Musings from some former inhabitants of the sprawling metropolis that is Prudhomme City

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

The Eyes of Nothingness

So today I had a big test, but that's not what I want to talk about. That would be insanely boring...for both us. The following post may only be coma-inducing for one of us. That'd be you, fav peep. Anyway, during a break from studying, I happened, flipping through channels, to stumble upon CourtTV, and that is when divine providence laid a big ol' gift in my lap. You see, last summer I was obssessed with the case of Darren Mack. Click on the link if you want the full skinny. The one sentence rundown is that this cat stabbed his soon-to-be ex-wife to death and then shot the judge who was presiding over their custody hearing. I promised myself that I would keep up with the juiciness, but what with life, I forgot all about it. Today, they were covering his trial on CourtTV. Thank you, baby Jesus, for channeling my TV viewing. I yelped with delight when I realized what I was seeing. I never even turn on CourtTV. I'm telling you- divine intervention, people! Most of the coverage today was witness testimony from his girlfriend discussing how they'd gone target shooting the day before he went all O.J., whacked the spouse, and tried to take out the judge. Fascinating stuff since he is using two defenses in one trial for both offenses. You gotta love trial economy. His defense for aerating his wife is that it was self-defense. After he took her out, he officially went nuts and tried to kill the judge. Thus, the insanity defense on that. His lawyers are all freaked out. They want to sever the charges. You know, separate trials for each violation, but that Darren, he controls his own destiny and insists on doing one trial with the two separate defenses. The commentators mentioned a God complex on the part of Darren, and I'm going to go with a yea vote on that one. The best part was that they had to break off coverage just as the judge was about to testify. This had me rubbing my hands with glee. It's like a soap opera, y'all! I can't wait for tomorrow. And even though I am supposed to be doing a big a** literature review, there's no way I'm missing that, yo!

In other fantastical, much ado about nothing news, have you guys seen this show on Discovery Channel Everest: Beyond the Limit? Dude, I cannot for the life of me figure out why people want to do this. It sounds absolutely friggin' awful. Maybe they're over-dramatizing for TV, but I don't know. Is there actual fun in being sick as a dog from altitude sickness, from wheezing, from puking, from diarrhea, from frostbite, from the possibility of your a** being frozen to a mountainside for eternity? I don't get it. I have zero desire to "test the limits of my endurance." At most, I'd like to take a gander at Everest from the base. Testing my limits would maybe involve making it to advanced base camp. If I were able to do that, I'd be good to go, as far as adventure is concerned, for decades.

Lastly, I have a book recommendation for any of you that actually still read. It disturbs me immensely that at least five people have told me their middle or high school English teacher leeched any joy they had for the written word out of them. That's part of the reason why I abandoned the profession. I don't want to be responsible for that. It's a tragedy. Back to the point, Running with Scissors. Awesome book! It's a memoir, and it is so totally whacked out, you will not believe it. It's worth reading for the shock value, and the fact that you can say to yourself, "I thought I was messed up, but at least I'm not that dude!" I do issue a warning that if you have issues with graphic language and/or discussion of homosexuality, this is not the book for you. But it is C-R-A-Z-Y! So, if you get off on that, like I do, you'll love it. Plus, it is hilarious. Like, laugh out loud funny. If you do end up reading it, shoot me an email and tell me if you enjoyed it. There is a movie out on DVD that's based on the book, but I strongly suggest you read it. I know people always say this, but seriously, there is no way a movie can do this book justice.

As my mother-in-law would say, over and out. And no, I do not know where she picked up the endearing trucker lingo. Have a great rest of the week, my peeps!

Friday, October 26, 2007

Friday Ramblings

So just some random thoughts that went through my pickled brain today.

