Again, already.

This morning, I had to meet my mom at the Cat Hospital. My sweet baby Nala, who is 16 now, was going into kidney failure. Given her age, the only real option was to put her to sleep. For the second time in 6 weeks, I watched a cat who I loved die.

We got her because in my freshman year of high school, I caught chicken pox from my brother. I missed a week of school right before Christmas break. I am horrible at math, but fantastic at standardized tests. As a result, I was wrongfully placed in Algebra I Honors. I struggled enough as it was, and then missing a week right before exams did me in. My homeroom teacher was my algebra teacher. I asked her for help, and she said, in her thick, unattractive Alabama accent, "You're an honors student. You can figure it out."

This lead to me get further and further behind. The Klumpp refused to help me. As a result, I failed Algebra I and had to go to summer school. In summer school, I had a great teacher. I understood almost everything and made straight As and Bs. The next year was geometry, and I made Bs and Cs with an okay teacher. But when I got to Algebra II, I had another amazing teacher and never got below a B. Senior year I took an extra English instead of math, because I was only required to take three years of math.

Anyway, the idea of summer school was mortifying. Only stupid people went to summer school. I wasn't stupid. I was not going to go to Rummel to take math classes in the summer. No way. Boys school? No thanks. Math? No thanks. Stupid people? No way.

Well, I was now one of them. Stupid.

To get me through it, my parents promised me that I could have anything I wanted. Figuring I could call their bluff, I asked for the one thing that I wanted that I was never supposed to have: a cat.

To my surprise and extreme glee, they said okay. I had to wait until after passing summer school, then until we returned from our trip to visit my relatives in Philadelphia.

We went to the SPCA and were led into a room full of cats. Cats of every color, size, and age. We found scared cats, ugly cats, pretty cats, friendly cats, and one who climbed onto peoples' backs when they bent over to pet other cats. Suddenly, there was my mom with a little grey stripey cat with a white belly. She had a pink nose with a small black dot right above it, a lioness face, and had chosen my mom. As she said, "She chose us. I couldn't turn her away." We brought her home, had her spayed, treated her ear mites, and fell in love. On that first night, she found her way into my bed. I couldn't believe it. I had a cat, and she loved me.

1994 was the summer that "The Lion King" came out. While in Philadelphia, my little cousins Crissy and Steffi wanted to see it, and we went with them. When we got my little girl cat, the only name that seemed to fit her was "Nala." Like the lioness in the movie.

When I had half days at school, she was what got me through being home alone. She was a moody little thing who snubbed my dad, loved me, and loved my mom. In 1997, when I went off to college, it was so hard on me. I missed her so much. If I had a rough day at school, or work, I couldn't hug her. It was all I wanted.

She hated Mark. She would growl at him, hiss at him...and when I brought Lily home between graduation and marriage, she hated her, too. Lily just wanted to play. When Nala was angry at Mark, Lily was there for him. But Nala always loved me.

In April of 2002, we were married. I had made the difficult decision to leave Nala with my parents. It was the only home she'd ever known, she and Lily didn't really get along, and my mom had taken care of her while I was in college. They bonded. No way could I tear her from her only home and the woman she loved more than me. It was hard, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

She'd been slowing down over the years. Had arthritis. She was as cranky as ever, but she would still allow me to hold her and love her. She was a creature of habit, sitting with my mom while she washed her hair each morning, drinking the water dripping from the faucet when mom was done. Waking my mom up every morning, curling up in bed with her.

Last night, my parents noticed she was twitching a bit. This morning, she didn't come in to wake my mom up. She wasn't eating or drinking. Mom brought her to the vet and found out that she was in kidney failure. Her numbers were off the chart, one kidney was enlarged, the other shrunken. She wasn't going to last long. They could treat her, but at 16, it wouldn't really be fair to her.

I'll miss her. I already do.

What a long 6 months...

So I've finally got some time to sit and post. I return to school on Thursday (the kids arrive on the 11th), and camp ended on Friday. Not a full week off, but I will take what I can get. It's given me time to do this.

First: I've changed the look of the blog for the first time...well...ever.

Second: Here's a preview of topics for this post.

1. Super Bowl
2. Saints parade
3. Greece
4. Portland
5. Oil spill
6. Shazzy
7. Camp
8. St. Petersburg
9. Things that are good.


Super Bowl

My last post was written the day of the Super Bowl. Guess you know we won, right? I was downtown that night, high-fiving strangers (all while pushing aside my inner Howie Mandell), hugging strangers, drinking Dom with my mom, alternately giggling and crying, watching people dance to "Halftime" in the streets, yelling "Who Dat" like an idiot... amazing. I can't properly describe the energy in the city.

My friends and I were reminiscing about it last night, and we were talking about what a long three months of Thanksgiving, Christmas, title games, Super Bowl, victory parade, and Mardi Gras itself. Poor livers. Long, but so very upbeat, positive, and memorable.

Saints Parade

We got out of school early that day. A group of fellow teachers walked to the end of the Carrollton Streetcar line and rode it as far up Canal as we could. We stood out in the (for New Orleans) freezing cold with a minimum of 800,000 of our closest friends. The lines for the streetcar after the parade were ridiculous. We decided to start walking down Canal, because we figured the cars would start emptying out, and we could hop on further down the line. FAIL. We walked the whole way back to school. We stopped at a great pizza place on Canal near Carrollton, rested, re-energized, and made it the rest of the way. My friend Michelle stayed behind because her husband works downtown, and his car was there. Well, our looong walk got us home around the same time their car ride did. Unbelievable.

Greece

Lucky me got to go on the school trip as a chaperone. We went to Greece. I hate flying and thought I would never have a chance to go to Europe, and I was very anxious. But a few Benadryl later, and that trans-Atlantic flight wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

It was an amazing journey. The weather was perfect the whole 9 days. The food was delicious. Being in the presence of the ruins devoted to the mythological beings I've loved since I was about 7 years old was breathtaking, as was the countryside. Athens itself is pretty funky, but the other places we visited: Delphi, Olympia, Cape Sounion, and three islands: Aegina, Poros, and Hydra, were gorgeous. In Delphi and Epidaurus, I stood in ancient Greek theaters. Me, a theatre nerd and drama teacher. I was speechless, especially in Epidaurus, where the amphitheater has naturally perfect acoustics. We rode donkeys in Hydra, an island where donkeys are they only means of transportation. No vehicles are on the island. We ran a race in the original Olympic stadium. Words cannot do this trip justice. And now, I have a travel bug. I want to see so much more of the world. It's so big, and I am so small, comparatively.

Portland

I went to the Journalism Educators Association Convention about two weeks later. It was my first trip to Oregon, and I fell in love with the city. Public transportation in the form of the light rail is amazing and I realllllly wish we had that here. Or if the streetcars had more lines, that would also do. I learned a lot at the convention, but most importantly, I took a very difficult exam: the Certified Journalism Educator exam. And a few months later, I learned that I passed it and am one of 4 CJEs in the state of Louisiana.

Oil Spill

Over 100 days ago, my state was met with more problems when the Deepwater Horizon Well exploded and started leaking no...pouring... oil into the Gulf of Mexico.

