Mandy (10:16:11 PM): they could sell them in sections and categories
Char (10:16:28 PM): hahhaha, tall, short, smart, not so smart, funny, less funny
Char (10:16:33 PM): big dick, average dick
Char (10:16:39 PM): petite dick
Mandy (10:16:43 PM): haha assholes, too nice, cheaters
Char (10:16:43 PM): hahahahahaha
Char (10:17:11 PM): except the cheaters and assholes and petite dicks get play based solely on manipulation and misrepresentation
Char (10:17:32 PM): so if they were sold in the stores adveritsers and manufacturers would have to come up with some ploy to get us to buy them
Mandy (10:17:36 PM): yeah
Char (10:17:37 PM): maybe they'd be like the store brand
Mandy (10:17:40 PM): HAHAHAHAH
Char (10:17:42 PM): that you buy when you're broke
Mandy (10:17:46 PM): like sam's choice
Slacker
Oh, I've been neglecting my blogging lately. Perhaps I've just been too caught up in doing other things--like being completely and totally lazy. I can't remember the last time I studied, and finals are right around the corner. I'm way behind in school, but somehow I just don't seem to care. I'm getting premature senioritis. I'm ready to be done with my undergrad degree, it's so tedious. But really, it's just that I'm much more interested in going out and getting drunk and laying around, not necessarily in combination. Yesterday I was buzzed before five, when I definitely should have been doing homework, because Amanda and I hit up the Chimes (a popular restaurant just off campus) for happy hour. I enjoyed Bloody Mary's and quarter oysters, and I totally think it was worth it. I used to have such a
drive to succeed, to excel, and I'm wondering what the fuck happened to it, because now all I wanna do is get drunk, have fun, and hook up. Maybe the single life has finally turned me into a normal college student.
blissful satisfaction, no sex necessary
I've spent the last five days laying on the beach, drinking tasty tropical concoctions before noon, staying up till dawn and dancing my ass off in the tiki bar. I'm exhausted, exhilarated, sunburnt, hoarse and, most importantly, completely and totally gratified. I could not be more satisfied with my break from reality.
At the moment, I'm prolonging my return to such mundane things as school and work and real life by staying tonight and tomorrow at my parents' house. I came in tonight to eat boiled seafood with my parents and hang out with my sister, who I am appreciating more and more each day as an awesome person and an amazing friend, despite how convinced I was for most of my adolescent years that we would never have anything in common. I'm staying tomorrow because the Captain of Industry is going to be in town(yeah, remember him? Here's a recap:
beginning and
end). Have no fear, I harbor absolutely no intention of getting back together with him at this point, but we are still good friends and I do still like him quite a bit. I haven't seen him in three months, and I am really looking forward to it.
Anyway, at this precise moment, I am perfectly content with everything that makes up my universe. I love myself, my friends, my family, my home, and my life. And I am happy. And relaxed. Comfortable. And it's beautiful.
It's a Beautiful, Beautiful Day
And I'm huddled on my couch wrapped in blanket, seeking company in my laptop and ipod.
Last night I held my birthday extravaganza. I'm still trying to work the rum out of my system. I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow morning for Panama City Beach, and I would love to go lay out today so perhaps I won't blend right into the sand, but I just can't seem to motivate myself to leave the couch. I need to pack, I need to return the spakers I bought for the party to Wal-Mart (that's right, I bought a set of speakers fully intending to return them the day after the party. I paused briefly to consider whether I thought this was wrong or immoral, and then my roommate told me, "Fuck Wal-Mart! Bunch of conglomerate assholes, jip those bitches out of all the money you can!") and there's a shitload of beer left in the keg that I don't even have the energy to do something about.
It's bad when I can't motivate myself to lay out by the pool and drink beer. But I'm going to be spending the next five days doing exactly that: wasting away in a Sprimg Break oasis of sun, sand, and debauchery. I plan to sustain myself on alcohol and peanut butter and jelly all week. Words cannot even express how excited I am. The beach is my very favorite place in the world to be. I'm hoping to come back feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, tan and a little bit stupider. God knows I'm not bringing anything with me at all reminiscent of the real world, including a computer, so expect to hear back from me in a week or so.