  • Dear TCBY guy at the gym: I do not know you at all. I identify you strictly by the TCBY t-shirts you wear every day to lift weights. That's why you're TCBY guy and not like, you know, Hayden or Hunter or whatever your real name is. And I'm silently passing judgement on you. I hated it when you cut off all your hair, and I am very happy that you've decided to go back to the mop-top look. Bravo on that! I heartily approve. Also, I really love your fat-free strawberry frozen yogurt, and if you hadn't closed your store on Arnaud Boulevard, I would totally buy it all the time, but now you only have that one location way out on Kaliste Saloom Road and, even though it is really good, it's not worth driving all the way over there. Sorry.
  • One of the best things about working out at the LGMC Wellness Center is the fact that I am considered a goddess there. You see, the majority of the people there are cardiac rehab patients, a.k.a. old men. The fact that I can walk six miles on the treadmill at four miles per hour is astounding to them. Today, one of them told me that I was his hero. I had to smile as he creaked away, dragging his oxygen tank behind him. Hey, I'll take my ego strokes any way I can get them.
  • Who knew that ESPN was covering the Scrabble tournament today? Even more intriguing, Scrabble is considered a sport? That's my kind of athletic endeavor- I can drink beer and kick some a**. Awesome.
  • I haven't decided who deserves my vote in the upcoming presidential election. I am leaning toward Dennis Kucinich. Not because I agree with his platform but because he is a highly unattractive man married to a really hot chick. Anyone as homely as he is, who can score a wife like that, has some serious mojo. We need that in the White House. Also, I know I am not voting for Mitt Romney. I'm sorry, and I know this is wrong, wrong, wrong, but I just can't vote for a Mormon. I know, I know! I'm a bad person, but...they're just weird, okay? The whole golden plates, three kingdoms of heaven, baptizing dead Jews thing, it just turns me off. So, sorry, Mitt. I do like the LDS commercials, though. You all seem very happy in a weird, creepy way. Also, even though I am not voting for you, could you please tell those guys on bikes to stop coming to my house? Thanks.
  • I heard a really cool acoustic version of "Buddy Holly" by Weezer today. I liked it a lot.
  • The California wildfires seemed to have brought out the best in FEMA. And then they did this. I have no words. Okay, actually I do...monumental stupidity.
  • It's really neat and only slightly annoying that I can vaguely hear Lafayette High's P.A. announcers for the football games at my house on Friday nights. But the drum cadences come through loud and clear. Geaux L.H.S. drum corps!
Happy weekend to all my fav peeps!

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Bastion of Freaks

So yesterday I had to once again venture out into the greater public realm. For me this meant a little jaunt to the Mall of Acadiana. Let me just say that being a poor grad student really puts a damper on going to the mall. Since I am no longer able to indulge in rampant American consumerism, I am forced to notice all the freakish things and people associated with the typical mall experience. Here's the rundown of my adventure.

First, I had to get there. Here's a shout out and kudos to the Lafayette City Parish government for the new speed vans around town. Seemingly, this has had an impact. This is predicated by the fact that there's a new phenomenon- people driving anywhere from 10 to 20 miles slower than the posted speed limit. This might be cool, except for the a**holes like me who actually want to travese our sub-par thoroughfares at the legally prescribed speed. Yes, I am that jerk who is tailgating you. Kindly get the hell out of the way.

Once I arrived at the mall, I had to brave abercrombie, the kids' clothing store, so as to procure a gift certificate for my beloved niece, Queen Emily. I have many issues with this joint, beginning with the blatant lack of respect for the English language evidenced by the lowercase first letter in the store's name. Secondly, it's too friggin' loud. Turn down the damn music so I can think. Thirdly, the stench is overpowering. The moment I walk into this place, I get an instant headache from olfactory overload. I don't understand how they keep the constant, offensively overwhelming scent of cologne in the air. They must be piping it in with the AC. At abercrombie, I had to interrupt a tete-a-tete going on between the teenaged employees. They were busy feeling up the new peircing of some guy who had apparently decided that the idea of installing a barbell on the back of his neck was just grand. I was considering doing the exact same thing just last week but fears of long delays at airport security stayed me. Just think, we could've had matching back-of-neck ware. How fun! They were not happy to see me, but eventually one of them slunk over to earn their salary by actually waiting on me, the customer. Then I hauled *ss as I was dangerously close to passing out what with the bleeding from my ears and the migrane pulsating at my temples.

Off I went to Dillard's. I had gone as long as I could without resupplying my foundation from Clinique, even going so far as to cut open the container and wipe out the insides in order to avoid this trip. On the way to Dillard's, I had to pass by Auntie Anne's Pretzels. (Sidenote: The sour cream and onion pretzels rock!) Somehow, I don't think Auntie Anne's company policy endorses blaring "Solja Boy" at the general public while the employees flirt with the overweight rent-a-cop. Me thinks auntie might lay the smack down if she got a gander at that.