I am so tired of people thinking that this is no big deal or that it won't affect them. Well, to you, those same people who complained when our children overcrowded your schools, our people invaded your towns, and our adults looked for work...guess what. Those areas where the oil, fishing, shrimping, crabbing, and oystering communities thrive...most of whom have known only these trades, who have done this for generations, who will lose their livelihoods, their ways of life, their homes...they will move out and invade your lives again. The jobs, the schools, the towns....all endangered. That seafood you eat? Where does it come from? Already, we had dinner at two seafood and po-boy restaurants where oysters were not available. The brown pelican, that beautiful, graceful bird which represents our state, was endangered. Recently, it came off that list. Guess what? This oil spill is sending it right back. Here's 100 days of tragedy, animated: http://www.nola.com/news/gulf-oil-spill/index.ssf/2010/08/graphic_brings_together_multip.html

Shazzy

My sweet man, my Shazbot Schmoo, stopped eating and started hiding. Two Sundays ago, he could barely walk and wasn't interested in food. He let out a horrendous yowl and vomited bile all over the hallway. There was so much. I didn't know a cat could have that much vomit...especially when there was no food in his belly. Mark was not home, and I called him, scared. We went to an emergency vet center, and they kept him overnight. He was dangerously anemic, and he needed an emergency blood transfusion.

The next day, he regained interest in food, seemed livelier. We were supposed to pick him up that night, but they diagnosed him with feline leukemia, probably picked up in 2008 when he escaped while we were getting our dishwasher installed. It is a virus, and you can go two years after contracting it.

He was never sick a day in his life until that horrible weekend. He started having respiratory distress and they had to drain the area around his heart. He stopped eating. They kept him overnight. The next day, we picked him up, and immediately knew we didn't have much time with him. They thought maybe he would eat in familiar surroundings, but he didn't. Around midnight, we knew he was in too much pain, was unable to breathe well, and was refusing food, water, and medicine. He'd soiled a duffel bag he'd been laying on under the guest bed in Mark's office.

We brought him to the emergency place again, and the doctor agreed that there was only one way to end it. He was in my lap as it happened. I really can't write about it.

Shazzy was 6 years old when he died on July 22, 2010. I love you and miss you, my little man cat.

Camp

Spent my 15th year at camp. The success of it lies in Jessica, our fantastic returning camp director, who amazes me continually. Even more amazing? Next year will be the official marker of me having been there for half of my life. Zoinks. It was a good summer. We ended Friday, and I can't wait until next June.

St. Petersburg

I also spent a weekend in St. Pete (Florida, not Russia) at the Poynter Institute for Media Studies. I earned a spot (one of 22 people in the country) in a workshop on bringing your high school media online. It was absolutely awesome, and I learned so much. I have a million and one ideas for the journalism class I teach, and I am very excited about implementing them. In addition, we had a mini-getaway. We saw the Dali Museum, which was fabulous, ate some good food, and enjoyed being away. We never get to take vacations together, and so this was great and long overdue.

Things that are good

Lily has stopped living in fear. She is playful, highly visible, and using the litter box for the first time in 6 years. This is so very bittersweet.

I am teaching things that I taught last year, all of which I enjoy.

I am looking forward to being with my "school friends" again. I've missed them the past two months.

I'm sure there's more stuff, but I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment. I'll try to update again faster than 6 months.

Did I fall into Bizarro World this week?

So, I teach in a school for kids with learning differences -- dyslexia, ADHD, and Asperger's are our biggest draws. I tend to forget that some of them are socially inept. They seem really normal until we take them in public, or until days where something really bizarre happens. Don't get me wrong. I love them. But social skills are not their strong points.

This week has been ripe with such days... Make sure you read all the way through. The second story is way better than the first.

Tale the first: Sticky Buns

A few months ago, a former student came to my classroom and said he had a little tiny present for me. Every year, he brings me a Christmas present still. He's a nice boy. A little while later, he shows up at my door with a 2-liter of root beer. I'm not a fan of root beer, so I try clever dodging strategies. He thought it was a day where you could wear jeans to school if you brought in two 2-liter soft drinks. Well, it was, but only for the grammar school. Instead of just donating the bottles anyway, he and his friends drank one bottle, and he decided to bestow the other one on me. I was touched. Slightly weirded out, but touched. I run out of avoidance strategies, and end up stuck with the root beer. I stick it under my desk, where it stays for the next couple of months.

Fast-forward to the other day, when we had to rearrange my classroom to make room for this massive AV closet they brought for the 12" flat screen. I notice that I bumped my big stack of Scholastic Book Order catalogs under my desk, which knocked the root beer over. I straightened the stack, then pushed them further back, and put the root beer right next to it. Why? Because I didn't want kids fooling with it.

Tuesday afternoon, I teach last period down the hall. I return to my room, only to discover that Terry, the teacher using my room at that time, left a note on my desk (name changed to protect the guilty):

Aimée --

Bob "accidentally" knocked over your 2-liter of root beer. I told him he has to bring you a new one tomorrow.

Terry

I walk to the front of my desk, see no spots on the ground, shrug, find the bottle in the trash (which, by the way, looked like it was squeezed by Andre the Giant and has an unscrewed cap. Interesting. Not being a fan of root beer, I have never opened it. I kept it at school so that the next time there was a 2-liter collection, I could bring it to the donations. "Oh, well," I think. "At least I no longer have to worry about the root beer."

Now, I have a very wide desk. To get the bottle and "accidentally" trip on it requires you to "sweep the leg!" under my desk and kick it out.

I sit at my desk and discover that I'm sticking to it. Then I notice that my butt feels damp. I look around, and my purse, the shoes I was originally wearing until I walked to the store and changed into flip flops but forgot to change back into, my candy jar, the arms of my chair, the legs of my chair, the charger for my laptop, and the seat and back of my chair are coated in sticky goodness.

And now I seethe.

I took Germ-X and Kleenex and did my best to remove the stickiness for now. I then filled out a write-up form with a VERY wordy yet detailed explanation, attach a recess detention to it, and wait.

Bernie comes in to talk to Jenn and me, and I pushed back in my chair a little bit to pick up a pen I dropped. I reach under my desk to pull myself closer to the desk again, and what do I discover, Wet, sticky, brown finger tips. I scream, "ROOOOOOOOOOOOOT BEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" in anger, then rant about how Terry must have run away scared, haha. I'm kidding, of course, and I'm not mad at him, but I am mad at Bob and the situation.

The next morning, Bernie starts baiting Terry with tales of my wrath over the situation. Meek little Terry, who is an easy blusher, comes in and stammers an apology as I'm heading to my off-period and Bernie teaches in my room. Bernie is loving every second of this. I manage to convey my non-Terry directed anger to Terry, and figure out that Bernie has scared him. Am I that intimidating? Or is Bernie that good at lying?

Tale the second: "I Have a Cat. His Name is Bony."

As if the root beer explosion isn't crazy enough, I get pushed to the limits this morning.

We have a kid with some communication difficulties and some form of autism spectrum. He's very bright, but he can be hard to understand. He adores me....he's the one who so fiercely defended me against the kid who made lewd remarks about me and attempted to grab my rear earlier in the year. Anyway, I was recoding some grades on my computer when "Mickey" starts rambling to me. I'm trying to concentrate on not screwing up grades, and I'm half listening. All I hear is, "I have a cat. His name is Bony. Want to see why his name is Bony?"

