Just hold your breath and jump

As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have an irrational fear of the sea, or rather, sea creatures. I don't like them. I don't want to be near them. And I don't want to be in a situation where I can't get away from them quickly or punch them in the face (which is hard to do under water). So you can only imagine my inner dialogue when I was on a family trip with a boyfriend and they decided we were going to go snorkeling. I certainly wasn't going to be the reason we weren't going to go. I might be the reason the boat had to turn around and come back to shore- to drop off the hysterical girl- but the boat was at least going to get out there beforehand.

I think the boy knew I was nervous scared shitless (sans the soiling myself), but I really tried to play it cool. The boat ride to the offshore reef felt like it took hours. As everyone else sun bathed and chattered gayly, I alternated between getting lost in scenes from Jaws to trying to participate in the conversation by interjecting two to three words that probably had nothing to do with what was being discussed at the time. I was freaking out.

The boat finally came to the reef and dropped anchor (I think figuratively- I don't think they just drop anchors on reefs- I don't remember). At this time, the staff went over the "free swim" perimeter (like they needed to tell me twice don't get too far away from the boat) and the "I'm OK" signal for divers- the sign they would require divers to give them if they felt like something was awry and needed to confirm the diver's safety. (Major foreshadowing). During their little wrap up where they told everyone to have fun, I went numb. I couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Adults and kids alike pulled on their masks, flipper waddled to the side of the boat, and flopped into the ocean like it was no big deal. I tried stalling by fumbling with my gear, but that only gave me so much time. My palms were sweating, knees weak, arms were heavy. (Lucky for me I didn't eat spaghetti). I could just say "Nope, not gonna do it" but I knew this excursion was paid for. And, in the words of my good friend Mollie, "I am not a pussy." I was going to get in that open water if it was the last thing I did (which at that point, I was pretty sure it was going to be).

I made it over to the side of the boat and my mind went blank as I jumped in.


I immediately snapped to AND FREAKED OUT. Panic attack. MAJOR PANIC ATTACK that got worse with every undulation of the ocean. I looked at the boy like a deer in the headlights- totally panic stricken- mouth open- OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD- splutter- face full of sea water- OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD- another face full of sea water.

My display of "how to be an incoherent mess with a life vest and goggles on" was interrupted by the people on the boat.

"DIVER!!! DIVER!!!!"

"They're talking to you."

I focused on the boat through the tears and salt water.

"DIVER" (as he pats his head with both hands- *safety signal*) "DIVER!? ARE YOU OK!?"

I pulled myself together and limply touched my head with both hands. "Yeah... I'm OK."

Panic subsided to slight embarrassment as I looked around and saw everyone flipping around in the water- even the little kids. (But whatever, those are probably the same dumb little kids that learn how to ski wearing dumb monster helmets and go down without poles).

I took a deep breath and focused on calming down. The motion in the ocean still had me a little nervous, but I was already there so I needed to see what all of the fuss was about. With a little help/coaxing, I finally put my mask on and looked down. It was pretty cool. Fish. Lots of them. In every color that was popular in the 80s. I tried breathing through the supplied blow hole (or snorkel, whatever), and regressed slightly. The combination of hearing my own breath (and then focusing on my own breath) and rocking with the waves caught me off guard and sent me into a slight panic. I worked on it, though, and by the time the "Time to get your ass out of the water" signal was given, I was pretty comfortable.

I don't think I talked much on the boat ride back- only because all I wanted to talk about was how awesome I was for doing that. So what- maybe I did make an awkwardly aquatic scene- but I wasn't going to let a paid for excursion go to waste.... or let any seven year old show me up.

Return to Sender

I have a friend who is in jail that I have sent a few letters to. The first of which was a Christmas card. I tried to get it to him a few weeks before the holiday and, at that point, I was still receiving tons of mail for the people who lived in the apartment before me. Anytime mail was actually addressed to me was exciting (even bills). Unless, of course, it was the Christmas card that I had sent my friend in jail with a big "Return to Sender" on it. He had already been moved by the time my card showed up for him. Here is how that scene went:

I get home and grab the 6 cards out of my mailbox and start flipping through them:
Card from San Francisco addressed to previous family
Card from Austin addressed to previous family
Postcard from London addressed to previous family (WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE!?)
Card from Michigan addressed to previous family (WHY WON'T THEY FORWARD THEIR ^&*^% MAIL!?)
Card from New York addressed to previous family
Card not addressed to previous family- pause- look closer- I recognize that hand writing- DAMN IT- my Christmas card

So my USPS haul that day was 5 personal cards to previous family and 1 returned Christmas card that I sent to my friend in jail.