Finally, I arrived at Dillard's. Once again, I encountered two employees engaged in conversation. There was an older woman, I'm guessing mid-50s, animatedly boring to death a twenty-something girl with the details of a TV program the older of the two Clinique technicans had seen about a man who poisons his wife with arsenic. How do I know this? Because when I interrupted their conversation, the twenty-something ran for dear life, and I had the pleasure of taking her place. All I could think of, as my 5 minute purchase turned into a 20 minute expedition, was how I would ever be able to gracefully extricate myself from this "conversation." Along the way, she tried to get me to sign up for a Dillard's bonus card. She did a really hard sell, going so far as to say, "Are you sure you don't want it? Because I get two dollars on my paycheck for everyone I sign up." I have to endure guilt at the mall? Really, lady? After securing my makeup, I had to do that weird "side step slowly away because I really need to leave before I am bored into a coma, but this person won't shut the hell up" manuever. Eventually, I just yelled out, "Uh-huh! Well, thanks again! Bye!" and fled as fast as my little tootsies could carry me.

Then it was on to The Great American Cookie Company to pick up some yummies for my friend Greg. Greg is one of those people to whom I cannot say no. Hence, the cookie counter where I was not so promptly greeted by perhaps the most disgruntled of teenaged employees, in the history of the world ever. Our encounter went something like this:
Apathetic teenager (looking totally put out): May I help you, you dumb b***h?
Me: May I please have two of your chocolate chip cookies?
Apathetic teenager (glaring at me with flat eyes): Jesus f***in' Christ, I hate this g***amn job, but I hate you more, you dumb b***h! (Hands me the cookies) Three dollars.
Me: Okay, here ya go! Thanks so much!
Apathetic teenager (staring at me with vaguely concealed contempt):F**k you, you dumb b***h! (Turns and walks away).

Okay, so she didn't really say any of the stuff in italics, but I know that's what she was thinking. Contrary to her (and possibly other people's) belief, I am not a dumb b***h.

Then I double-timed it out of there, so I could to tend to my wounds. And I'm NOT going back for that damn eyeliner I forgot either! Hope all of my fav peeps (that's you!) are having a stellar week! Keep on, keepin' on!

Sunday, October 21, 2007

In the Words of CajunMan: De-jec-shon!

So last night SUCKED!!!! Please, someone, anyone, shoot me in my face so I don't have to watch the horror that is the 2007 UL football season anymore. I can't take it. Four more miserable weeks until I can once more be Linus Van Pelt in the pumpkin patch- "Just wait til next year, Charlie Brown!" I am living for those days of unbridled enthusiasm and naivete until the Cajuns rise again to screw the pooch and make me wanna kill myself in 2008. Between myself and Notre Dame fans, I don't know who is more anxious for the off-season. Not only did they lose in a most horrific fashion, but I consider the Cajuns and Coach Bustle personally responsible for me stuffing my face with gargantuan mounds of cracklins, mac-n-cheese, and pistachio chocolate cake... and if I hadn't been so depressed, I would never have hoovered up that etouffee either! Damn you, Cajuns, and your cellulite inducing play! *bleah* Until the last 1:06 of the game, the Prudommians and significant others did have a good time. Here's proof. Oh, and here's another quotable quote for you from a Ted and Molly offspring. Max: "I'm wild with enthusiasm!" Yeah, he's eight. Hi-lar-i-ous!

Friday, October 19, 2007


So this is something that's making the round of blogs lately. Let's give it a whirl. Put on your reading glasses, and let's get started.

