So, as always when working on blog posts, I run into the problem of cats stepping on the computer and erasing everything I’ve written. Now that I’ve written it once, I don’t feel like writing it again. That Stream of Conscious has hit the River of Thought and is gone.
I was writing about my brother and my son. My relationship with my brother will never be what I want it to be because my brother doesn’t want a relationship with us. And, my son suffers from education depression and is unmotivated. There isn’t anything I can do about the first, but the second I’m working on. I have a feeling his 504 next year will look very different than last years.
Nate has more motivation now, motivation to learn, but that doesn’t mean he’s excited about learning and learning to his potential. If that makes sense. I’ve been reading a book that my friend Vince recommended called, “The Mind of Boys,” and it has been very helpful. Although I wish I had discovered it a long time ago. It is also very helpful for someone who will be teaching boys.
Things are sort of… up in the air right now. Although I’ve had my issues at work, I do love my job. However, I also need to teach for my graduate degree and I’m attempting to get my feet under me to accomplish that. I need to make a decision but don’t feel I’m in the position to make it yet. Argh!
I haven’t mentioned AZ for a while. We see each other for lunch on occasion and he wrote one of my recommendations for graduate school. It made me teary-eyed. I think one of the most important things he put in there was how inspiring I was to him. I chose to believe him instead of thinking he was bullshitting. When I think back over the course of our very long relationship, I can see why he would write that and the small strides he is making toward being the person he wants to be instead of allowing himself to be tossed about by everyone elses currents.
T-Bird went back to school and she is searching for a job. Even in our job market, which has not taken the recession as hard as others, this is tough. People are so desperate for jobs that she is getting low-balled, even with the experience and job training that she has had. It’s scary.
Things on the relationship front have changed since my last post. I’m not sure how to characterize it. One of my guests that I’ve known since I started working there asked me out. We’ve always had a good relationship and I like him, plus he really is a good kisser. I’m not sure though, I think he’s a bit too… something. Problem is, he’s such an open book and I’m so good at reading him empathically, I know what he wants and what he’s thinking before he does.
Therefore, I already knows where it’s going, which I’m okay with. I’ll figure out more when we go out Friday. I don’t see it having long-term potential, which I’m also okay with. Most of the time, even more often now, moreso than before, this is the kind of short-term ride I pass up but this time I’m just going to jump on. It’s too intriguing not to.
I have a feeling that once he figures out I can’t be fooled, he may just move on.
I also like the fact that I can feel again. For long I’ve been blocked. I still am but only to a degree, only to the degree that I chose to be. For too long I’ve viewed the world through dispassionate eyes because it was easier than feeling the pain. The pain isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I suppose, thus far, I’ve lived through the worst of it. Losing my pets, AZ’s marriage, the Court case with Jeff, all of which produced literal physical pain in addition to my emotional pain.
Now, I’m back to trouncing through it, roiling it up, and kicking its ass instead of fearing it. One of my co-workers refers to me as Sarah Connor – not bad, not an ass, but badass. I’m more Sarah Connor, flawed, human, and badass, and less like Wonder Woman. I like knowing I can be Sarah C0nnor and I don’t have to be Wonder Woman, although I do love the boots. But, combat boots will work too.
I need to go mow the grass before the storm hits. I’ll leave you with some music and SURPRISE! It is NOT Alice in Chains. One of my favorite lines from this song was what I posted on Facebook: “Here we are buck naked, yeah, but where should we begin, when its not the flesh we’re after but the howling ghost within?”
Addendum to Volume I:
As my cousin pointed out in the comments, Daniel, our part-time friend from Pat O’Briens, was a spitter. He was definitely enthusiastic. He was on my side but moved to Kama’s side because I was smoking and the smoke was drifting in his face. Score one, Nanner.
Here’s one of the jokes he told once he found out where I was from: What do you call the moisture between two West Virginians having sex?
Har, har, har, har. Kama and I found that exceptionally funny, especially since our family is so inbred.
Pandora asked about the necklace I’m wearing. Yes, I made it. More about that later. And this is the third time that Seven and I have breathed the same air. More on that later as well.
If I’m not mistaken, jeebiduss, the hours melted together, I forgot to mention a character that Kama (or was it Pete?) and I met on the street. He was sitting against a building, holding a guitar. He was also wearing a rather large, purple-ish wizard hat. As I walked past I said, “Nice hat.”
He strummed on the guitar and asked, “What hat?”
That cracked me up but also reminded me to be careful who I spoke to and looked in the eye.
NOLA Volume II:
Some of you may not be familiar with New Orleans or the French Quarter, where I spent a great deal of time, okay, almost ALL my time. (Watching Katrina footage does not count). The French Quarter is separated from the rest of New Orleans by Canal Street, which runs north and south on the west border, Esplanade Avenue, which runs north and south on the east border, the Mississippi on the southern border, and N. Rampart on the northern border.
