Sunday, January 20, 2008


How do you write a blog post about one of the happiest days of your life?

I don't know, so I'm just posting a picture until I find the words.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Day 2 of Dream Job

I'm going to give you your own case, your own client to work with from the time he's sentenced to probation to the time he gets off. You're going to build the file from scratch, develop contacts at his home and his school, and check up on him just as a probation officer would. And if he violates the terms of his probation, you're going to go out to his house, pick him up, bring him in, book him, and follow his case through court.

I'm going to go arrest him?


Do I get handcuffs?


Do I get a gun?

No, you get karate lessons.


And a flashlight.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Hot BOO'dan, cold coosh coosh, come on tigahs, poosh poosh poosh!*

The glorious and distinguished football team of my beloved alma mater (also the institution at which I am currently pursuing a graduate degree) will be playing in the BCS National Championship Game come Monday at approximately 7:15 pm Central Standard Time.

I am a girl of enthusiastic school and team spirit. During four years of undergraduate education, I missed only two home football games, and compensated for these regrettable absences by attending two regular season away games, a conference championship game, and a postseason bowl game during my tenure as a student ticket holder.

I'm not sure I even knew that LSU had a football team until about six months before enrolling for my first semester, but that very year we won the National Championship title and from that day forward the bar has been set high in my mind regarding LSU's ability to out-tackle, out-pass, out-run and out-score even the most worthy of opponents.

Some of my dearest friends consider themselves to be intellectually superior to such things as football. I scoff at this notion. They're not that smart anyway.

I take it all back, they are all very smart. They just don't know how sweet it is to be a fan of the most glorious collegiate football team in the nation.

Besides, it's about more than just watching giant muscled men, many of whom I admit are attending college based solely on athletic ability, run back and forth across a field throwing a ball around and knocking each other over.

It's about taking an institution which has given you almost as much as your parents--friendships, mentors, life lessons, priceless memories, and a formal education, to name a few contributions--and showing your appreciation and loyalty by donning purple and gold head to toe and screaming like a maniac to RUN THE FUCKING BALL!!!

It's about being a part of something bigger. It's about a having three dearly held beliefs in common with 92,000 people I'm sharing a stadium with: Ole Miss can geaux to hell, Auburn girls have the clap clap clap, and USC is highly overrated. As there are generally very few beliefs I hold in common with the majority of my fellow Louisiana residents (blue vote red state), this phenomenon is very valuable to me.

I feel the need to mention that one of my dearest friends went to Auburn and, to my knowledge, she does not, in fact, have the clap. However, I choose to ignore this fact the one day each year that our two teams meet on a football field.

Quick side note: On Monday I will start my new internship at my dream job: Juvenile Probation. I've been wanting to work in juvenile justice since I was sixteen and hopelessly in love with an adorably mislead youth recently released from juvenile detention. I'm almost as excited about this as I am about the game.

At precisely five p.m. on Monday, I will conclude my first day at my (unpaid) dream job and promptly rush home to put on every garment and accessory in either purple or gold I own--right down to earrings and underwear. I will then rush to my favorite game watching venue, which is offering an amazing deal consisting of all the beer and popcorn my little belly can hold, a generous plate of red beans and rice, and a front row seat to watch the game on a giant projection screen, all for the amazingly low price of only ten dollars. Beer and popcorn in hand, I will enthusiastically observe my beloved tigers fight for what is sure to be glorious victory.

And now, to conclude my spirited rant on why my team is the greatest to ever grace the sport of football, I will share with you, dear internet, the lesser known, yet beautiful, second verse of LSU's alma mater. And if you think for a second that if I had the equipment, I wouldn't record my voice singing the entire song and upload it for you all to enjoy, you really don't know me very well at all.

All praise to thee, our Alma Mater, moulder of mankind,
May greater glory, love unending, be forever thine.
Our worth in life will be thy worth, we pray to keep it true,
And may thy spirit live in us, forever L-S-U!!!!!!!!!!

Also: A fellow blogger and LSU fan with a post I find hilarious and believe any football fan can appreciate.

*Translation: Hot boudin, cold couscous, come on tigers, push push push!

Thursday, January 03, 2008

I get that a lot

There was this guy that I dated on and off during my eight months of serial single escapades. I mentioned him in this post, but I don't think I ever went into any of the details.

His name was Justin, and he was, hands down, the weirdest guy I have ever dated.

On the surface, he was ideal. He was a cheerleader for LSU, which automatically entails powerful muscles and All-American good looks. On top of that, he was very intelligent, well-traveled, and spoke sveral languages fluently. Little did I know, however, that beneath the polished exterior lay a stranger truth.

This guy was a straight up freak. He had a habit of inviting me over and then taking all of his clothes off while we watched TV, then beginning to masturbate until I could be cajoled to join him. Next thing I knew, he was rubbing his penis between my buttcheeks. Face in pillow, I considered my options and decided to stay. If he wanted to go for full-blown anal, I'd probably have ample time to stop him, and at least I wasn't having to do any of the work. On another occassion, I was ambushed by an impromptu and uninvited salad tossing. Before I could protest, it was over and he had moved onto some other exotic sexual exercise.

He hated that I smoked, but instead of saying, "I'm sorry, I don't date smokers," he attempted to engage in various sex acts with me while never actually kissing my mouth. When I caught on I said, "Let me get this straight. You want me to suck your dick, but you don't want to kiss me." He nodded eagerly, pleased that I understood. I told him that's what prostitutes do and began to gather my clothing. I guess he quickly evaluated his priorities (a severe case of blue balls vs. kissing a smoker) because he begged me not to go and began kissing me passionately. I figured I was already half naked and decided to stay.

Like watching bad reality TV, I continued to engage him out of burning curiosity to see what would happen next. We only dated casually and I never actually had intercourse with him, but stories of his various quirks certainly made good fodder for girls night out. Shortly before he left to teach English to kids in South Korea for a year, I met Nick. I told Justin I couldn't see him one last time before he left because I was dating someone and it was getting serious. A couple of times since he came back to the States he's called or sent me a message on facebook, but I haven't ever replied. I thought he just wanted to hook up, and I was obviosuly still in a relationship.

This morning, more than a year and a half since I last saw him, he sent me a text message.

Justin: I miss u and want u real bad
Me: Are you serious?
Justin: Well, i just fantasize a lot about u. I remember being an ass bcuz u smoked. But i miss spanking ur cute booty and kissing ur body
Me: Well that's very flattering, but I am in a committed relationship now with someone I love.
Justin: Im glad ur in luv and said it nicely

And so, another element is added to the story of the strangest guy I ever let see me naked.