Taken a picture completely naked?
Uh, no. Even before Vanessa Hudgens, I knew this was a bad idea.
Made out with a friend on your MySpace/Facebook page? Ew, NO! Oh...wait a minute... s**t... okay, but it was waaaay before the inception of MySpace. And my defense? Mad Dog 20/20 and the follies of youth. I think we can all relate.
Danced in front of your mirror naked? Why does this question make me think of Silence of the Lambs? That would be a no for me.
Told a lie? Who wrote this? Hello?!? Of course, I have. DMV and weight...ring a bell?
Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back? I believe this can be answered for all of us in two words- high school.
Been arrested? No, not even close. I am uber-nerd.
Made out with someone of the same sex? See above.
Seen someone die? Okay, who wrote this? NO! Thank God!
Slept in until 5pm? Yes, but it was in the city that never sleeps. And I didn't until 9:00 AM the next day,which technically comes out to the recommended eight hours of sleep. So there.
Had sex at work? I am no Mary Kay Letourneau.
Fallen asleep at work/school? Once in college. Hey, at least I made it to class. A lesser woman would not have.
Held a snake? Yep. I grew up in the wilds of Prudhomme City. There's no escaping that.
Ran a red light? Not on purpose, officer.
Been suspended from school? See "Been Arreseted?"
Totaled your car in an accident? Yep and managed to hit lots of stationary objects and an ambulance during my tenure as a licensed driver. Did I mention I am a bad driver?
Pole danced? Smoked? At the same time? No. In separate incidents? Only the smoking part.
Been fired from a job? No, but I look forward to it.
Sang karaoke? Nope.
Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Only every day. Starting with getting out of bed in the morning.
Laughed until a drink came out your nose? Yes, and that s**t stings like a son of a b***h.
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? What is this snow you speak of?
Kissed in the rain? No, but it's a goal. I plan to stage it as a romantic comedy.
Sang in the shower? Of course, and I am awesome. If Simon Cowell were in my shower, I'd be the next American Idol...and plenty weirded out.
Given your private parts a nickname? No, but I've named the naughty bits of others. It's a gift, really.
Ever gone out without underwear? Yes. Maybe a bad decision on my part, but thankfully there were no paparazii there to mark the occassion.
Sat on a roof top? Oh yeah. Good times. Good times.
Played chicken? Mmmmm, no. Too much of a fraidy cat.
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Yes. And after it stopped being funny, it sucked.
Broken a bone? Sixth grade. Broke my pinkie playing kickball in P.E. and that b***h Mrs. Stagg didn't believe me and made me go back in and finish pitching the game. Cow!
Mooned/flashed someone? Again, it's a goal. I plan to stage it as comedic adventure set in New Orleans @ Mardi Gras 2008.
Shaved your head? No, but I have been really tempted on days of 95 percent humidity.
Slept naked? Absolutley. It's not all it's cracked up to be, frankly.
Played a prank on someone? I guess. What kind of question is this? Did I pull a Punk'd? No.
Had a gym membership? You don't lose the equivalent of a small fourth grader sittin' around eatin' Ho-Hos, now do you?
Felt like killing someone?
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? Made him? He had a choice.
Cried over someone you were in love with? Gallons.
Had sex more than 10 times in one day? Who the hell wrote this thing?!? No, I haven't. This answer is becoming pretty redundant, and it's starting to depress me.
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? Okay, I didn't even know that could qualify as a pet. I think we eat that in Louisiana.
Been in a band? Does marching band count? Crap...did I really just say that?
Shot a gun? Once and only once.
Had sex today? This thing is bringin' me down. No, alright!
Played strip poker? Oh, for God's sake, I think I just discovered I am a repressed prude through a questionnaire. No, okay? No!
Tripped on mushrooms? Hell's bells! No! Dammit.
Donated Blood? Yes. Naturally, I've done this nice, staid, socially responsible act numerous times.
Video taped yourself having sex? Okay, seriously, who in the hell wrote this? Paris Hilton, dude. Need I say more?
Eaten alligator meat? Frog legs? Oh yeah! Yum-yum! Love me some fried aquatic species.
Ever jump out of an airplane? No, but it could happen...if the plane was on fire.
Have you been to more than 10 countries? I think I may kill myself when I am done with this survey. NO! Dammit, again!
Ever wanted to have sex with a platonic friend? They're not platonic if you want to do that to them, are they? The answer is no.

M'kay...that was interesting. Email me your answers to these preposterous questions. Yes, now!

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Simmer down, people!