Expecting to have him shove a wrinkly photo of a skinny kitty cat in my face, I say, "Sure." He knows I love cats. He asks me about my pictures of my cats on my desk (What? I don't have kids. I have cats.). I figure he's got a picture of his.

Mickey says, "Look. It's on the desk." I look up to find him pointing at a desk with a Ziploc freezer bag on it. "Where?" I say. No photos are on the desk. "In the bag," he says.

I look closer and am horrified to discover that Bony the cat IS, in fact, rather aptly named. Bony the cat is a decomposing bag of fur and bones. I decide now would be a good time to freak out on the kid.

"WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT!?!?!?!??!?!"
"For science class."
"DOES YOUR TEACHER KNOW YOU HAVE THAT?!?!??!?!??!?!"
"Yeah. I asked her."

There's only one "her" who teaches 8th grade science: my friend, Kristin. Kristin, who only eats organic food and cruelty-free meat. Kristin, who planned a mock protest in front of my room when I wore my Cruella De Vil costume at Halloween. Kristin, who does not believe in dissecting animals and took a "C" in high school biology because she refused to dissect. Kristin, who takes in foster animals. Kristin, who is an environmentalist. Kristin, the closest thing I've found to a real-live member of PETA. This story doesn't add up.

"I seriously doubt that Ms. O would want you to bring that to her class. ARE YOU SURE that she said yes and ARE YOU SURE that you asked her about it?????????"
"Yes. We're studying about mammals and bones and teeth and I told her I have this and she said I could bring him."

At this point, Jenn steps in and suggests he put it away, as I'm bordering on hysterics and absolute disgust. Kristin was in her off-period in the teachers' lounge. I march in there, and apparently have one awesome expression on my face, because Bernie is in there and greets me with, "Hello. Are you okay?" and a concerned expression. I point at Kristin and say, "I have an important head's up for you. Did you by any chance give Mickey permission to bring a DECOMPOSING CAT IN A ZIPLOC BAG TO SCHOOL TODAY!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?"
Now it's her turn to look ill. "NO! Why would you think I would do that?"
"Well, maybe because DECOMP ZIPLOC CAT IS SITTING ON A DESK IN MY CLASSROOM!!!!!!!"

Poor Terry was sleeping on the couch in there, and he woke up. He's as red as the couch, Bernie is practically crying, and they are laughing up a storm. Brendan is there at some point during my freak-out episode, and all three are rolling. Physically rolling, in Terry's case. Kristin and I are near nausea, both yelling and dumb-founded.

Apparently, during class, while they were, yes, learning about mammals and their teeth and bones, and said he had a skull at home, could he bring it. Kristin asked what kind. He said a cat skull. She said she guessed he could.

What he failed to mention was that said cat skull was still attached to the cat's other bones....and its fur...and resided in a Ziploc freezer bag.

Bernie kindly ran interference for us and convinced Mickey to put Bony in his locker for the rest of the day.

I went to Guidance and said, "I need a Guidance Counselor for myself, STAT!" Candice looked up and laughed and asked what was wrong. I told her my tale, and she said, "Oh yeah, he's bringing it for science class." Apparently, he brought it in Guidance and showed it to her while she was meeting with a parent and a student and couldn't really deal with it at the time. She said he has had it for a few years and found it outside. EW EW EW EW EW EW EW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Add these parents to my "List of people I want to punch." They're number 14, correct?

Part 9: Storm me once, shame on you. Storm me twice, shame on me.

Recap: Mark was living in Baton Rouge in an RV for work, my parents moved back home, Geoff was staying with Calie's family in River Ridge, and I was living with my in-laws in Morgan City. School was calling me back on Sept. 26, but Hurricane Rita was headed straight for Texas and southwestern Louisiana.....Morgan City included.

The winds of Rita from the outer bands of the storm were teasing Morgan City early in the afternoon. I gassed up my car while waiting for Mark to come in. I was truly a nervous wreck. Katrina had changed a lot of things, and apparently, I was also changed. We'd had no rain in the almost month since the storm had hit, and the thoughts of wind, rain, darkness, thunder, lightning, and a possible hit by another hurricane were not doing anything for my mental state. I was in an extremely frenzied state, made worse by everyone telling me to leave. When I think back to that point, which was about 3 months ago, I am still uncomfortable. We've had some rains since then, and it is very unsettling. Luckily, it's only rained maybe 2 or 3 more times.

I told my parents that the outer bands were hitting us, and my father said that that was probably not true. But when I got out the car to fill it up, a big gust came through and caught the door, ripping it from my hands as I went to shut it, and slammed it into my arm. I had a bruise for about a week. I grimaced, I guess, when that happened, because an old man made a beeline for me. He evidently thought I grimaced because I didn't know how to pump my own gas. He came to demonstrate where to put my card, to tell it I want a reciept, how to put the nozzle in the car, how to select my gas...all after I politely declined his assistance by telling him, with a twinge of pain behind my heart, that my father owns a service station, and that I could handle it. He even called me sweetheart or something else patronizing. He stayed there explaining it all to me until I was done, then left. Sigh.

I drove to my in-laws' in sporadic rains, feeling better about the car, but worse about the weather. Around 7 that evening, Mark made it back to Morgan City, and we settled in for what was, to me, a very long evening.

While she was no picnic, Rita was not as bad as she could have been. She spared Houston, which made us happy. My grandmother's assisted living center originally evacuated to a hotel in Alexandria, but when the do-not-return orders were issued, they moved to other ALC's in their chain. My 86-year-old grandmother with Alzheimer's ended up in Houston. As Rita loomed, my family worried. My mother called Houston, only to find out that they had decided that they had enough staff prepared to stay, and that they would. Rita looked to be as bad, if not worse, than Katrina. The thousands of evacuees who ended up in Houston had to evacuate for a second time. A JCC kid I've known since she was 4, who will be 15 in March, called my cell phone panicking, because she was in Houston and was packing up to leave again. I tried to comfort her, but could not, I am afraid, because I had enough on my mind. They ended up in Dallas until after the storm, if I'm not mistaken, then moved back.

So anyway, we were all Very Concerned about my grandmother. We would not have time to make that 6 hour drive to get her, plus do it again on the way back, to ensure her safety. In addition, none of the family could provide for her needs, especially if New Orleans caught any of Rita. All we could do was worry. There were two ALC’s run by this company in Houston. Hers decided to stay. The other loaded up the residents and evacuated them. But they never reached their destination, as the bus caught fire and killed all of the passengers inside. My uncle in Philadelphia called very upset because he’d heard about one of them. My parents hadn’t heard yet, and there was brief panic until we found out that it was the other ALC. My grandmother was safe. However, Kurt, my cousin Alicia’s husband, knew someone who was on that bus. It seemed that the tragedies would keep arising for our city.

Instead of slamming Houston, Rita wobbled a little more easterly and did a number on…southwest Louisiana. We had probably category 2 winds in Morgan City. Morgan City found more than half its residents without power. A storm surge drove salty waters into the drinking water. A tree across the street fell. Leaves were everywhere. Small branches were everywhere. The fence broke. Shingles were in the street. We never did lose electricity, but it blinked on and off all night. To take our minds off what was going on around us, we played poker, microwaved popcorn, and ate ice cream, since we figured we would lose electricity and would therefore also lose the ice cream. But all that happened was a lot of flickering. And serious wind damage. My in-laws said Rita was worse for them than Katrina was, if that tells you anything.