I took time picking out that card. It was tough. There was this great card that had Rudolph sitting in a recliner sipping on some coffee and behind him, along the wall, were mounted deer heads. When you opened the card it said "They used to laugh and call him names." I got a good chuckle out of it (bastard reindeer) and then decided to go with a lamer, less violence implying card. When I called my good friend and told her about my card selection- she let me know that she had sent our friend the Rudolph card. DAMN IT.

I decided to go big or go home with my second card selection. I would like to point out that Hallmark does not have a "Best of luck in jail" section with cards like "If you drop the soap, just leave it" or "I was going to get you a cake for your birthday, but instead I just made you this shiv" so picking out a card is kind of a tough task. But I found a good one the second time around. I didn't take a picture of the card, but this sums it up:

If this card wasn't a winner, then one doesn't exist. WHO IS THIS CARD FOR ANYWAY!? Friends in rehab? People in AA? Is the liquor thinking of you? Are you thinking of them while you are drunk? Are you thinking of the liquor and then had to send someone a card? If this is what Hallmark is putting out these days, I think I need to look at their job openings, because I could definitely come up with some good ones. Here are some examples that I have already thought of:

"Artistic Movies" are so in right now

P.S. (As in pre script... yeah I just made that up- deal with it) Spoiler alert!!! If you have not seen or read The Hunger Games yet and are going to act like this blog revealed some secret plot line for you- don't read it. Also, move out from the rock you have been living under and join society. P.S. (as in post script to my pre script)- in the movie Titanic, the ship sinks. 

I recently went to see The Hunger Games with a friend of mine. We had both read the books and I had already seen the movie, but I told him I would go again if he wanted to see it. The point is- we both know how the story went.

About ten minutes into the actual games, the sound in the theater went haywire. You could hear all of the auxiliary noise but none of the characters voices. Therefore, the scene where the fire balls chase Katniss out of the woods went something like this:

*Birds chirping*
*Katniss asleep in a tree*
Apparently something wakes her up (we're not sure what because we can't hear it)
*Birds keep chirping*
*Katniss freaks and starts running*
*Sounds of whoosh and some crackle as we see flames engulfing surroundings*
*Katniss gets hit with big ass fire ball shrapnel* She is apparently in a lot of pain by her tightened face and open mouth, but we don't hear a gasp.

It goes on like this for a while.

During the scene where Cato and the clan are running around together with mouths open- I lean over to my friend and said "They should have closed captions- *Screaming* *Ahhh**Ahhh*"

During the scene where Rue gets Katniss' attention and tells her about the tracker jacker nest nearby, I made a crude comment about what Rue was saying (she's mimicking a sawing action).

This solely background noise kept going and going and was getting old quickly. People started leaving the theater and I looked at my friend and said "This noise thing is starting to piss me off."

Finally, we got to the scene where Rue is dying and having a conversation with Katniss- which we can hear none of. At this point, my friend- in the middle of an epiphany- looked over and loudly said "OOOHHHH- THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE NOISE." It was dark in the theater, but there was no mistaking my "Areyoukiddingmeyoudumbass" look.

"Really?" I asked him.
"I thought they were doing an artistic approach or something."
"Really?" I asked him again.
"Well why didn't you say anything to me? I didn't know. I hadn't seen it before."
"Really?"

There are a few states of impairment- both hereditary and self induced- that this type of total unawareness is acceptable. And my friend was mostly unimpaired (mostly). His unawareness was totally unacceptable. I toyed with the idea of making him totally unaware of the fact that his ride left him when he went to the bathroom (you know- just a little "don't be dumb" lesson). Instead, I gave him a ride home, and dissected his stupidity the entire way.

Please just give me my food

Recently, while ordering food, I dropped my custom of using "Cathy" as my name. Just to see what would happen.

Place my order.
Girl taking my order: What's your name?
Me: Leila
Girl: What?
Me: Leila
Girl: OK

Food comes up. I immediately know it is mine because the guy who is in charge of calling out the names stares at the receipt. He looks at the girl who took my order and then back at the receipt. She notices his uncertainty and whispers my name to him.

Girl: It's Lita.

Guy: Ohhhh- ok. Lita. Your food is ready.
Proudly turns to girl who took my order: You misspelled it. It should be L-E-T-A.

Right. Back to Cathy it is.

I like your leg.

Katrina hit during my senior year of college- which, to say the least, put a damper on my last year. (Bonus points for the worst pun ever?) I moved to Boston for the semester, played refugee with a very good friend's family (thanks Nicole, Gasper, Janice, and Alex! no thanks, Max) and learned things like where to get the best cannoli, how to not make eye contact on the T, and why people own long underwear.