P.S.
my parents totally gave me a laptop and a bottle of Captain Morgan for my birthday. They're so awesome.
every now and then, I still feel a little angry
I want you to know
That I am happy for you
I wish nothing but the best for you both
Another version of me, is she perverted like me?
Would she go down on you in a theatre?
And every time you say her name
Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
Until you died, until you died
But you're still alive
It was a slap in the face
How quickly I was replaced
And are you thinking of me when you fuck her
And everytime I scratch my nails down someone else's back
I hope you feel it, well can you feel it?I'm not bitter, I'm just better than you. And it's now overwhelmingly obvious that I was not the one losing my grip on reality. It was you.
21, alternatively titled "Happy Birthday to Me!"
Happy happy birthday to me!!!
As I've said before, I'm not nearly naive enough to believe that the thrill of turning 21 will last more than a few days, so I'm trying to fit as much drunken debauchery as I can into a short period of time. After that it's back to normal life, just with less hassle to go out. My parents TOTALLY got me a laptop and a bottle of Captain Morgan. It was awesome.
Last night when out with some friends, this freshman girl who was completely wasted wandered over to our table. She was hilariously intoxicated and obviously quickly losing control of her ability to function coherently, and thus she quickly became my new BFF. Until she
puked on our table. At that point I chose to terminate our friendship, and told her friends (who were watching indifferently from a nearby table) that one of them needed to take homegirl to the bathroom, NOW. But I was in such a good mood I actually laughed when she puked, instead of gagging like I normally would, not to say that it wasn't still disgusting. Poor girl.
By the way,
this blogger is the best. She's my other new BFF.
leaving
I've lived in southern Louisiana my entire life.
To be honest, I never really fit in completely with the "Southern Identity", so it's a good thing that the gulf coast and particularly New Orleans aren't really typical of the rest of the South. My maternal grandparents are from the Midwest, and my father's parents are natives of Texas, but both of my parents spent most of their lives in a suburb of New Orleans on the Northshore of Lake Ponchartrain, the same community where they raised me. For the first eighteen years of my life,
that town was my world.
There were a lot of things that I loved, and some other things that just didn't seem to be quite right to me. I loved the food, the water everywhere, Mardi Gras, the proximity of the wonder that is New Orleans. On the other hand, I never really "got" a lot of things that others embrace--I remember reacting with shock the first time I saw a rebel flag hanging in the garage of one of my parents' friends whom I respected and admired, and asking my mother if Mr. Kenny really thought that black people should be slaves, and if not why was he hanging that flag? It just didn't make sense to me.
My parents took me to D.C. when I was two, and since then I haven't been further north than Missouri or further west than Texas. Friends who vacationed to distant Northern cities would return with tales of how rude the people were, how bad the food was, how it was hellish compared to our blessed southern oasis. People refer to themselves proudly as "Southerners", and grown women self-identify as "G.R.I.T.S." (girls raised in the south, conveniently acronymed to resemble a popular southern breakfast food). Through a series of words and images, the rest of the country is constructed as a wasteland of hyper-liberal assholes with bad food and no culture. In the minds of southerners, the south is a bastion of truth, beauty, kindness, and all that is good.
I started to realize somewhere around the age of sixteen that perhaps I might be a liberal. And I began to notice that despite everything taught in our schools about equality and tolerance, racism and hatred are blatantly rampant. Suddenly I was seeing the south in more complicated terms, and it was hard for me. I just couldn't shake off the hypocrisy and ignorance that was becoming more and more obvious to me, but I still loved my family, my hometown, my people.
A year from now I'll be applying to grad school, and most of my choices are predictably in the south. However, a close friend of mine recently applied and was accepted to both NYU and Columbia in the same program that I plan on pursuing (yay Shannon!) and suggested that I apply as well. The idea is enticing, but the thought of moving to New York
terrifies me. The south may have its problems, but it's always been home. And while I'm eager to expand my horizons and grow personally and professionally, and I think moving to another part of the country could help me do that, I've only moved once and that was a mere ninety miles away from my hometown.
I worry that in gaining perspective and experience, I'll lose a part of who I am, and I'm afraid because I know that if I leave I'll probably never come back.