That night, as the storm raged on (WHY do they only strike at night????), I had even more trouble sleeping than usual. As I mentioned earlier, sleeping was, and, occasionally, still is, an issue for me. I did not get much that night. The sounds of the fence breaking, the wind slapping the house, the rain beating down, and things slamming into the house, were a bit much for me. I had vowed I would never stay for a storm again, and there I was. But where could I have gone?

The next morning, as things slowed down, we watched as the Industrial Canal breached again. The Lower 9^th Ward was in even more trouble. We heard that the patch in the 17^th Street Canal levee appeared to mostly hold up, but that the area by our house was flooding again. I believe I posted a picture of that from my father. But most troubling were the shots of lower Terrebonne Parish and lower Lafourche Parish and the areas around New Iberia. They looked like my neighborhood. Luckily, many had learned from New Orleans and left, but there were, of course, the old sticklers who never leave and refused to leave. I felt for those people. We were joined by an unspeakable bond.

I was supposed to go to Metairie on Saturday, but with the winds and some road closures due to the standing water on the highways, we were unable to leave until Sunday. Mark was off all weekend, and so he was able to help.

For having nothing, we sure had a lot to bring to Metairie. We had been shopping, so we had more clothes than we left with. People sent care packages, so that was all extra. We brought the two plastic drawer carts that were bought for us to store our clothing in with us, as well as a wire rack for the couple pairs of shoes I’d acquired, through hand-me-downs and Houma trips. On top of that, we had the things we’d evacuated with, cats included. Junior and Menou, my in-laws’ cats, were not very sorry to see my Lily and Shazzy leave. However, poor Nala and Icarus, my parents’ cats, had a lot in store for them. They were already resettling into their now carpetless, mildly funky-smelling home, and now we were bringing our two cats to disrupt their routines. What fun would await that introduction?

It took Mark to take the cats and the things he was bringing back to his RV that night, plus a trunk-load, plus me and a trunkload and a back-seat-load, plus Mr. Loy and the plastic “furniture” they were lending us, to get everything to Metairie.

Just as we were leaving, my cell phone rang. It was the insurance adjuster for my car. For having a good driving record and low mileage, I got some additional money. Four years ago, my father paid $4,000 for my used Toyota Corolla. I had a $500 deductible, but got $200 for contents. So before the deductible, they were going to give me $4,100 for it. Something went our way! We technically turned a profit on an 11-year-old second-hand car!

We made it back to Metairie that Sunday afternoon. When I moved out, my parents figured that I was gone for good. So they hurried me along to get my belongings out, and turned my room into an office. That’s where I am now. Sitting where my cedar chest once stood. That’s still here…but it’s been converted into a wrapping paper holder. Where my bed once stood, there is a desk. A file cabinet replaced my dresser. What makes this even sadder is that those pieces, save for my old cedar chest (this one is the one from when I was a kid, not the one Mark’s uncle built for our wedding), is all gone. Saturated and hacked and rusted and peeling and disgusting. Even the ugly old carpet, which tormented me for most of my life, was gone, save for a square under the big file cabinet that didn’t get very wet.

Geoff moved into his apartment in March or so. He left because he wanted to. I left because I was married. So while they figured I wouldn’t come back, there was a possibility that he could some day. So his room sat empty, except for a TV and the exercise bike…a sad attempt at an exercise room. They left the TV for us and put the bike back in the garage. We unloaded the cars, then Mark had to go back to Baton Rouge while Mr. Loy had to get back to Morgan City. Sitting in the windowsill were some of Geoff’s He-Man figures. He’d found his Foo Fighters poster and hung that on the wall, then tacked an old issue of The Nicholls Worth (sadly and ironically enough, it was the first issue in full-color, which I’d done for….9/11.) and a He-Man thing on the wall to make it have some of our personalities in it. He taped a note to the door, which reads, “Mae and Mark -- It ain’t much, but I did what I could to make my old home your new home.” It touched us. It really did.

He and Calie stopped by later. They helped me sort through our belongings. Geoff’s old mirror still hung on the wall, so we put the two plastic carts under it like a dresser. I took the shoe cart and put it in the closet. We stacked some things along the walls and in the corners. Geoff found my dad’s little workbench in the garage and put the TV on it, then got the old Nintendo out of our parents’ room and hooked it up. My dad bought an “elevated air mattress,” which was double the thickness of a standard one, and we inflated it and put sheets on it. My mom washed Geoff’s old comforter and we threw it on top. Then, I made a nightstand by stacking the photo albums and the huge Tupperware bin of the smaller albums and loose pictures next to the bed. I hung the clothes up, and set up the litter box, some food, and some water for the cats, then let them explore. Poor little things.

I don’t think I discussed Lily’s cold. A week or so after we were in Morgan City, Lily’s eyes started running. It looked like she was crying. I looked up “Do cats cry?” on the Internet, and discovered that cats do feel sad and depression, but that it is manifested in behavioral changes, not tears. If a cat is “crying,” then it’s because of allergies, something getting in the eyes, or an illness. That night, while we were in bed, we heard a tiny little, “Achoo!” We made an appointment with the vet. I asked if it had anything to do with our rough evacuation and current situation, and the vet said it was possible. Some cats get a form of herpes, which causes them to get colds. The colds come out when they are stressed out. We were given an eye cream, which she did not want to take and she fought us every time, and an antibiotic, to be given orally. The first few doses were given while Mark was still in Morgan City, but then he had to go to Baton Rouge that week. I had to administer her medication all by myself twice a day for the rest of those two weeks. I gave up on her eye cream, because she was too rebellious and it was too hard to do on my own. But she finished her antibiotics the day before we came home. That was a good thing, because Nala and Icarus would not catch her illness. Shazzy, Menou, and Junior all made it without catching it, so we were very relieved. We paid for the vet and the medicine with a donation sent to us by one of my fellow forumers. It had come in the mail the night we discovered she was sick. How lucky we were!

That first night sleeping on an air mattress in Geoff’s old room was strange. It was nice having dinner with my parents. It was nice being with my own family for a change. But things were so very different. The most obvious, of course, being that I was living in Geoff’s room, with clothes I didn’t recognize, on fake furniture, in a house that no longer held carpet. We have to walk with something on our feet, because the foam backing on the carpet would not all come up, but it flakes off when you walk on it. When the weather started to change, it was going to be very cold to walk on. We have to be careful, because the carpet tacks along the walls and in the doorways where the carpets either changed or became tile floors are still there. Plus, several little things had changed. Minor things, like my mom changing the kitchen drawers and cabinets a little. And big things, like Geoff being gone. I was now only an hour away from Mark instead of two, but I still would only see him if he had a couple of days off. Entercom’s return to New Orleans was indefinite. So while my situation was sometimes improving, it was also hitting brick walls. Luckily, I would have work the next morning. Not class, but the beginning of moving campuses.

Stay tuned for Part 10: Moving week begins

Part 6: Everything starts sinking in in Morgan City

Recap: We just made it out of New Orleans to Baton Rouge, thanks to John "Spud" McConnell and were picked up by my in-laws, who had no damage in Morgan City to speak of.

