Haven't thought of that quote in years. One of the plays we did in high school required my friend Tree to say this. She said it with such zeal. And while considering a title, it popped into my head.
Rather fitting, because lately, I've been confronted with things long gone.
First, I have set my DVR to record all of these amazing new episodes of Pop Up Video. Holy cow. I loved half days in high school, because I'd come home, fix a PB&J sandwich or biscuit pizzas or a Lean Cuisine, plop down in my dad's blue recliner, pull up a nesting table, and watch. Also, sometimes, because I got out of school at 2:20, I'd catch it when I got home.
In college, my roommate Lisa and I would race back to the dorm from the cafeteria in order to watch it. Sometimes, we cut it close. Always, it was a bad idea to do so. However, it was always worth it.
When I met Mark, I quickly learned that his musical trivia knowledge knows no bounds. He would always get so mad because he would tell me facts, and I would frequently respond with, "Yeah, I saw that on Pop Up Video once." He hates the show because it allows people to know obscure music trivia that generally only he knows. When it went away, he was happy. He's not so glad to have it back.
In my journalism class, one of my seniors is going to do a new feature called "That '90s Column." In it, he is going to pick apart '90s culture. I guess that the '90s for him are the '80s for me. He did an article on older generations' opinion of Gen-Y. I was his Gen X-er source. First, older generation? Mannnnn. But seriously, he is apparently a fan of everything I find amusing. He wanted to know what some of my earliest memories are and what things I liked. Most of it didn't make it into the article, but it was still fun to talk about. I guess I gave him too much information, haha.
He interviewed me about "Ren and Stimpy" the other day. Another kid did an article on the return of "Beavis and Butt-Head." I then watched that last night with Kurt, Alicia, and Joe. Kurt and I were way into it. Joe watched some through his bottle. Alicia tolerated us fools. Mark didn't get to watch it, but I DVRed it, and we're going to watch it when he gets home.
Both returning TV shows are just as good as they were back then, and have lost none of their appeal. Makes me so happy.
Last week, I once again brought my seniors to my collegiate alma mater. We had a journalism workshop, toured the campus, saw the Dyslexia Center, and visited Student Publications and Printing. Met up with Mark's cousins, Drew and Alison, and my brother-in-law from another mother-in-law, Clyde. He looks like Jones on "Reno 911." I look decidedly nothing like that. For fun, I introduced him as my brother-in-law. The kids' faces were priceless.
It was so much fun going back and showing them every part of the campus I loved so much. Thankfully, I worked so much and spent so many hours in the theater, so there weren't too many stories I had to censor myself on. I guess playing it so safe in college was a bit of a waste, but it was also a good thing. Several of my seniors are interested in going there next year, as opposed to the group I brought last year, so they were very interested in everything I showed them and everything I told them.
Two things that you would have died over.
One. My adviser, who is kind of an ass, but also one of the greatest teachers ever, Dr. C, was handing out some papers. M made a comment about how freezing it was in there, and Dr. C said that it had to be that cold because of all of the equipment in the room. He then added, "So, this is the Iceland of classrooms." He hands B a paper, and B goes, "You mean Greenland. Iceland isn't the one covered in snow. That's Greenland." Dr. C looks at him and goes, "O.....kayyyyy...." and all of us lost it.
Two. My b-i-l Phil's BFF Clyde works for the sports information office. He's a big goofy light-skinned black guy. I used a picture from Phil's wedding as one of my FB profile pictures. It has my m-i-l, s-i-l, b-i-l, f-i-l, Mark, Clyde, and his gf. I introduced him to the kids as being my bil. Their faces were priceless. Clyde explained to them what I meant.
The other teacher, also an alum, who came with us had C and D. C wanted info on remedial courses and math and stuff, so Mr. W brought her to a math dept friend of his. He brought D to visit the basketball team.