The great thing about the French Quarter is that the blocks are really short. The 13 1/2 blocks from my hotel to the Cafe Du Monde felt like nothing. Of course, I probably walk a mile or more a day at my job, so maybe it was just me. But it also didn’t seem like a very long walk to St. Louis Cemetery, which is about 10 blocks from Cafe Du Monde.
If you would like to follow along via a map, here is a nice one I found.
My hotel was located a block and a half on Carondolet (Bourbon) west of Canal Street. The House of Blues was located on Decatur Street, about two and a half blocks east of Canal. Cafe Du Monde is on Decatur/Dumaine. The St. Louis Cemetary # 1 is on Basin and St. Louis. Jimani is about dead center of Chartres street between Iberville and Canal. I was unable to locate the bar where I listened to music and met Pete, The World Famous Windex Man. It was on Bourbon.
Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo is located about on the corner of St. Ann and Bourbon and The Clover Grill is on the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine, that would be three blocks north of the Cafe Du Monde. Also, find the corner of Decatur and Canal on the map. This will be important later, there will be a test.
Now that you know where you’re going, let’s get back to the next part of my trip.
It’s 11 p.m. and I’m walking east on Bourbon Street. The police have arrived and barricaded it so you are free to walk in the street. I have purposefully left my camera in the hotel room. My purse is small and non-lumpy. My hair is still in a ponytail. I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. (This ploy to appear “local” must have worked because one guy stopped and asked me the location of the Renaissance Hotel (I’m assuming he meant the one at 700 Tchoupitoulas, which was a good 6 blocks from where he was) and some ladies asked me the location of the nearest pet store, of which I had no clue.)
I had meant to return to one location in particular. One where I had heard some great music while walking back to the hotel. I think I found it, but again, I don’t rightly know exactly where I was on Bourbon. I know I hadn’t gone far enough to be in the Gay District, which was where the Clover Grill was.
Keep in mind that when I say I’m walking East on Bourbon, this is directly after walking east on Decatur off of Canal. Yes, I haunted the House of Blues in hopes of catching a glimpse of a member of Alice in Chains. A few big tour buses were outside but they actually were for a different band that was playing there. Pete and I found that out later.
I watched the band for a while and growing tired and bored, I headed out for a pack of cigarettes, which surprisingly were just as cheap there as back here. This is when I ran into Pete, The World Famous Windex Man, or so he calls himself. Pete is a self-described salesman and tour guide. He’s been in 46 of the 50 states and according to him, used to wash car windows with Windex for money. He said this continued until the first time he heard the term, carjacking. He was quite familiar with the names of many of the towns near where I live.
Pete is black, about 50 years old, has one bad eye, and a drinking habit. (I tell you this so you can find him when you get there.) However, he was also someone with which I felt an instant rapport and comfort level. As we wandered the streets of New Orleans we shared stories and he pointed out interesting places, regaling me with the vast list of famous people he has met in the city of New Orleans. He also told me where Brad and Angelina live and about a meeting he had with Angelina. It seems he knows everyone and I felt very safe with Pete.
We stopped by Jimani to get him a beer and so I could use the bathroom. The food looked delicious but I wasn’t hungry. The staff was very friendly. I’ll definitely go back there. Pete and I talked about the aftermath of Katrina and just about everything else, including my quest to meet Alice In Chains. This resulted in us making a few more passes by the House of Blues, which also resulted in us seeing, not one, but two members of one of the bands peeing in the street. One didn’t even have his pants on, just a long shirt. Once we made another round, Pete asked one of the guys who they were and they said, “Haste the Day,” which neither of us had ever heard of.
While sitting at Jimani, I turned to Pete and said, “Willy, what…? *Pause* Why did I just call you Willy?”
Pete smiled and said, “You a clairvoyant too. I have a twin brother we used to call Willy when he was a kid.” We made another swing past the House of Blues and Pete and I started making the final trek, or so I thought, back to my hotel room.
Pete is one of the most interesting, congenial people I’ve ever met. He works for tips and he’s not cheap, even though he gave me the “there ain’t nobody else around and you’re cute” discount. My hip was really hurting and I was just exhausted. As we turned the corner of Decatur and Canal, I noticed a couple coming across Canal from the direction of Harrahs, which is located further south on Canal.
The man seemed intent on overshooting Decatur and barreling our direction. So much so that Pete and I both turned. His lady friend had stopped and he stopped and whirled mid-step.
Pete, the ever friendly one with a voice and reason and sense, said, “How ya’ll doin’?”
The man froze for an instant, sizing us up, then mumbled, “All right.” He grabbed his lady friend’s hand and off they went on Decatur. I stood frozen at first, not answering Pete as he jabbered on. I then wandered up Canal, stopped mid-step, turned in the direction of Decatur, turned back toward Bourbon, wandered a few more steps, and turned again toward Decatur.
