Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Now that my friend is single, people from all over (the Who Dat Nation, woot, woot) are trying to set her up. So, of course, I tried my hand at it as well. My husband knew a single (divorced) guy. Really good guy. Nice guy. Working guy. Has a job guy. Owns his home guy. Kids are grown guy.

Read: Old guy.

Okay, so he's not that old. Honestly, he's only ten years older than she is. Good looking. Drives a truck. Did I say he has a job? Well, he has a job.

She agrees, but only if we double.

I'm so excited! We get to out...I mean...she's going out with this guy! How cool is that?

She cancels. She's in a bad mood (understandable) and doesn't want to make a bad mood impression on the guy (totally understandable) or have her mood affect her impression of him (UNDERSTOOD!!!). I get that.

I, on the other hand, am crestfallen. What? No eating crawfish night for me?

Someone left my cake out in the rain fer sure.

But I forgot to tell you, my husband, he's so beast (that's middle school talk for he's really cool). He's savage (that's the word that will replace beast soon).

We went out anyway.

It was great. It was wonderful. The waitress can bite my ever living expanding ass, too.

Yes, I know I am blowing it out of proportion, but I MUST tell my tale. We went to the local popular seafood joint. I've been dying to pinch tails and suck heads for the longest time now, and tonight was the night! Beast ordered a catfish po-boy, and I...I ordered two pounds of delectable boiled crawfish. So yummy, so yummy. Since we are on a budget, and those little critters are expensive this time of the year, I kept it down to two (we ALL know that any decent Cajun woman can down at least 5 to 10 pounds of those suckers). My darling beast of a man told me to get another pound if I wanted, but I said, "Let me wait til I have these done, and we will see."

In the meantime, our lovely Rita, I mean the waitress has yet to stop by our table to check on our feasting status (I will add that she has visited several tables before to refresh drinks, check on happiness level, and the usual good Samaritan working for the tip behavior). Finally, by holding up an empty glass full of melting ice, my husband halted our waitress long enough to get a fresh coke. And then she was gone, in two seconds flat. Well, perhaps three, I don't do math. Did not pass our way for quite some time afterwards. And by the time she returned, and before I could open my mouth to ask for a third pound of the now elusive crawfish, she plopped our check on the table. I imagine our faces were showing a bit of puzzlement when she asked, "Oh, did you want some dessert?"

My question(s):

Did we look like bad tippers?

Did we look poor?

Were we so ugly that she couldn't stand the sight of us long enough to ask about our well being?

Did my husband leave her a tip?

Yes, he's beast like that.

Will we be back?

Yes. We will, the crawfish is good.

Am I as pissed as I was last night?

Nah. I'm over it. We went to a video poker place, drank beer, and smoked.

It was great.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

When I was just a young girl

My youngest brother, who is older than I am by thirteen years, was sentenced to twenty years at Angola Pennitentary for his involvement in an armed robbery of a convenient store. He was sitting in the car in drug induced euphoria while his friends held up the store with a hand gun.

He was eighteen, and served nearly fifteen years before being paroled.

The things I remember most before, and during that period in his life was his romance with an "older" woman. He was quite young and she wasn't quite so young. Betty Anne was her name. He had a son with his childhood sweetheart. Since we were "poor white trash," her parents refused to acknowledge him, and he grew up not knowing my brother.

I remember his motor cycle. It was big, black, and loud. His best friend was killed while riding it. I remember that quite clearly, although I was really young at the time, because he was decapitated...and my brother threw the motor bike in the ship channel.

I remember his music, halloween parties, and everyone calling him "Chicano." He was half mexican. We had different dads.

He was wild. Liked to party. Liked to smoke, drink and fool around.

My brother came out of prison in the early ninties.

As it is with most boys becoming men while living in prison, living in the "world" was a trial. He found work as an offshore cook, and then moved his way up...way up to a very skilled crane operator, met a woman, had a son, left the woman, lost his son, and lived his life deep in alcohol and whatever else he could find to fill the emptiness.

He loved his son.

Truly loved his son, and grieved the forced seperation that his son's mother imposed. But at the same time, the disease of alcoholism and drug addiction had such a hold that not even for his son could he give it up. He tried. And at times succeeded. He fought for his son, and time and time again, lost. I think it broke his heart, and from that breaking, he could not become fixed. The alcohol and drugs became so deeply embedded. It was the only thing in his life that remained faithful to him. How could he not be the same in return.

He was a good person, aside from the addiction he battled daily. And would not hesitate to offer help when the need was there. I remember the endless days I spent in the hospital battling cancer, and the endless days he spent being there, sleeping on a couch that made his butt look big.

Demon's aside, his heart was good.

My brother is dying. He was diagnosed years ago with Hep. B. Fearing for the loss of his job, he decided to forego treatment. And now, years of abuse combined with this disease is taking his mind and his life.

I do not know how long he has. I do not know how many bouts of sanity vs. insanity we will see.

And my heart hurts for the man who lost the boy that he was.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010 you think you can tell...

Yes, I've had a bit to drink tonight.

Just about a whole bottle of wine. White Zinfeldel (I'm not even going to try the correct spelling), minus a glass.

It's been a day.

A day and a half so to speak, and while I'm not one to drink stress away, I thought I deserved a bit of spirits today.

My children were safe.

Someone sober was on the scene at all times.

I even cooked dinner!

And I deserved it!

It's been a day and a half.