We arrived in Morgan City that afternoon feeling exhausted. But, even though we hadn't slept since we woke up around 6:30 p.m. Monday night, and it was now Tuesday night, we were beyond sleep. We were brought to the shop Mark's family owns and saw some of his family. They were very happy to see us. While I would have rather seen my own family, I was grateful to see them. It was some people we knew, who were safe and fine and had electricity and were going about their everyday lives. But at the same time, it was very upsetting, because here were people, some of whom never even lost electricity, going about their daily lives as though nothing had happened. We told bits and pieces of our story, and we were finally taken to his parents' house.

We were due to visit them the following weekend for the Shrimp and Petroleum Festival. We arrived early. They had purchased some king sized sheets, an egg crate, and a bed bridge to turn the two pushed together twin beds into a king sized bed. When we eventually went to bed, it was a true luxury. We'd been sleeping on my unzipped sleeping bag under a little fleece blanket on the floors of WWL for a while.

I say for a while because it's reflective of our bodily clocks at the time. We had been catching sleep in cat naps whenever the chance arose, and it was very rare that we had such a chance. As a result, we had no idea of what day or time it was. That went on until about the weekend, when we fit into a schedule of sorts.

Once we got to Morgan City, our cell phones shut down again. But we had Internet access. We got online for the first time in what seemed like months, judging by the way our bodies felt. The e-mails, the blog messages, the MySpace Forum my group of friends and I have, and my other forum: all were jumping with questions regarding everyone's safety. But one question that kept popping up was, "Has anyone heard from Aimée and Mark? Are they okay?" We typed up brief notes letting people know we'd made it out of the rapidly declining conditions of our (once) fair city. We promised more in-depth messages later. We were too close to the tragedy, and more than likely suffering from shock. We need to decompress.

We ate our second real meal since Saturday night. I couldn't tell you what it was, to be honest. But I once again ate as I never had before. I'd lost a few pounds, which surprised me since we hadn't really moved around. But then I remembered we weren't really eating anything, and it made sense. I continued until I'd lost between 5-7 pounds by the time I got where I am now. I've been eating a lot better here, and so some of those have come back. But oh well. At least it's because I'm eating, as opposed to not.

The main role people seemed to adopt was to tell us that everything was going to be okay, that we didn't know anything for sure, and that our stuff was just stuff that could be replaced.

I'll be brutally honest here. If I can't get it out, then it will fester inside me and so I have to say it all. Just remember that these are thoughts I was having at the immediate moment, not thoughts that popped up after the fact. I just feel that if I'm not honest, then why do this? I am not writing this for entertainment purposes; I am writing this blog to get it out of me, and to have it for posterity, and to let people in on how things were and, eventually as I catch up on my blog, how I'm doing. If you don't like what I have to say in this place, well, no one is forcing you to read.

The running theme the entire time we were in Morgan City and Thibodaux was as I said before. At one point, I told Mark, through tear-laden eyes and snot-dripping nose, that if one more person said "It'll be okay," "Cheer up," or "It's just stuff," that I was NOT responsible for my words and actions. I did not want to be placated. I did not want to be told to cheer up. I did not want to be told that everything will be fine. Because, yeah, some day, it may be. But it will take a VERY long time for that to happen. And the worst of all was that every person who told me, "It's just stuff" was someone who had lost NOTHING, usually including electricity. Yeah. It may just be stuff. But it's OUR stuff. It's stuff we got as wedding presents. Stuff from our childhoods. Stuff we'd saved up for and bought during the last three and a half years of financial struggle in our marriage. We were just turning our lives around, finally.

Our marriage has been frought with trouble: Right after we were married, Mark was laid off when his temporary job at Toys R Us ended. He went to work for my father at his service station: a job he hated and knew nothing about that had him out in all extreme temperatures, which he kept until the storm ended. A week or so after that, I was laid off from that Newspaper Which Shall Not Be Named. That day, Lily escaped for the first time but was under the house. Three months later, I got the Kids Konnection gig for a grand total of 14 hours a week. I bounced a check the week before I got the first paycheck. Not because I bought frivolous stuff, but because I'd been helping Mark with the bills all along. A couple months later, I mentioned that I wasn't making enough money and would probably have to look for another job, and then I got more hours and a pay raise. Mark started working that summer on Sunday mornings at Entercom. The following spring, when my more hours kicked in, that included me working on Sundays. For three years, roughly, we worked 6-day work-weeks. Neither of us was paid much. We had a lot of financial problems because of this. I went through a lot of heart-ache getting into grad school. Then, things were starting to look great for us. Mark was getting more hours at Entercom and less at my dad's. I finally got my job, and we made plans all summer long. I would be making almost twice what I'd been making. Mark was possibly getting a raise to go with a sort of promotion he'd gotten. We both were losing our Sunday hours, but it wasn't going to impact us financially. I started my teaching job, and I fell immediately in love with the job, the administration, the kids, and the cameraderie of the staff at my grade-level. I was planning on keeping up with Travel Camp and helping with birthday parties at the J for extra money...money that we would put towards the vacation we've been dying to have since...well, since our honeymoon ended....but have never been able to afford. Two weeks after school started, Katrina took everything from us.

I just feel we'll never get ahead.

So anyway, every time someone who was sitting comfortably in his or her own home, or car, going to work, or school, used electricity, saw family and friends regularly, and didn't have to worry about what would happen in the near future said, "It's just stuff," I wanted to bash in his or her head. I tried to be polite. I tried to be nice. But there's only so much a person can stand when she's in the depths of despair and feels alone.

The worst was when we went to a football game at Mark's alma mater and someone turned around with an "It's just stuff." She then went on to say that, "Water damage is not as bad as fire damage. We had a fire one time, and we never got the smoke out. But we got a couple inches (try EXACTLY a couple, at most) in the apartment when Allison came through, and all we did was turn everything upside-down and it dried. Everything's going to be okay. At least it wasn't fire."

I will not say who said that, as it is not fair. I gritted my teeth, stared at the game, and tried to grin, but I'm sure it came off as a grimace. I almost hope it did. The mild damage from Allison was not a levee breaching a few blocks from her home...this was the condo they owned but did not live in. It cannot be compared. If it was an attempt to make me feel better, it had the opposite effect.

I know each comment was made in an attempt to console or placate us, and the effort is appreciated. But no one was allowing me to grieve the way I needed to grieve. The constant news watching was making things worse. The few times the TV was not on a news station, it was on Discovery and the History Channel, where specials about hurricanes and the levee system and the Causeway aired almost 'round the clock. Other than that, we only saw "Big Brother" and "Rock Star: INXS." At least we enjoyed INXS until the final episode.

Anyway, that first night, around 9 p.m., my cell phone went crazy. Eighteen voice mails and 22 texts came through all at once. Apparently, I would have cell service at night. I scribbled down strange long distance numbers and returned a few calls. I made some more to other people, and a texting war waged on through the next few nights. We went to bed around midnight or so, and did not wake up until 2 p.m. Wednesday.

But did we feel rested? Not really. There was a split second of feeling mild curiosity over where I was and how did I get there. Then I realized it. And remembered why. And cried again. I did not have a restful night of sleep. I woke up all night long, sometimes in tears, sometimes feeling panic. Always feeling horrible. It was what I was afraid of. As I slept, I kept seeing everything and reliving everything again. It got to the point where I didn't want to sleep anymore. I wanted everything to stop and to go away. I wanted everythign to return to normal. The nightmares, or reliving sessions, as I call them, went on in full force for about two weeks. Then, they slowly tapered off. I still get them; I wake in panic, in fear, in confusion, in tears. It's not as often, 6 weeks (has it really been that long?) later, but it still happens. And more than likely will keep happening. And that is why I write.