Pete said, “Nanner, you all right?”
“That was him, Pete.”
“Jerry Cantrell. That was Jerry Cantrell.”
“Who’s Jerry Cantrell?”
I whipped open my purse and showed him the CD cover from “Boggy Depot.”
“Remember, Pete, that’s why I’m here. I’m seeing Alice in Chains and he’s the guitarist.”
“Well, damn it, why didn’t ya say something?”
“I really wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure but, I’m sure, but I’m not sure, but I think I’m sure. That’s him right here on the CD cover, you tell me. ”
“Hell, I don’t know! I wasn’t looking at him, I was lookin’ at her! Did you see how tight her jeans were?” Score one, Pete.
“No, I was looking at how tight his jeans were, Pete!” Score two, Nanner.
Pete drug me back to Decatur Street as we laughed at each other. We peered into the darkness and found… an empty street. Fuck.
We went back to the hotel where I grabbed a few bucks and then we made another round. The blocks seem much longer when it’s between 3:30 and 4:00 a.m. and you haven’t had much sleep, and, you’re kicking yourself in the ass.
At 4:09, my head hit the pillow and my foot was still kicking my ass. Score one, Jerry.
Yesterday was counseling day at Casa Peach. First T-Bird, then AZ. Yeah, haven’t heard much from those two lately, have you? I suppose those Detroit natives are on some kind of wavelength.
T-Bird’s old man called and said she was having a meltdown and could I come down and soothe the savage beast. Not that it took much soothing, just some well-meaning and well-placed advice, not that she’ll follow it because, as we all know, you can’t tell peeps anything.
AZ is a month out from W-Day. He’s having anger issues again and for some reason he feels as though I have some profound insight into this problem. Actually I do, that’s why he called me and I was honest. He got really quiet a few times and I suppose me telling him that he needs to let the past rest and start fresh with a new marriage, a new wife, and a new attitude had some affect on him. Well, maybe, maybe not, after all, you can’t tell peeps anything, especially him.
AZ and I share at least one difficult fault – the inability to show vulnerability. I pointed this out to him and told him that I got a firm dose of vulnerability and actually allowing people to be there for me when the house burned. Ms. Independent got her ass kicked. I reminded him, again, that there is a difference between being there for someone, someone being there for you, and actually allowing someone to be there for you and that means showing that soft underbelly, which we all know is there anyway, so just come out with it already!
Sometimes I wonder if he holds on to his anger because he’s afraid there’s nothing else inside himself or outside of his constant need to right every wrong with vengeful pride. I told him that even after 15 1/2 years, there are still things I have no idea about, things I really should know about him, and he leaves a lot to inference on the part of what friends he has. He even pointed out he has very few actual friends.
For her part, T-Bird was able to give me some very good insight into myself and future relationships. Actually, she was quite positive about my chances of finding someone that I can find balance with. One thing that has bothered me about my desire for independence, yet also wanting a meaningful relationship, was whether or not I was shooting myself in the foot. I had no (and really don’t have any idea now, just a better picture) of how independence and meaningful go together, since she lives it every day and I’m still trying to wade through the muck.
We also made a list of potential suitors, sorted by job category, that would make good matches for me. Airline pilot, touring musician, long haul trucker, even semi-pro and pro-football, baseball, basketball, hockey, soccer players, blah, blah, blah. Then again, maybe it could just be someone with an interesting, full, independent life like me. I’ll be interested in meeting him in the near future.
The shingle is still out so if anyone has any burning questions for Dear Peach, leave them in the comments and I’ll do my best to provide worthy insight.
I’m tired. *Yawn* I didn’t get home until 1:30 this morning. I felt like I had sweated off about ten pounds by the end of the evening. It was a smashing success. Did I tell ya’ll it was an engagement party for a young couple and 250 of their closest friends?
When we arrived, there was a huge white tent with the sides drawn back in the front yard and two large fans. A few tables with chairs and five high tops without chairs. Tables for the buffet and bar, a place for the band, and on the back patio/terrace, another bar was set up. There was another buffet set up inside the house as well. Large, fragrant bouquets of flowers, perfectly manicured lawn, even matching flowers and greenery planted in the ground for the occasion. Small, medium, and large, pink, lavender, and white lantern balls appeared to be floating from the tent ceiling.
It was absolutely beautiful and much more than any of us (staff) could ever imagine for ourselves.
The host, hostess, and their family were wonderful, classy folks. I suppose we all carry stereotypes of rich and poor folks, and I’m sure we all know folks who belong to one or the other class that destroy that stereotype and those who personify it. I meet both types, which is what makes my job infinitely entertaining.