They came in after this while Clyde was talking with the kids. Clyde asked if they had any questions, and D goes, "Yeah, I got one. Who are you?" I said, "He is my brother-in-law." Well, the reaction was as awesome as you could expect. The kids played along. I pulled up the profile pic. Now, the gf, Stephanie, is white, so I guess he thinks Clyde married either my sister or Mark's hahahha, because he said, "Ohhhhhhhhh. I see."
So we let him think whatever it is he thinks. In following days, several kids asked me to ask my brother-in-law some stuff about athletics and the school. Heehee.
On the way home, a different female C was behind me and she leaned forward and said, "I never knew people could have black in-laws." This from a white girl dating a black guy. What happened that some level of disconnect exists?? At least Clyde brought some multiculturalism to her life.
Then, on Saturday, we drove to the M.C. to take a photo of three generations of alumni with Mark's family. His grandpa, aunt, uncle, mom, two cousins, brother, sister-in-law, and the two of us all graduated from there, and his two youngest cousins are there now, as I mentioned earlier. Stephanie is actually writing an article for the university about the family's three generations of grads. She and a university photographer took the photo.
After that, we had to go back to Thibodaux to pick up some costumes from my friend Wade, who is also a drama teacher. He did "The Wizard of Oz" a year or so ago, and that's what I'm doing this year. He offered to lend us his costumes, and we detoured to get them. Then, we went to Houma and ate at Outback with Mark's parents and made a detour to the mall for a minute. When we were in college, that was one of the few restaurants there. Good times.
On Saturday, I heard from Wade again, but it was not for good news. Marie, a girl I'd hired based on the fact that, as a freshman, she reminded me of me as a freshman, died. She climbed the ranks and eventually edited the paper. She worked in the same school system I work in, and we would run into each other at workshops and things. We kept in touch via Facebook, but were not close any more. She was an amazing person, and I am very sad about this. She was only 29. Everyone began posting photos from Student Publications. I did, too. It was fun looking through my photos and reminiscing. And it's been fun to see people comment on the pictures, too.
In addition to this revisiting my past stuff, I have listened predominantly to the Gen-X radio stations we have now. Fantastic stuff.
Tomorrow (today?) We are attending a college radio reunion for Mark. It just keeps going!
But then, there's so much progression. It's my 7th year of teaching. I took the GRE last week and have applied for grad school to get a master's in journalism education. I spent the evening with new mommy Alicia.
In fact, babies are stealing my friends, haha. There's lingo I don't speak, there's trick-or-treating plans, there's no one to do things with after work, events end earlier, one moved back to California...glad I have other friends who are childless by choice out there. Otherwise, the world would be so lonely.
Things are changing. When did we get old?
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Ho Ho Ho Dat....and other thoughts.
The Saints won again! Dear Lord...could this be the year? And Dallas delivered quite the prettily wrapped package today by losing so spectacularly to Philly. First-round bye is OURS.
Anyway, the most important thing of all is that Christmas is finally over. No one I know seems to have been excited about it this year. I only shopped and made jewelry because I felt I had to do it. I was purely driven by the need to conform.
I didn't bring a single decoration to school this year. My classroom is now as it was weeks ago. My mom hung a wreath on the door, and we bought a tree on sale for $10 at Lowe's last Sunday after the Saints game. It stayed on the porch until Wednesday, then got brought inside, and has a grand total of zero lights and 8 ornaments on it. Those ornaments are the ones that were downstairs already based on the fact that we bought or received them this year. No stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and who really gave a shit if St. Nick would be here? We had dinner at home...mom, dad, Geoff, me, Mark. We visited Lance and Mimi, then the Cabin exchanged secret Santa gifts. We did Midnight Mass because my mom would cry if we didn't. We went to Pam and John's, but were late to that because we were coming in from Morgan City.
Yes, we got fairly decent things, but with no place to put them, it doesn't matter. Mark gave me a lovely necklace, but I don't deserve it.
But we were talking about it last night, and Geoff mentioned that he was shocked that he wasn't in the mood for Christmas this year, but was last year. I noted that last year, we NEEDED Christmas. This year, it seemed trivial and we really didn't need it.