So I have no time to blog this week. Luckily for you, I came across a very funny, nay... a HILARIOUS, post by a friend of some of us Prudhommians. I will not reveal his identity, and I've changed some names in the blog in an effort to protect it. Okay, so there's really no reason to protect his identity, but it adds a sense of drama that is sorely lacking in my life. Woodward and Bernstein got nothin' on me! Anyway, he was generous enough to give his permission to reprint his masterpeice here. So thanks, my own little Deep Throat and enjoy, my peeps!

The Anger Epidemic

Alright, folks. This topic has been brewing in my simple head for quite some time. As a guy who deals with the public on a daily basis, I have noticed a disturbing trend among the citizens of our fair country. It appears to me that, in general, most people are pissed off most of the time.

The other day I am at the office, and the intercom on my desk phone makes its annoying beep. "Boru, line 2. It's Joe from *giant corporation,* and he's pissed off." Great. I get ole Joe on the phone, and he is raising hell because he got his UPS package and guess what? It's not his stuff. It appears that we sent his stuff to Venice (Louisiana, not Italy) and some poor bastard in Venice got his stuff. I profusely apologize to Joe and vow that it will never happen again. I pull my driver away from what he is doing and have him run some new stuff out to *giant corporation* posthaste. Disaster is averted, and the world is safe for democracy once again. After thinking about the situation for a while, these were my observations:

1. Do I call Joe and spew venom when I have to pay $3 for a gallon of gas while his company is making record profits, and they are taking the Lear jet down to the Circle K for Diet Cokes and cigarettes?.......No.

2. Do I call Joe a miserable c**ksucker when he tells me he needs me immediately, so I drop everything and run out there only to have him leave me in the lobby reading a four month old copy of the "Oil and Gas Times" for an hour and a half?.....No.

3. Do I tell Joe to go f**k himself when he calls and asks if our small business will sponsor his golf tournament when his company just gave their CEO a 47 million dollar bonus?.....No.

While I was reflecting on these universal truths, my phone shrieks out "Boru, line one. It's Nelson, and he sounds pissed off.” Joy. Nelson is the factory rep for one of the lines that we represent. Apparently, one of our fine upstanding customers has been on the horn to Nelson complaining of shoddy service from my crew. After apologizing profusely, I dig into the situation and find out that said customer didn't receive their material because said customer hasn't paid their bill since it was jacket weather. These were my reflections on the matter:

1. Did I drive to Houston and beat the crap out of Nelson for taking up arms against me, his "synergistic alliance partner"?...No.

2. Did I drive to California and beat the crap out of Nelson's boss for coming up with the term "synergistic alliance partner"?...No.

3. Did I pick up the phone and call my customer a shiftless, no good, invoice dodging, rat fink, son of a b**ch?...No.

Rapidly losing faith in humanity, I grab my keys, mumble something about being late for a sales call and hit the door. I stop at the EZ Stop, stroll past the rack of hats that read "Allah Akbar", pass the table of candles emblazoned with the Virgin Mary, and reach the counter. I look at the jar of pig's feet and wonder what Allah would have to say about his hats being peddled in a place that so brazenly serves pork products, feet at that. While so engrossed, I am suddenly snapped back to reality by the sounds of curse words. It appears that the cashier was tired of Curtis' bulls**t. It appears that Curtis took the motherfu**ing car and left her with her g***amn children all motherf**ing day while he went to the g***amn football game. And then the motherf***er had the nerve to try to have some sort of sexual congress with said cashier upon his return to the family dwelling. I am not sure of the outcome, but I think it didn't work out too well for old Curtis. My mind begins to wander again, and I think about poor Allah. First his hats have to endure the porcine presence, live next door to the Virgin Mary, and then be subjected to such talk by the keeper of the shop. She then gives me a look as if to say, "Whatever may I get for you, kind sir"? I manage to point out the correct cigarettes without further disturbing her phone call and wander back through the religious artifacts to my truck.

If you are wondering if all of this rambling has a point, yes, it does. And the point is this:


  • Chasing the guy down that cut you off so you can call him an a**hole and flip him off doesn't get you home any faster, unless you happen to live that way.
  • Putting a voodoo curse on your boss because he's making you work Saturday isn't nice and is probably against company policy.
  • Cursing out the telemarketer isn't nice. Remember, he has to call pissed off people all day, then go home and get called by telemarketers.
  • The State Farm lady didn't tell the guy who hit you to buy crack instead of automobile insurance.