One such entertaining chap was a man who the Gods of yore surely smiled upon. Literally, he could have graced the cover of any magazine without blinking an eye. I first saw him later in the evening, as I had been working the bar, floating through the house, floating through the crowd, delivering drinks, busing the tables, delivering ice, making drinks, making more drinks, and delivering more drinks.
Obviously I caught his eye before he caught mine because he made it a point to compliment me on my superior people skills, my bright smile, and how he could tell I truly enjoyed my job. (Actually, I think he asked when we had started serving quail and I referred him to one of the evening servers.) He works for the insurance company that underwrites our insurance at the restaurant, so he’s very familiar with it. The last time they came in for a meeting in the conference room, he happened not to be with them. Schade. This lead to a brief conversation as to how I came to work at the restaurant and literally how I bullshitted my way into the job with the barest of actual experience.
The next time I brought drinks around, including a set of chilled shots, he told me he’d better not imbibe because if he did he may become too intoxicated and start hitting on women (which gave me the feeling that he meant me). I raised my head to say something and as I did he bent down. I said, “I think you’re good looking enough that no one would mind.”
Suddenly, he’s looking directly into my eyes, and they softened, “Thank you.” I smiled. I made a few more rounds and eventually wound up back at his and his friend’s high top. This time they had joined some rather lovely ladies. As I delivered the drinks, Adonis said thank you and looked at me again and I was overcome with the, “Omigod, he’s thinking of kissing me! May Day! May Day! Abort! Abort!” I missed part of the conversation since demigod and I were standing there staring at each other but heard this, “NO! I want to meet your little friend.”
Oops. Someone explain to me why Adonis is standing there staring at me like he’s going to tip me backwards and land a Rhett Butler on me while his date/girlfriend/whatever is standing right there???? Booze? Cad? I’m astounding beautiful and he couldn’t help himself?
One would think after hearing “little friend” that she’s going to pitch a major hissy. Yet, when we introduced ourselves and shook hands, I only felt a twinge of pure cattiness beneath her beautiful exterior. However, Adonis and I were both silently chastised and did not speak for the remainder of the evening. Matter of fact, we both went out of our way NOT to even look at each other.
I sure am having brief memorable moments this year. Maybe they’re preparing me for something bigger. Yeehaww!
Have you ever had a lot to write about, a lot of things going on, but nothing really to say about it? I guess that’s where I am and it’s time to break the silence.
I broke my first dishes the other day. A teapot and a bread and butter plate, one after the other. Business has been brisk and I’m happy for that. However, I’m still growing accustomed to working six straight or this week, eight straight, as we had training today, our normal day off, and then I have catering on Thursday until late in the evening and then have to open lunch on Friday. I really love it though. It keeps me on my toes.
Have you ever made someone’s fantasy come true? I did. As you all know, I can be fairly wicked when provoked or enticed or simply kissed in the right spot. Yet, it was my ex, Lex, who pointed out that the best way to get in my pants was to talk to me with intelligence because smart guys turn me on and my friend is very intelligent, in many ways.
However, since that time I’ve missed him a great deal. For one reason or another, we’ve gone from speaking practically every week night to a short series of brief e-mails, and an even longer silence thanks to the country phone company. Obviously someone cut the line between tin cans out where he lives and traipsing to the top of the mountain for cell signal, like he did the day he left the message from his cell phone, isn’t advisable during mosquito and rattlesnake season.
I miss him. I guess I hadn’t realized how starved I was for more adult conversation. Not that I don’t have adult conversation, but deep adult conversation. Right now I’m stuck with T-Bird talking about J3 and football training.
“They’re teaching the boys to block with their forearms. You know they’re not allowed to grab each other or anything. I’m not sure if that’s just in his age group or not.”
“Hon, that goes all the way to the NFL. It’s called ‘holding’.” T-Bird doesn’t really know a lot about football and I grew up on the football field so listening to her learn about the game is tedious and, of course, J3 is this… and that… and he’s this strong and this much bigger than this other kid. I have found that her representations of his abilities are at times, overstated. Okay, most of the time they’re grossly overstated. I mean, he’s 7.
Anyway, back to my friend. I have found it difficult to be cut off from him, especially after having to leave him with a definitive shell-shocked look on his face, and worse, the feeling from him of “Wow, I really wanted that. I’ve fantasized about that but now I’m not so sure I should have taken that, I’m not so sure I should have done that, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.” That’s what has bothered me the most. The immediate withdrawal, the uncertainty, the doubt, the reclusiveness. A real taste of my own medicine from one over-thinking, overly analytical person to another.
I’ve dodged admitting that’s what I felt from him because I didn’t want it to be that way. When I sit on my porch in the dark, listening to the sounds of the night, watching the train go by, I reach out to him and see his eyes looking back at me, but I still sense the uncertainty and I am reminded that there are some things I wish I never knew.