Holidays are a joke.
Anyway, the most important thing of all is that Christmas is finally over. No one I know seems to have been excited about it this year. I only shopped and made jewelry because I felt I had to do it. I was purely driven by the need to conform.
I didn't bring a single decoration to school this year. My classroom is now as it was weeks ago. My mom hung a wreath on the door, and we bought a tree on sale for $10 at Lowe's last Sunday after the Saints game. It stayed on the porch until Wednesday, then got brought inside, and has a grand total of zero lights and 8 ornaments on it. Those ornaments are the ones that were downstairs already based on the fact that we bought or received them this year. No stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and who really gave a shit if St. Nick would be here? We had dinner at home...mom, dad, Geoff, me, Mark. We visited Lance and Mimi, then the Cabin exchanged secret Santa gifts. We did Midnight Mass because my mom would cry if we didn't. We went to Pam and John's, but were late to that because we were coming in from Morgan City.
Yes, we got fairly decent things, but with no place to put them, it doesn't matter. Mark gave me a lovely necklace, but I don't deserve it.
But we were talking about it last night, and Geoff mentioned that he was shocked that he wasn't in the mood for Christmas this year, but was last year. I noted that last year, we NEEDED Christmas. This year, it seemed trivial and we really didn't need it.
Holidays are a joke.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, April 01, 2005
A lot of deaths...real and metaphorical
The Sunday before Easter, Mary's mom died. She made it back in time to say goodbye, but it was very very sad. But a guilty pleasure to see my hard-core old-school friends and parents and siblings at the funeral. Does this make me a bad person?
Last Friday, there was that terrible motorcycle accident. Yeah...the woman on the bike? One of my mom's friends, who we've affcectionately dubbed, "The Crazy Women/Ladies." I didn't know her, but she had a daughter at SPN who was a grade behind me. I didn't really know her either, but I remember her.
Last week, Geoff and Plan C became officially over, and Geoff was reincarnated with Plan A. Huzzah! (Well, to the reincarnation bit. He's my baby brother. I worry about him.)
Then, alas and alack, my second-favorite comedian of all time, Mitch Hedberg, died. I'm very distraught over this. I mean, I can't eat a baked potato without chuckling. Or watch an oscilating fan. Or see a broken escalator. (In case you are wondering, 1 is Dane Cook, 2 is Mitch, and 3 is Nick Swardson.) Sadder? His death is overshadowed by the following:
Terry Schiavo died, and this can't really be a bad thing.
The Pope is knock knock knockin' on heaven's door. He may be in there now, I dunno. You know those crazy Vatican peeps. Always playin'. Anyway, this also can't be a bad thing. He's like 800 years old, he's been ill for a while, and...well...a changing of teh guards in the Catholic Church can't hurt. I can't wait until someone from my generation can be Pope. I bet we'll have women priests, and less scandals, and maybe even more tolerance of other faiths and LIFESTYLES. Yeah, I know, keep dreaming. But maybe then, I will resuscitate beign Catholic. I can't in good conscience subscribe to them. That's another death that I pretty much finalized last week I realized that I only stay away from meat on Lenten Fridays and do NOTHING else Churchy, except giggle at Dane Cook's routine, so next Lent, FIRE IN THE GRILL, BAYBEEEE.
Last Friday, there was that terrible motorcycle accident. Yeah...the woman on the bike? One of my mom's friends, who we've affcectionately dubbed, "The Crazy Women/Ladies." I didn't know her, but she had a daughter at SPN who was a grade behind me. I didn't really know her either, but I remember her.
Last week, Geoff and Plan C became officially over, and Geoff was reincarnated with Plan A. Huzzah! (Well, to the reincarnation bit. He's my baby brother. I worry about him.)