I realize that turning the other cheek isn’t always the easy thing to do, so I offer these relaxation tips that I use to keep from becoming angry.

1. Have some sex. Have you ever been angry during sex? Maybe you have, but it just makes it better, then you aren't angry anymore.

2. Smoke some dope. It is impossible to be pissed off while you are high. And if you somehow manage to get pissed off, you can't do anything about it anyway.

3. Exercise until you are exhausted. I usually run to the end of my driveway. Then all of my anger is gone, and I go in and have a beer.

I hope this has been a help to some of you. I like to think of it as my little contribution to America. And, hopefully, it counts towards my public service hours.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Sunday- A Day of Family, Environmental Waste, and Wine

So today was a really busy day. After getting my church on, I read a chapter from my COUN 500 textbook. Then I got online and shored up my lineup for today's fantasy football matchup. I decided it was time to kick Hines Ward to the curb. Much as I love old Hinzey- how can you not love a guy who refuses to wear a mouth guard and still has the most beautiful smile in the NFL?- the dude has not played in three weeks. Following the law of survival-of-the-fittest, I had to get rid of the old, the sick, and weak. That means you, Mr. Ward.

After that, I hurriedly packed up b'day gifts and such and headed off to Prudhomme City for a Sunday vist with the first family. Ted and Molly and their small tribe were all there. Bydee made an appearance as well. I got some cute pics of the latest and greatest addition to the Daigles with her grandfather, the mayor.

I also got schooled on Babe the Blue Ox by Gabe. He proceeded to tell me that Babe, anatomically, resembled a normal ox but, and I quote, "In this case, he was an ox who had horns as big as trees." There's nothing cuter than hearing a six-year-old say, "In this case..." about anything. Yes, my little Ph.D. Indeed, do tell.

Conversation ran the gamut, as usual. Some topics covered were home schooling, presidential candidates, this blog, instructions on how to work the DVD player, the importance of sundaes, miscarriages, and my mom's wishes for her ashes. Regarding this last topic of mention, Molly suggested to my momma that we scatter her ashes in the parking lot of the National Republican Party's headquarters. I suggested that we fertilize the Bush compound in Kennebunkport, Maine, so that she can haunt them for eternity. Momma, tree-hugging femi-Nazi that she is, said she'd rather we deposit her remains in the gas tank of the Bush family speed boat. God, I love my mom. She has to be one of the last liberals left in south Louisiana, I swear. She and Susan Sarandon could totally be BFF. They'd bond over anti-war protests and ways to kill Ann Coulter. When I grow up, I wanna be just like my mom. She must listen to NPR and watch PBS 24-7 because I have yet to meet anyone who knows as much as she does about the state of our nation. She does have a few X-Files-style conspiracy theory beliefs, like the one she told me today about Laura Bush killing someone while driving intoxicated. You'd think she'd have a little more sympathy for a fellow first lady. Nonetheless, my moms is one of the most intelligent and well-spoken people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. I am ecstatic that I was born of her womb. She rocks!

Unfortunately, I had to take off sooner rather than later because I had to make a stop at Dupre Library on campus. I had to pick up an article that one of my professors put "on reserve" there. I'm sorry, was I just teleported back to 1989? Lady, I know you have a grad assistant. Please, get your slave to scan that s**t into a PDF file and email it to me. For reals. Anyway, at the library, I realized that misery loves company. These kids were the most miserable looking SOBs I've seen. It was nice. After I'd made a copy of the "on reserve" article (copyright, schmopyright, I say), I proceeded to burn through a ream of UL's paper, printing out articles for a literature review I have to do. I felt bad for killing the trees, but it felt great to stick it to "the man." Free paper and ink? Yeah, I'll be getting my tuition's worth of that, thank you very much.

After that, I had to brave Wal-Mart since the cupboards were beyond bare at my house. The fridge had one peice of moldy cheese, rotten ricotta, and a Dixie beer in it. I cannot begin to express my deep and intense loathing of Wal-Mart. This place is bad for me. You see, I apparently have a pre-disposition, genetically speaking, for alcoholism, and upon entering the doors of this joint, I always promise myself I'm not leaving with wine. After about thirty seconds with the freaks at Wal-Mart, I throw in the towel and head for the merlot. I cannot wait until I am working again and can afford to shop anywhere but there. I'm sorry, but somehow I do not want my shopping experience to include a person who decided to wear, in public, a t-shirt sporting the slogan, "I'm not a gynecologist, but I'll take a look at that for you." That is no lie, my friends. I know you feel me on this one.