When I got back to school in New Orleans, I felt like I was given a new shot at life but also felt like every day that passed was a huge milestone and so every morning I woke up more and more sad knowing that I was about to graduate from unreality. My parents knew I was having a tough time with this, as well, and decided that they wanted to give me an early graduation gift- and got Nicole and me a spot on Muses, an all women's Mardi Gras parade. It was a big "Thank you" to Nicole and pretty much the best graduation gift ever for me.

The night of the parade was a blast. It was one of the most memorable experiences that I don't remember that I have ever had. It was certainly an amazing way to celebrate my four years in New Orleans and Nicole and I couldn't have had more fun.

At the end of the parade, my Dad picked us up downtown and, upon my demand, took us to F and M's (a total dive bar- and in the top four of my "favorite places on Earth" list). On the way to the bar, we were stopped at a red light when my Dad interrupted the inebriated conversation with "Leila- GO GET IT!" I had no clue what the hell he was talking about and explained that to him. "Right there- on the median- go grab it!" I stared at him blankly and he put the car in park, got out and ran down the median. I couldn't even imagine what he was going after that would make him park his car in traffic, but didn't have long to try to figure it out.

He got back in the car with a mannequin leg.

Yep.


"Loooookkk!," he said as he held up a "life like" leg with perfectly pointed toes. "It's amazing..."

"Dad- the light is green- come on- I'm ready to go to F and M's and you're weird."

Little did I know, my Dad just found the newest addition to our Mardi Gras crowd, Poydras. My Dad proudly carries "her" out to any parade and has come to be known as "the guy with the leg." Yes- he's that guy.

Poydras has been adorned with fish net stockings stocking and glitter shoes shoe and dozens of people stop to take pictures with her each year.

Yes- I know I am chunky, but it is the leg what we are looking at here.

Who gets to hold the leg has become a pretty big thing. It attracts so much attention from floats that my dad has caught things that people clearly did not intend to throw (such as a bead specifically made for krewe members only).

There was almost a scuffle this year at Mardi Gras when another weirdo came out onto the parade route carrying a mannequin leg. Some words were exchanged, but ultimately they set up shop further down the block. Personally, I would have liked to see an American Gladiator style throw down with the legs used as props. 

So, that fateful night in 2006, my family became even weirder as we added another limb to our family tree (second worst pun?) and brought Poydras into the home she always deserved.

Me VS Fruit Flies

Things I love about living in South Louisiana: pretty much everything. Things I could do without: the roaches, worms, caterpillars, weird bugs in my garden, spiders, and the disgusting fruit flies that have taken over my kitchen and life.

And before you waste your mind power thinking this-- NO! I DON'T HAVE FRUIT SITTING OUT IN MY KITCHEN. DON'T ASK ME IF I DO.

One- I don't like fruit (except for apples- which is a topic of its own) and two- I'm not a European painter from the 1700s- I don't need some bowl of pretty stuff laying around for inspiration. So where did these fruit flies come from!?

I have diligently emptied the trash. I even got rid of my luxurious second trash can. Long story. Well- not that long. I use to recycle. I don't anymore (the city hasn't given dropped off my recycling bin- chill, hippie). I kept the can. Which, when I think about it, is kind of the opposite of recycling- having two trash cans instead of one in your kitchen- so you have to make less trips and produce more trash per trip.

I have done everything I can.

I successfully got buzzed and unsuccessfully tried to suck them up with my vacuum cleaner.

I desperately googled 'how to get rid of fruit flies' and started perusing.

I started reading and then quickly stopped reading to make sure I didn't google 'scary fingernails.' Turns out, I didn't. But really- why does she have such long, dark nails!? Are those to scare off the fruit flies?

I tried a few different things and, with the help of an intuitive friend (shout out Steph!), created my own fruit fly killer. 

Turns out the fruit flies and I have something in common- we both love champagne! Who knew!? I would have invited them to my party... Oh wait- I did. See above.

This method has certainly worked on the dozens or so fruit flies that have flown to their imminent death lusting after the sweet bubbly concoction, but there are still THOUSANDS left in my freaking kitchen. I'm out of champagne (big surprise there), so I have moved onto other fruit fly vices to take these little rapid breeding assholes down. I now have 6 death cups in strategic points with hopes of total annihilation.

I just can't live like this anymore. I can't. It was funny the first seven times Sophie, completely annoyed, swung unsuccessfully at the fly buzzing around her. But it turns out even humor has its price- and laughing at my cat is not worth living amongst dirty, annoying, stupid, never ending pests.