Then, alas and alack, my second-favorite comedian of all time, Mitch Hedberg, died. I'm very distraught over this. I mean, I can't eat a baked potato without chuckling. Or watch an oscilating fan. Or see a broken escalator. (In case you are wondering, 1 is Dane Cook, 2 is Mitch, and 3 is Nick Swardson.) Sadder? His death is overshadowed by the following:
Terry Schiavo died, and this can't really be a bad thing.
The Pope is knock knock knockin' on heaven's door. He may be in there now, I dunno. You know those crazy Vatican peeps. Always playin'. Anyway, this also can't be a bad thing. He's like 800 years old, he's been ill for a while, and...well...a changing of teh guards in the Catholic Church can't hurt. I can't wait until someone from my generation can be Pope. I bet we'll have women priests, and less scandals, and maybe even more tolerance of other faiths and LIFESTYLES. Yeah, I know, keep dreaming. But maybe then, I will resuscitate beign Catholic. I can't in good conscience subscribe to them. That's another death that I pretty much finalized last week I realized that I only stay away from meat on Lenten Fridays and do NOTHING else Churchy, except giggle at Dane Cook's routine, so next Lent, FIRE IN THE GRILL, BAYBEEEE.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
'Cause I'm a LIIIIIAAAAAARRRRRRR!
So, I have some time, and here I am. I lied. You get me at least this once more before the year ends.
I'll start with a holiday wrap-up.
Work with a hangover #1 and work exhausted #1: My Kate is here. We had a party for her, complete with Lance's food and Lance's alcohol. Word to the wise: never let a man with a serious love of the drink fix you a drink. He made me an apple martini that I think is still scalding my esophagus.
Work exhausted #2: We went to Alicia and Kurt's on Tuesday that week to celebrate Caroline's birthday with fresh baked cookies and a showing of "Napoleon Dynamite." That movie ruled. Whaddaya know...you CAN make a friggin' hilarious movie without gross-out humor!
Work with a hangover #2 and work exhausted #3: We went to '80s night at One Eyed Jack's. Yes, Devon, the Morrissey look-alike was there. But no Dead or Alive. Must have been too cold for them.
I broke out of jail free by taking a half day on Friday. First, there were snow flurries in the morning. We bundled up the kids...hats...coats....gloves....scarves...and one pair of mittens. But, wouldn't you know it, as soon as we got out there, the flippin' snow had stopped. Waste of a trip.
Then, I learned that in order to get out of a grocery store alive on Christmas Eve, one must play Quarterback. Sheesh. I actually plowed down some old people just to buy candy for my grandparents-in-law. Wishing I hadn't in retrospect. Very glad I pawned off that ugly-ass steal-a-gift item that I got at the office Chanukkah party. It was a plaque thingy...hand-painted....that said, "Chocolate lovers know that life is sweet!" Well, in my book, if you're the type of person to display plaques like, "Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old" in your kitchen, then you should love that sort of thing. So I pawned that piece of crap onto her. She says she liked it. I hope she didn't.
We started the night at Maw Maw and Pops' house, where we dined on such delicacies as chicken salad sandwiches and ham sandwiches, made from pre-packaged meat, and snacky items. We were the only ones who had to open gifts, simply because one branch of the family left early, and so everyone did the exchange two nights previous. So everyone sat down to boredly watch us open our gifts. We scored with the third season of (Everybody...in a deep, gravelly voice) "24" and "Elf." Mark got a cool music trivia game. The cats got lots of gifts. And then there was me.
I AM SO ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What did my grandmother-in-law give me for Christmas??? First off, the lesser sins: we established long ago that I hate pink, and that no one should ever buy me anything pink. So imagine my dismay at opening the big box (she doesn't wrap things individually...she gives you a whole box full of stuff) full of pink??? She obviously can't decide whether I'm 12 or 68, because she bought me pajamas that were bright pink and say "Angel" and some stupid slogan all over them, and an old lady night gown with a fuschia housecoat. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Marie gives Debra one to match hers? Well, I got one to match all of the women in the family. Yes, hideous and kind of offensive...but.....