Finally, when I got home, Alex told me he was just about to call me. He was afraid that I had decided to give up and just move back home to Momma and Daddy. To which I replied, a little too vehemently, "God, I wish!" This prompted a raising of eyebrows and hurt look on the Zandy's part. So, I had to explain, "It's not you. I'm just feeling regressive and wanting to be kid again and have my parents take care of me...forever." At which point his look said, "Stop reading those counseling books. Regressive...whatever." Then I read some more from my counseling books.

Hope all of you had a super-great weekend. See ya on the flip side...what does that mean anyway?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

No Tumor, No Cry

So I had my six month check-up on my misbehaving boob today. A little background info: Back in April, I had my first mammogram. My doctor insisted that I go, even though 40 is now the recommended age for beginning annual mammograms. Thanks, Dr. M! What? You're not making enough money off of my yearly pelvic? Anyway, the day after I had my mammogram, I got a call from the boob joint saying they'd seen something on the x-ray. They wanted to take a closer look since they had no previous x-rays with which to compare the anomalies. Needless to say, I was completely freaked out. The suspected boob got labeled The Bad Boob. I will not divulge which of my matching pair is now infamous. I'm turning that into a fun new game called "Who read The Chronicle?" and I'll know who read it because the next time I see him/her, that person will be staring at my chest wondering, "Which one? Right or left? Right or left? Ah, God, the suspense!" It'll be good for our relationship. A little mystery to keep things interesting. Back to the point...again. At the initial sonogram, the doctor said the bloops on the screen looked like benign cysts, but I should come back in six months just to be safe (and so he could make more money off of The Bad Boob... Cha-ching!) And for six months now, I've been sweating it out, frantically inspecting The Bad Boob for any sign of a lump with car keys in hand ready to speed off to the nearest hospital. Today, I went back. One good thing about the boob place is that, unlike a regular doctor's office, they do not do all those annoying things, like check your blood pressure, listen to your heart, and, best of all, no weigh-in, ladies. Holla! But they do ask a very weird question. I'm unsure as to the application of it to the entire process. Now getting a mammogram involves smooshing your twins between two cold, hard peices of plastic. It's not the best medical experience I've ever had, but it's no comparison to the trauma of the dentist for a dentophobe (is that a word?) like me. The sonogram invloves them slathering cold gel on you and running a little wand camera thingie all over the breast. Again, a little icky, but not so bad. The question that threw me off both times is this: "Do you have a living will?" Why would they ask that? For the life of me (no pun intended), I can't figure out, based on the procedures I went through, how you'd manage to roll out of there brain dead. Strange and disconcerting- a match made in heaven.

The good (GREAT!) news is that I do, in fact, just have some benign cysts. They didn't change. As Jamie, the sonogram tech, put it- "Bad things grow!" Oh, Jamie, so true, so true. So The Bad Boob is now back in my good graces since I no longer have to worry about it. And, you know, despite the fact that my boobs are a little more National Geographic than Playboy these days, I am actually quite fond of them. I'd hate for anything to happen to either of them. With that, The No Longer Bad Boob and I bid adieu to Jamie and the rest of the boob crew until next year. Thank you, Lord!

Monday, October 8, 2007

Damn, I Think That's Gonna Leave a Mark

So this is what your finger looks like after you shave off a nice slice of it along with the onions while mishandling a big old chef's knife .

And this is what your arm looks like after the tetanus shot, which you had to get because your goofy *ss made a large divot in your finger.

And this is what the pharmacalogical booty, the stuff you'll need to treat the outcome of your own idiocy, looks like.

And, yes, I do feel like a complete shmuck. Thanks for asking.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Do I Know You?

Awwwwwwww, yeeeeaaah! Say hello to Miss Clairol and stuff your fat *ss into some Spanx cuz it's high school reunion time! Try to quell the hysterical laughter at my graduation photo below. Mind your manners. Your picture sucked, too.