On Wednesday night, I was able to get in touch with Kate. I think this was my lowest point. When I heard her voice, which was full of fear because she hadn't heard from her parents since the storm, with Lance's last sentence to his sister being, "Oh shit, a tree just fell on the shed, I have to go" from across the lake in Folsom at our mothers' sister's house. The two of us lost it. I'd cried on the phone every time I spoke to someone. But for some reason, when Kate and I spoke, the two of us were inconsolable. We finally hung up the phone because neither of us could understand the other very well. After I hung up, I went into hysterics. No one knew what to do with me. My in-laws watched news programs almost 24 hours a day. They get the Morgan City, Houma, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and Lafayette news stations. They also get the cable news networks. They did not stop watching it. For a while, neither could I. But then it became a grim reminder of what we'd been through and what we'd lost.

We found out that there were suicides and rapes and murders in the Superdome Tuesday night. We were almost subjected to taking shelter there. Remember what they had been doing Monday night? They were singing Gospel music. What had happened to turn hopefulness and joy over survival into the basest of human behavior? Things were bad for my hometown; they were deteriorating rapidly. Later, it would come out that only one person leapt to his death. And only a couple of rapes happened. And murder? Allegedly, only 2 people were killed by violence once the Dome was evacuated. Allegedly.

Looting was taken to a new level. We were not the only sanctioned looters. Calie's dad is a Jefferson Parish cop. He was living in the Landmark Hotel with their tiny precious dog. Sheriff Harry Lee sanctioned their looting of the Whole Foods Market across the street. People started out looting for survival...black, white, yellow, brown, purple plaid....all looted for survival. Police stood at the doorways, watching, keeping the peace. Then some got greedy. They moved to electronics, tennis shoes, non-essential items. Riots broke out. Things were even worse than imagined.

But amidst this unimaginable ugliness, there was some beauty. I belong to an Internet forum. I will protect the people there by not naming it. But they knew I was at the Hyatt, and that I was staying for the storm. I joined it at Danielle's request in 2001, posted a lot at the beginning, then slowly tapered off. I had slowed down a lot in posting...maybe making a comment once every week. But I popped into the Hurricane Season topic and posted what we were doing. We recieved a lot of well-wishes. When I logged in on Thursday, Wednesday, whatever, after the storm, a frenzy of worry broke out. It seems that one person organized a care package relief effort. People were pledging to send stuff to us as soon as I could post my address. I was amazed at what I saw. I sent my address to the leader, Misti, and in a few hours, I started getting e-mails and private messages like you would not believe. Days later, I got my first package. I will reserve some tact and not say what was in each package, but we've gotten money orders, checks, gift cards, nice-smelling lotions, CDs, cat toys, cash, puzzle books, candles, and homemade cookies, to name a few items. And each was accompanied by a beautiful note. Some simply snet notes, and each note has meant more to me than anything else. These are some of the most beautiful people in the world. People whose real names I did not know until I opened the mail. People I've never laid eyes on or heard speak. People from all over the U.S., Canada, London, and Wales. Messages sent from Israel, Australia, and more. Each time a letter or package arrived, I cried. If people were around, I usually held it together. But if I was alone, or as soon as I could be, I cried. These are debts I can never repay. I hope I never have to. I will always love these kindred spirits of mine.

Also happening in that first week, it was arranged to get my parents from Auburn to Morgan City, where they would live rent-free in Mark's great-grandparents' home, next door to his grandparents. The house had been empty since 1993, but his grandparents still own it. They were, as you may recall, getting kicked out in favor of the Auburn football fans and had nowhere else to go. That week, Mark and Phil helped Pops with some maintenance, and Maw Maw made sure the house was clean. My in-laws brought me to Rouse's to stock the fridge with things they like. The house was made as homey as possible, with a sunporch for the cats to live. When I called my dad to tell him they had a place to go, he had to hand the phone to my mom. He was rendered speechless. Just physically speechless. My mom sounded scared when I handed the phone to her. When I told her what I'd just told my dad, she cried. I had to tell Geoff, because she couldn't. I think we all cried that night. We had to send them around the state in a round-about way, because there were reports of horrendous traffic in big cities like Baton Rouge, and they also couldn't get there through New Orleans, as a total evacuation was in order. Phil and Mr. Loy plotted out a perfect route. It took them about 15 hours to get to Morgan City, including a couple of hours waiting in line for gas along the way. But they made it safely, and I don't think I've ever been happier to see my family or hug them in my whole life. Happy tears were shed for the first time since the storm.

I spent as much time as I could with my parents. For fun, we went across the street to watch two football games...including Homecoming...for Mark's high school. Mark went to work at the family shop. I applied for a job as a babysitter at the health club, a job I was overqualified for, I believe, as I never heard back from them. We went to Thibodaux and registered me at my alma mater, Nicholls State, as a visiting student. Colleges were accepting displaced students on "good faith credit." I was losing my mind sitting around doing nothing all day. I had to do something. I took charge of my life and tried to get some normalcy to return. Maw Maw and Pops brought us to Houma and bought us some clothes. Devon mailed us some clothes. Emi sent us some clothes. Karen and Anne brought over some shoes and clothes they didn't need any more. Kate sent me things. Female Blake sent stuff. I was too numb to everything. Too overwhelmed. I never thought I'd have to accept charity.

Accepting and learning to accept charity was hard. I felt like I was taking things without needing them. I felt guilty because I hadn't done anything to deserve this stuff. It was hard to accept. I had to keep reminding myself that I had nothing left. I'm still not comfortable with it. When people ask, "What do you need? Is there anything I can do?" I clam up. I don't know how to answer that. People have enough stuff to do without having to take care of us. And where do I begin with what we need? This is worse than a wedding registry list. This is a living registry. I usually try to change to subject or shrug cluelessly. How DO you answer that?

Back to female Blake, I told you she would come into play eventually, and now she does. We found out on MySpace that she rode out the storm in Covington. About a week or so went by before anyone heard from her. Matt got a text from someone saying she was making her way to St. Louis to see her mom. She was alive!!!! We couldn't be happier!

Except for the Keith situation. Keith stayed home in River Ridge for the storm. No one heard from him. No one could contact him. We sent frantic texts. I can't imagine how Caroline felt. He finally got in touch with her. But his family never did leave. They went to Houma one day out of boredom and a search for food. They had plenty sotckpiled, and they had a generator, so they were fine. But the looting was spreading into the suburbs. We worried. He's fine today, don't worry. But he never once left the city. We heard about him, we thought, from Calie's dad, who was now staying in their house in Harahan. Some guy rode his bike over, asked about all of us, accepted a drink from Mr. Frank, and left. He thought the guy's name was Kevin. He was just delerious from 16-hour shifts.

Finally, our group was all accounted for. But what about our homes? Would we ever all be together again?

Stay tuned for part 7: Post-Katrina blues set in.

Best day ever!

Borrowed a trap from my grandmother's friend. Caught my Lily this evening!!!!!!!!!! She looks okay, but Mark will have to take her to the vet in the morning. She's curled up in my lap purring as I type this!! I'll be in Disney World for camp all week, but I'll come back with an update once I get home and all.