I cried Saturday night over this one....She gave me Dr. Phil's new book, "Family First," on how to raise a "phenomenal family." ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUDEST. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!!! First off, we work cruddy little jobs with zero benefits and hardly any pay. Second of all, I'm about to start grad school. And third of all, we've only been married 2 1/2 years, and we're only 25!!! It was all I could do to keep from yelling, throwing the book at her, and walking 90 miles home in sleet. I mean, if I was a fan of Dr. Phil, then I could see giving me the book. But I'm not. Even if he does look like my dad. But she clearly gave me this book as a big hint that she wants great-grandchildren ASAP. Keep on waiting, lady. Because she doesn't know it, but I don't want to have children. It'll be a cold day in her grave before she gets great-grandchildren from these loins.
I thought maybe I'd overreacted to this, but when I tell it to people, they get angry for me. Which makes it worse, because I'm realizing how justified I am. Eff bees.
We went to midnight Mass, which I only stayed awake during because I felt it was my wifely duty to slap Mark's thigh once in a while to wake him up. The priest spoke like Emo Phillips. But he was fat, so it was in a slightly lower octave. And it was so weird to walk into midnight Mass at midnight and have our pick of seats. Dang. You have to get to SPN by 11 p.m. or you have to stand. No Chrisssamiss Daaaayyy, though. Denied.
We woke up Christmas morning to be told by my MIL that it had snowed. We looked outside, and sure enough....it was a white Christmas!!!
There were icicles on everything and just a smidgen of snow on the ground. It sleeted all morning, then turned to snow. Full-out snowflakes! We were eating lunch at his grandparents' house, and I was the only one who was seated perfectly so that I could see through the doorways to the back porch, where I noticed it was coming down hard and was all snow. So we interrupted dinner to have a snowball fight! It continued snowing and we got snowed in!! It was only like 2 inches, but south Louisiana isn't prepared to handle snow. All roads leading back to New Orleans were shut down. Too many bridges. Most of the ride down to my in-laws is mostly through swamp areas. We were stranded with no clean clothes or underwear. Wal-Mart, Rite Aid, CVS, and the grocery stores were all closed. Stupid podunk town!!! We had to wash our underwear and clothes that night. Luckily, we'd spent the night Friday, so we had pajamas. But all we had were the clothes on our backs, our pajamas, and the dress clothes for church.We couldn't leave until almost 2:30 Sunday afetrnoon because we were waiting for roads to open. But here in New Orleans, you can hardly tell it had snowed.
At work, our playground is always in the shade, so there was some snow left Monday morning. We had a snowball fight at work this morning with the kids. I totally nailed a girl I hate. But it's in the upper 50s today. And it'll be in the mid-70s this weekend. Go figure.The worst part? I had my camera out to bring with me Friday night, and I said, "What am I going to take a picture of?" So I left it HOME. My in-laws took a bunch of pics, though. And, when we got to my parents' house yesterday for a belated Christmas celebration (even sadder, we were expecting to be home Christmas night, so we left our gifts to each other at home, and we didn't get to exchange them until last night!!), what did they give us but a digital camera???? Grrrr.......
We got a bunch of gift cards for Christmas, and some hot chocolate mix, and a stir-fry pan, and Chappelle's Show season 1, and a cool caller-ID/answering machine dual phone set from my side of the family, to name a few things. Yeah...who has the cooler family? But, to be fair, his parents gave us the recliner. To Mark, I gave the Metallica history book, "America: the Book" by those crazy kids at The Daily Show, a Wonder Woman figure (long story), a South Park T-shirt, and a cool nice shirt. He gave me a scarf, the new CD from Muse, a chord book and the Weezer tab book because he's going to teach me to play guitar, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace. Yeah...who's the cooler spouse...HINT: not me!
Work with a hangover #3 and work with exhaustion #4: Calie and Geoff brought us to Nick's bar and we met Kate, Caroline, and Kurt there. It was fun and all, but not a place I'd like to frequent.