Guest Blog: No good deed goes unpunished...

Or let's hope it doesn't for this poor shmo's sake.

This is a guest blog presented by the talented Melissa. She got to experience an awkward life experience the other day and I invited her to blog about it. Enjoy!

The day was off to a great start. My first class was canceled, the sun was shining, and I was way ahead of schedule. So, on the way to work I thought I would stop at PJ's Coffee, since I was in the mood for a nice, iced caramel latte to complement this seemingly perfect. day.

Once inside I was pleased to find that there was only one person in line! What a rare sight! I quickly took my place behind a man in a purple baseball cap, who appeared to be in his mid thirties. I did my usual thing where I let myself pretend I'm going to purchase a second breakfast in the form of a chocolate croissant only to remind myself that I am trying to eat healthier when I hear someone talking to me. I whip my mop of wet hair around only to find baseball cap man talking to me.

"So," he says with a really big-ass grin on his face, "are you gonna buy me my coffee today?"
"Uh, no..." I say with a nervous laugh. I wish the man would have let me continue my chocolate pastry musings. Damn him. "Not unless you need me to..." I say nervously to fill the stifling silence.
"Oooooh dang!" He replies with that same big-ass grin on his face. "How about I get you yours then?"

Ok, stop. I HATE when dudes pull this shit. Granted, I tend to be oblivious to it most of the time, but still. You date the same person for three years and it becomes pretty easy to pretend you're asexual and undesirable. I don't know how to react to this stuff anymore, ya know? Plus, this dopey, purple-hat wearing man was not my type. Sorry, bro. Also, I have a boyfriend. But I'm not perfect and I would have kept flirting if this dude wasn't so...cheesy.

"Don't do that!" I protest, "There's no need!"
"Nonsense," says Purple Hat Man, "I got this one. Tell the man what you want."

Now, I am so upset that this man is buying my coffee that I try to cheapen my usual order because I feel bad that ice and flavor syrups cost an extra 60 cents. What if this puppy-eyed fool is spending his last precious pennies on my coffee? The thought scares me, so I reply that I would like a skim latte. Ew. I hate hot, unflavored lattes. But guilt consumes me and I realize there is no way I am getting out of here with what I really wanted -- an iced caramel latte and a quiet morning in my own thoughts.

So I promise the man I'll "pay it forward" and buy someone a coffee sometime soon. (No I won't. This man creeped the shit out of me and I am not stooping to weird person in a van with tented windows status- even if it means performing a good deed. Sorry.).

He proceeds to hand the barista a credit card. The barista swipes it. "Oops! Didn't go through!" he says with a smile and proceeds to swipe the card again...and again...and again....

"Oh shit, that ones not working!?" Purple Hat Man asks. "OK fine, try this one!" He hands the man another card. Declined. Again.

This happens with one more card before Purple Hat Man starts to sweat and even gets a little bossy, "PUT A RECEIPT ON IT!! SWIPE IT WITH A RECEIPT ON IT! THE MAGNETIC STRIP IS JUST MESSED UP MAN!" he tells the Barista. The line behind me is now 5 people long. They are all staring. Perhaps its my neon orange shorts that have them so captivated. But, based on their faces, it was definitely due to the scene that Purple Hat Man has caused between trying his hand at chivalry and subsequently experiencing the embarrassing effects of bankruptcy.

Finally, I interject. "How about I pay for it so we can just get out of here." I say. I can't remember my tone here, but I imagine myself sounding a lot like Daria from that old MTV show -- flat and unimpressed.

The barista looks at me, looks back at Purple Hat Man who is now chuckling nervously and fumbling with more of his credit cards, and then looks back at me. I make eyes at the barista that say, "HELP ME, YOU BASTARD. HELP ME." He sees my eyes and says, "Ya know what. They're both on me. Y'alls drinks are free. Enjoy your day."

My nasty hot latte could only be salvaged by Splenda, but I do not dare take time to add a packet since that would mean spending another second with broke-ass Purple Hat Man. I tell him thank you under my breath and jet out the door.

Once the humiliation wears off, I start to laugh to myself. That was great! I call my Mom. She is amused. I decide to make the story my Facebook status. It gets 21 likes and I am feeling pretty damn good. What a LOSER, I think to myself. Either that broke dude tried to scam me for a free coffee or he really is just a sad, broke man hitting on a tiny, tan girl in orange shorts who doesn't give a shit. The man couldn't win.

Later in the day I check my Facebook. Under my little story of the day's event, my friend posts a comment:

"...credit card machines have been down on campus all day today."

Shit. That man REALLY couldn't win. Oh well.