Hotlanta, my birthday, and a Lily update

Really, though, Hotlanta is a misnomer. Yeah, it was warm, but I didn't sweat like I do here. I wasn't oppressed by the heat. I didn't feel like dying to escape the heat. Although, since I'm probably going to hell anyway, I guess that would only make matters worse.

But what if we have it wrong? What if we've been told that hell is hot and steamy just so we won't want to go there? What if it's cosmic reverse psychology and hell is really this happenin' place made of ice cream where they don't want too many people to go there? Like, a po-boy place that looks shitty on the outside is generally the home of the best po-boy ever. Don't let the outside fool you. Could be a cool in-joke, you know, hell being crappy.

Anyway, kids were fine, new guy is okay, trip didn't suck too much. Went to the Braves game the first night. They lost. Their catcher got reallllly hurt...taken out in an ambulance, as I later discovered, because he had a concussion and whiplash from getting slammed in the face mask by an Angel. (Which seems to support the above theory...) It rained a little, but sometimes, sitting in the cheap seats is okay, just because we were so high up with our $5 seats that we were under an overhang when the rain started. Girls in my room kept me awake until 3:30. Mostly by quoting "Napoleon Dynamite."

Next day we spent the whole day at Six Flags. Rain held off until 6, which was fine, as we were leaving at 7. So we killed an hour in the stores. By this point, most of the kids were out of money. We waited half an hour for our bus driver to show up. When I called him, he said he was in traffic about 20 minutes away. This, apparently, became his excuse for everything, as he was ALWAYS 20 minutes away. Tried to go to the Hard Rock, but it had been rented out for the night. Walked down the block to a restaurant that had a piano on wires above the bar. It was in a glass case. Anyone who wants to can get on a step ladder on the bar and play. That was kind of neat. We thought the piano was for decoration, but we were wrong. Girls had a pre-teen friendship meltdown that kept me up until 1:30. Skanaky, sweaty, and dirty from Six Flags, and couldn't shower until crisis was solved at 1. I am SO glad I don't have to relive my teen years. Yuch.

Next day, we went to the World of Coke. You can drink Coke products from around the world. Some good, like lemon from Israel, some nasty, like lychee nut from China. And "Beverly" from Italy had an aftertaste even after you washed it down with tons of real American Coke. Hwarf. Then we went to Underground Atlanta. I scheduled it simply to get an aqua massage. Damn thing was GONE! ARRRRRRRGGGG. After the night before, I needed it. Driver was late picking us up, again, and when I called him after 30 minutes, he was, once again, "20 minutes away." This made us late to Andretti Speed Lab, which we had booked as a party. I called the people, and they said it was okay if we were late.

Andretti has top-speed go-karts that look like race cars. They make you wear suits and helmets like real racers. Gloves are optional. I came in second in my race! Anyway, the party was my unofficial birthday party. We got Fuddrucker's kid's meals, an ice cream cake, one race, and $10 token cards for the arcade. I won an orange and yellow stuffed monkey. It rules. The experience ruled, too. I like go-karts.

From there, we went to Camp Barney Medintz in Cleveland, GA. It's about 2 hours north of Atlanta. It was in the mountains and was GORGEOUS! My legs are sore from all of the up- and downhill hiking we had to do over the next few days. We had kosher burgers and chips for dinner, then got a tour of the camp. The cabins are unairconditioned, but the mountain air was cool enough that the fans and screens worked. I'm tired of bugs, though, and grateful for central air now that I'm home. We went out to the Iceberg, which is an inflatable rock climbing wall in the shape of an iceberg. You climb up one side, then slide down the other side into the lake. I am unable to climb rock climbing walls, so I did not do it. After that, we went to milk line, where we got fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and whatever milk or juice we wanted. Mmmm....

On Thursday, we had French toast for breakfast, then we went to arts and crafts. We made cool friendship bracelets with a weird name, something like "Kumi-ha-imo" or something like that. Then we went to something called "Group Initiative." We did some stupid bonding stuff, like human knot. We're such a dysfunctional group, though, that we almost didn't get the knot undone. Finally, though, we did it. Then we did this dumb-ass logic puzzle called "The Magic Shoes," where we had to get everyone across the lava lake, and you could only cross it if you were wearing the shoes, and then you could only wear the shoes once, blah blah blah...and the way it fell, I had to carry a tall, thin girl in my arms and a short girl who probably weighs more than i do now that I'm at my heaviest weight ever, on my back, and I almost made it across when she shifted her weight and I fell forward, jamming my left shoulder, hurting my left ankle and knee, and skinning my right knee. I was in considerable pain. I thought I was badly injured, but my shoulder had popped back in, and really, when DON'T my knee and ankle hurt? But my skinned knee (my first in probably 15 years) is pretty nasty. And boy, did I get muddy. Red mud.

Then we went fishing. A couple people caught small-mouthed bass. I caught nothing. We had kosher chicken nuggets and corn for lunch. Then we had rest period, followed by basketball and dodgeball. We moved on to the volleyball court, the batting cage, and the tetherball. I kick ass in tetherball. "Wanna play me?" I think I won because every time I'd hit the ball, I'd say, "yesss" like Napoleon, and it would crack the kids up, and they couldn't return my hits. Dirty? Yeah. Fun? You bet. We were supposed to have free swim in the pool, but that was closed for undisclosed reasons. Probably Baby Ruths in the pool. Anyway...then we had linguini in garlic cream sauce, garlic bread, and peas and carrots for dinner. We went to the Blob after that. It's an inflatable pillow....huge....and you jump off a platform onto it. Then, you crawl across it and sit on the edge. The next person jumps on it, and it launches you into the air, landing in the lake. It was cool, but I didn't get to go. Line was too long. New guy had his bathing suit on backwards. That was awesome. Kriss Kross to make you, jump, jump! Too bad none of the kids will get that joke....and probably he won't either, since he's only 19. Then we went to the low ropes, where a cute Israeli guy instructed us. We had to hike through a lot of forest to get there, and we had to cross a creek by sliding across a metal rope while holding a metal rope above it. Scary, but awesome. Only half of the kids did the course, due to time constraints. After that was milk line, then an early bedtime. We also had to pack most of our stuff, then load it on a truck to take it the half mile (minimum) trek to the front office of the camp.

Woke up at 6 a.m. EST on Friday, my 26th birthday. Got the kids together, then went down the hill with what we'd needed overnight. Long and hard hike that early. Ugh. Especially on your birthday. Slept on the bus most of the way. Had to eat Burger King for lunch. Hate BK now, after they changed their fries. Kids pooled money and bought me a little cheesecake for my birthday. Made the BK Lounge experience a little better. Watched the first two Austin Powers films on the bus on the way home. Hit T.S. Arlene evacuation traffic in Mississippi. Didn't get home until 6:30 p.m. CST. Relaxed a little. Opened Mark's gifts. He gave me "The Best of INXS," the first and second seasons of "Danger Mouse" (DM was one of my first boyfriends. The other was Montgomery Moose of "The Get-Along Gang." Nevermind that he was basically a big frat guy...), and the first season of "Soap," one of TV's all-time best shows. Got Cane's for dinner, then went to Dunkin' Robbins, where I got a mint-chocolate chip and chocolate cake ice cream cake, plus the free dozen donuts you get for buying a cake there.