Work exhausted #5: Went to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" with Kate, Caroline, Keith, Alicia, Kurt, Gootee, and some of his family members while Mark worked a crappy shift. It was good, but I prefer Tennenbaums. Hung out at Starbucks later. Kate dropped me off, and we talked for a while. Still had to shower. Blah.
I hate my job. I've got an application for Starbucks...anyone else know anywhere else that's hiring? Stop me before I go postal. Life pretty much sucks right now. I read something online earlier about how when people ask this guy what the best year of his life is, he always says, "This one, because we haven't seen next year yet." Well, I don't see it that way. My answer is, "Hopefully next year, because the last few have been utter crap." Flip.
I'll start with a holiday wrap-up.
Work with a hangover #1 and work exhausted #1: My Kate is here. We had a party for her, complete with Lance's food and Lance's alcohol. Word to the wise: never let a man with a serious love of the drink fix you a drink. He made me an apple martini that I think is still scalding my esophagus.
Work exhausted #2: We went to Alicia and Kurt's on Tuesday that week to celebrate Caroline's birthday with fresh baked cookies and a showing of "Napoleon Dynamite." That movie ruled. Whaddaya know...you CAN make a friggin' hilarious movie without gross-out humor!
Work with a hangover #2 and work exhausted #3: We went to '80s night at One Eyed Jack's. Yes, Devon, the Morrissey look-alike was there. But no Dead or Alive. Must have been too cold for them.
I broke out of jail free by taking a half day on Friday. First, there were snow flurries in the morning. We bundled up the kids...hats...coats....gloves....scarves...and one pair of mittens. But, wouldn't you know it, as soon as we got out there, the flippin' snow had stopped. Waste of a trip.
Then, I learned that in order to get out of a grocery store alive on Christmas Eve, one must play Quarterback. Sheesh. I actually plowed down some old people just to buy candy for my grandparents-in-law. Wishing I hadn't in retrospect. Very glad I pawned off that ugly-ass steal-a-gift item that I got at the office Chanukkah party. It was a plaque thingy...hand-painted....that said, "Chocolate lovers know that life is sweet!" Well, in my book, if you're the type of person to display plaques like, "Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old" in your kitchen, then you should love that sort of thing. So I pawned that piece of crap onto her. She says she liked it. I hope she didn't.
We started the night at Maw Maw and Pops' house, where we dined on such delicacies as chicken salad sandwiches and ham sandwiches, made from pre-packaged meat, and snacky items. We were the only ones who had to open gifts, simply because one branch of the family left early, and so everyone did the exchange two nights previous. So everyone sat down to boredly watch us open our gifts. We scored with the third season of (Everybody...in a deep, gravelly voice) "24" and "Elf." Mark got a cool music trivia game. The cats got lots of gifts. And then there was me.
I AM SO ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What did my grandmother-in-law give me for Christmas??? First off, the lesser sins: we established long ago that I hate pink, and that no one should ever buy me anything pink. So imagine my dismay at opening the big box (she doesn't wrap things individually...she gives you a whole box full of stuff) full of pink??? She obviously can't decide whether I'm 12 or 68, because she bought me pajamas that were bright pink and say "Angel" and some stupid slogan all over them, and an old lady night gown with a fuschia housecoat. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Marie gives Debra one to match hers? Well, I got one to match all of the women in the family. Yes, hideous and kind of offensive...but.....
I cried Saturday night over this one....She gave me Dr. Phil's new book, "Family First," on how to raise a "phenomenal family." ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUDEST. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!!! First off, we work cruddy little jobs with zero benefits and hardly any pay. Second of all, I'm about to start grad school. And third of all, we've only been married 2 1/2 years, and we're only 25!!! It was all I could do to keep from yelling, throwing the book at her, and walking 90 miles home in sleet. I mean, if I was a fan of Dr. Phil, then I could see giving me the book. But I'm not. Even if he does look like my dad. But she clearly gave me this book as a big hint that she wants great-grandchildren ASAP. Keep on waiting, lady. Because she doesn't know it, but I don't want to have children. It'll be a cold day in her grave before she gets great-grandchildren from these loins.