Now, I have a very dubious record of 0-3 for these things. Actually, it might be 0-2. Whatever. The point is I've skipped every single one and, to be honest, I had no real intention of going this time either but, thanks to MySpace, I had several old classmates urging me to suck it up and show my face. Being a good Catholic, I responded to the guilt and sent in my hard earned dough. And for the first time ever, I stong-armed Alex into attending what was bound to be an extremely uncomfortable social situation. Desperate times call for desperate measures. No way was I walking into this minefield alone, so I became the crazy wife and got all up in his grill demanding he accompany me. Since he is an awesome husband, he put up no resistance and meekly surrendered. No bitching or kvetching. What a great guy, huh? Love ya, babe! Sometime in September, I realized that the reunion was going to fall on a date that was also a UL home game. Then, as the season wore on, it became apparent that this particular game might be the one that my boys would have a chance of winning...the only one... this season. What a quandry! Right up to the moment we pulled into the parking lot at the VFW Hall (I see you snickering over there!) in Pointe de l'Eglise and pulled out the ice chest (Hey, this ain't the Ritz. BYOB, mofos! I believe that was the basic sentiment on the invite), I was considering skipping out and going to the Cajuns' game, but oh, the guilt reared its ugly head, and we carried on. Now, here's the thing. Having never attended one of these shindigs, I didn't really have any idea of what to expect. Turns out it's a lot of awkward conversation until the booze kicks in. Deja vu since that basically encapsulates my high school social experiences. Apparently, some things never change. I'll skip the blow-by-blow and just sum up the highlights.

Number one: "WOW! I didn't even recognize you!" I heard this more times than I care to remember. I'm still trying to figure it out. I can't decide if it was meant as a compliment or a disparaging remark about the ravages of time on my physical being.

Number two: "I'm gay." This was the highlight of the night. There's a guy in our class who is now some kind of preacher for one of those non-denominational churches. Don't get too excited as this is not his full-time job. He also informed me that he does odd jobs, like working for the Sherrif's Department. Huh? That qualifies as an odd job? Whatever, I didn't press the issue. Where was I? Oh yeah, so this cat walks up to a guy that was a really good friend of mine in high school and proceeds with the yada-yada, but what would normally have been boring and trite turned into something absolutely spectacular. It went something like this:
Preacher dude: Hey, man, long time no see? So, what's been going on? Are you married?
Gay friend: No, I'm gay, Preacher Dude.
Preacher dude: Ha! Ha! No, you're not.
Gay friend: Yes, I am. Always have been.
Preacher dude: No, you're not.
Gay friend: Yes, I am. Would you like to see my membership card?
Thaaaat was a knee slapper for me, folks. Absolutely freakin' hysterical! I don't think the preacher dude ever really accepted it either. I think he still believes that my gay friend was just pulling his leg.

Number three: I made a concerted effort to ignore the TV that was set up so that all of us, the majority of whom never even attended let alone completed college, could cheer the LSU Tigers to victory over the Florida Gators. Uh, no. None for me, thanks.

Number four: "Am I really in a VFW Hall right now dancing to... who is this song by again? George who? George Strait?" This was Alex's comment when I dragged him out onto the dance floor for a spin to "The Chair." I laughed so hard at the sheer disbelief in his voice that I literally started crying. Good times, good times. For Alex, I think the whole night was a little surreal. I never talk much about my high school days, and he's never spent any time in Church Point and the slightest amount hanging out with those who claim it as a hometown. Being from New Orleans, it was all pretty much culture shock from the moment he found out that it was BYOB. It took him several days to process that alone.

And that's pretty much it. The best thing about the night was reconnecting with some really great people. I spent a good amount of time catching up with a guy who'd come all the way from Germany. Honest to goodness, he is still one the nicest guys I've ever met. I also got some digits from a couple of my old fav peeps. Hopefully, we can stay in touch because it really was fun hanging out with them again. Unfortunately, I did not take a single picture. So, I leave you with a couple of pictures from my high school era that, I think, pretty much sums up how I felt about the whole experience. Enjoy and keep on, keepin' on to all my favorite peeps!

P.S. The Cajuns did win! Final score was 38-29 over North Texas. Is this the beginning of a comeback season? Let's hope so.