Went to Geoff and Gootee's house. Blake gave me a Neighborhoodies.com gift certificate, Caroline gave me Rufus from "Family Guy," Alicia and Kurt gave me a gift card for New York and Company, and Geoff and Calie gave me a gift card to Best Buy. Oh, and Kevin went to Sav-A-Center and bought me some cupcakes that said "#1 Dad" on them. How special is that? Liz came over and brought me a "Fantasy," which is only one of the best daiquiris in the world. She brought Halley with her. Roman showed up for a while with two of his friends, too. It was a great night. Got home at 4, woke at 1:45.

On Saturday, my parents took us out to eat at Acme. Then we went to their house for a blackout cake from Maurice's. They gave me my new contacts and a skirt, and my mom apparently is waiting for another gift to come in. Also, I got a mix CD from Devon, featuring midwestern bands, most of which I've never heard of, and many which I've just never heard, and it's great! I love finding new stuff to listen to! And I got a card in the mail from Annie, my pen pal. Good day overall!

Sunday was my first Sunday where I didn't have to work. Woo-woooooo! Went to Ground Pat'i with Alicia, Geoff, Calie, and Kevin while Mark worked. Hung out with them, plus Kurt, after.

Lily: Saw her Friday night, we thought, under my car. Could have sworn I heard her, too. But we didn't get her. Then, on Saturday, Mark went to do laundry, and he saw her by the neighbor's house. We couldn't get to her, and she went under the house. But that means she wasn't hurt by the glass. On Sunday, the neighbors came home, and they let Mark in their backyard. Couldn't see her. On Wednesday night, he got home from basketball, and she was under the carport, eating the food we leave out for her. But he couldn't get out the car fast enough. The lady under whose house she is living is trying to help. She has cat carriers by her doors just in case. She also saw her the other day, but was on the toilet, and by the time she got out there, Lil was gone. Nice lady, even with the TMI. Haven't seen my baby since then, though.

The saddest thing in the whole wide world happened yesterday...

But last night, Shazzy scared Lily. She jumped up to get on the windowsill facing a street, and she jumped so hard and so fast that she broke the window and disappeared through it. By the time we got around to the side of the house, she was down the block. This woman was jogging past. I yelled, "Lily!" and Lily stopped right in front of a hole between the driveway and the house next to ours. The woman saw her and tried to help, but you know how Lily is afraid of strangers. She squoze out of the woman's hands and under the house. I sat by the hole for 3 hours, but she never came out. I finally had to leave because the bugs were eating me a live and it was 9:40. We have no idea if she's hurt or even alive, and we haven't seen her since.

We spoke to most of the neighbors today, and I drove all over the neighborhood. We put water and food under our carport, but there are so many cats in our neighborhood that those probably won't last. We made fliers and put them up near the house. Tomorrow, we're going down to the SPCA and we're going to file a missing cat report. You have to do it in person and bring them a picture. She wears a collar but no tags...hopefully she still has her collar on and hopefully if someone finds her they'll figure out that she's someone's pet. We're also going to put an ad in the Times-Picayune's classifieds section, as well as read it.

I'm just absolutely heartbroken. That's my baby girl cat.

I sniffed a red candle.

We lit a candle in the kitchen last night. Shazzy is a bit of a pyro (takes after his Uncle Geoff) and loves to sniff real close to candles. We have to keep an eye on him.

Mark was washing his hands when Shazzy jumped up on the counter and sniffed the candle. Then, he was hit with the smell of burnt hair.

Shazzy freaked and ran and hid where we couldn't get him. We finally were able to gt a good look at him. It wasn't his fur that burned; he had singed his whiskers. He has one gimpy, curly one, some missing ones, and some that are fine. He wasn't hurt...just freaked out.


Bet he won't sniff candles again.

When keepin' it real goes wrong....

So I'm going to be vague on this because I don't want this person (who won't know this is here) to know I said it, but I have to get it off my chest because I got really embarrassed and I feel bad.

So this person I know thought that he/she...I'll call this person "Pat..." had been exposed to a disease that can be kinda deadly and was feeling bad, so I looked up on the Internet the causes, etc. (Don't worry....it was a false alarm because the original sick person apparently doesn't have this deadly diease.) So I'm reading along, and one thing the site says is that other viruses in a person can cause it to happen. Including herpes. So, I say, "Uh-oh, Pat.....better quit sleeping around!" And Pat says. "I have herpes!!!" And I say, "Shut up." And Pat says, "No, seriously. I got it from my ex, Jordan. (I love gender-neutral names....) Jordan was my third, I was Jordan's 300th, practically."

Pardon me while I scream like Howard Dean.

How do you get out of something like that? As I told Kate, no more bringing circle jokes into the unsuspecting public. Sheesh. I'm mortified. And I am willing to bet Pat was, too.

In other karmic news, though, yesterday, a kid I will refer to as "Surfer chick" and I were building a popsicle house at work. She said, "Hey, I'm going to give you horns, okay?" I'm thinking in terms of bunny ears.

Oh, how wrong I was.

SHE GLUED A FLIPPIN' POPSICLE STICK TO MY HAIR!!!!!

Yes, to my hair. With so much glue, it soaked all the way through to my scalp. So I went to wash it out, but it was too far back for me to see. So I went to Jean's office, where i found Nijel, too. I said, "You know, there are days when I love my job, and days that make me want to quit. Today is one of those days." I turned around and showed them my hair. "Know any ways other than getting in a shower and actually washing my hair to get glue out of it?" They didn't, of course.

So I just had to let it dry. Then, I obsessed over picking the glue out as it dried. I looked like I needed 42 bottles of Selsun Blue. It was all flaking on my chocolate colored shirt and everything. Surfer chick and one of the Rachels helped. Ok...attempted to help. All they did was remove chunks of my hair. It hurt so bad.

Then, I get home. And I am in the kitchen, talking to Mark, when I knock over the stack of Christmas cards on the counter. He's holding Lily. As I bend over to pick up the cards, she gets wiggly, jumps onto the china cabinet, misses/bounces off, and LANDS ON MY HEAD!!!

A FLIPPIN' CAT FELL ON MY HEAD!!!

It's rainin' cats...hallelujah it's rainin' cats, meow meow!

On her way down, she clawed my right arm, and I have a puncture wound now.

Then, we were taking down our Christmas stuff, and I got behind the tree to get the rear ornaments. I leaned over to unplug the lights, and I smacked my head on the corner of the windowsill. It left a red mark. Today, it feels bruised, but you can't really see it. However, I never realized how often one touches one's forehead throughout the day. Everytime I push my hair out of my face....every time I rest my head on my hands....Torture.

So, I think I've paid my dues for the herpes joke attempt.

Incidentally, Pat is okay with it. Surfer chick was banished to the Game Room yesterday until she drew me a card with Cartman on it. It was hilarious. Cartman was saying, "I uh, I uh, screw you guys, I'm going home." Under that, it said, "If he won't say sorry, then I will. I'm sorry!" On the inside was a drawing of the back of my head with a popsicle stick stuck to it. Under that, it said, "It wasn't funny" and had an insert arrow pointing to the word, "That," which was written above wasn't and funny. It said on the next page, You're cooler than chocolate and black nail polish, and those are pretty cool. I love you, Aunt Mae." All was forgiven, It's hanging on my fridge. Lily is fine. And my head still hurts. And Mark? Mark's still laughing at that series of unfortunate events. Bum.