I thought maybe I'd overreacted to this, but when I tell it to people, they get angry for me. Which makes it worse, because I'm realizing how justified I am. Eff bees.
We went to midnight Mass, which I only stayed awake during because I felt it was my wifely duty to slap Mark's thigh once in a while to wake him up. The priest spoke like Emo Phillips. But he was fat, so it was in a slightly lower octave. And it was so weird to walk into midnight Mass at midnight and have our pick of seats. Dang. You have to get to SPN by 11 p.m. or you have to stand. No Chrisssamiss Daaaayyy, though. Denied.
We woke up Christmas morning to be told by my MIL that it had snowed. We looked outside, and sure enough....it was a white Christmas!!!
There were icicles on everything and just a smidgen of snow on the ground. It sleeted all morning, then turned to snow. Full-out snowflakes! We were eating lunch at his grandparents' house, and I was the only one who was seated perfectly so that I could see through the doorways to the back porch, where I noticed it was coming down hard and was all snow. So we interrupted dinner to have a snowball fight! It continued snowing and we got snowed in!! It was only like 2 inches, but south Louisiana isn't prepared to handle snow. All roads leading back to New Orleans were shut down. Too many bridges. Most of the ride down to my in-laws is mostly through swamp areas. We were stranded with no clean clothes or underwear. Wal-Mart, Rite Aid, CVS, and the grocery stores were all closed. Stupid podunk town!!! We had to wash our underwear and clothes that night. Luckily, we'd spent the night Friday, so we had pajamas. But all we had were the clothes on our backs, our pajamas, and the dress clothes for church.We couldn't leave until almost 2:30 Sunday afetrnoon because we were waiting for roads to open. But here in New Orleans, you can hardly tell it had snowed.
At work, our playground is always in the shade, so there was some snow left Monday morning. We had a snowball fight at work this morning with the kids. I totally nailed a girl I hate. But it's in the upper 50s today. And it'll be in the mid-70s this weekend. Go figure.The worst part? I had my camera out to bring with me Friday night, and I said, "What am I going to take a picture of?" So I left it HOME. My in-laws took a bunch of pics, though. And, when we got to my parents' house yesterday for a belated Christmas celebration (even sadder, we were expecting to be home Christmas night, so we left our gifts to each other at home, and we didn't get to exchange them until last night!!), what did they give us but a digital camera???? Grrrr.......
We got a bunch of gift cards for Christmas, and some hot chocolate mix, and a stir-fry pan, and Chappelle's Show season 1, and a cool caller-ID/answering machine dual phone set from my side of the family, to name a few things. Yeah...who has the cooler family? But, to be fair, his parents gave us the recliner. To Mark, I gave the Metallica history book, "America: the Book" by those crazy kids at The Daily Show, a Wonder Woman figure (long story), a South Park T-shirt, and a cool nice shirt. He gave me a scarf, the new CD from Muse, a chord book and the Weezer tab book because he's going to teach me to play guitar, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace. Yeah...who's the cooler spouse...HINT: not me!
Work with a hangover #3 and work with exhaustion #4: Calie and Geoff brought us to Nick's bar and we met Kate, Caroline, and Kurt there. It was fun and all, but not a place I'd like to frequent.
Work exhausted #5: Went to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" with Kate, Caroline, Keith, Alicia, Kurt, Gootee, and some of his family members while Mark worked a crappy shift. It was good, but I prefer Tennenbaums. Hung out at Starbucks later. Kate dropped me off, and we talked for a while. Still had to shower. Blah.
I hate my job. I've got an application for Starbucks...anyone else know anywhere else that's hiring? Stop me before I go postal. Life pretty much sucks right now. I read something online earlier about how when people ask this guy what the best year of his life is, he always says, "This one, because we haven't seen next year yet." Well, I don't see it that way. My answer is, "Hopefully next year, because the last few have been utter crap." Flip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)