Yes, you can get your coats out now.

Seven days into December and winter has finally settled upon dear New Orleans, at least for the time being, and not a moment too soon! The folks who were just blasting the muggy, balmy weather are now just-as-noisily cursing the biting wind and the drizzling rain.  Christmas trees are haughtily pushing out lesser houseplants to take the prime spot by the window, and even my house has both colored and white lights strung up on the porch. (it's very politically correct).

I'm not one to complain about the holiday season, so I won't! In fact, I love Christmas.  I love Jesus, too, so that works out well.  I also love being a mom during this time. (What?! There are times you don't love being a mom?! Tsk tsk tsk)   The excitement of getting new toys (or new hand-me-downs) is really something to marvel.  Of course, so is remembering the birth of Jesus, but come on, a 5 year old thinks the batman cave with the 4 secret hide-e-holes and working trap doors trump the little drummer boy any day.

Which is why, as GROWN UPS, it is our duty to gently remind them that why getting toys is exciting and fun, we really should be grateful of all the non material things that we have in our life, because those are what REALLY matters.  And it's true, after all.  All it takes is one hurricane season to really bring that lesson home...but that's another blog.

So as the streetcars don their holly, as the lights are strung up on Canal Street, as the Oaks in City Park start shining in the night, remember to lighten up this season.  Let go of one piece of anger.  Extend the olive branch first.  Find joy this season, and spread that joy to others.  Hugs and smiles, dear Internet, and happy holidays.

Trolls R Us

In a city of trolls, a shining knight in plain clothes stumbles through. A sliver of hope, a boost to faith in humanity. Because, you see, without trolls, there would be no knights. Without an 80 something year old wwII vet who was married 54 years and who just retired and, as a side note, doesn't complain over something as mundane as a "wait time," we would just drown in a sea of trolls. Of complainers. Of downers. Of rotten, tit sucking, scum of the universe who don't. appreciate. a single thing.

So people, look at yourselves. Don't be that person. We all succumb to it from time to time. Giving a pissed off glare to the check out lady who took 2 minutes too long ringing us up, or hanging up on a not-so-helpful customer service representative. It takes a willful strength-choice-to not be that person. So eat your damn can o' spinach and BE that stronger person. Be that someone that other people can take note of, not because you are an asshole, but because you, my friend, are NOT a troll.

That Sunday

The Saints have won the Superbowl.

Drew Brees will be reigning over Bacchus tomorrow night.

No, this is not a blog of fiction!!!

It's been a pretty fantastic last few weeks.

Being back at work is finally becoming the norm, and though pumping has been very difficult, I'm still breastfeeding my little bean, and it's worth it. The playoffs, (PLAYOFFS?!) and, of course, the Superbowl has made New Orleans a playground with grown ups crying, grinning, and randomly yelling out WHO DAT in the Supermarkets, streets, and workplace. And now. Carnival Season is in its full swing. And Bacchus is tomorrow night. Ten years ago my peeps and I started a tradition of making the Sunday before Mardi Gras "Bacchus Sunday." Usually starting around 7:00am, one or two unlucky souls (usually my husband) would stake out a claim of land near the beginning of the parade, neutral ground side. This tradition has grown, and most people know where to find us on Bacchus Sunday. Mimosas and Bloody Mary's before noon, then free for all after noon. Throw in some fried chicken and other delights, beautiful blue skies, and shiny happy people everywhere, and I can't understand why people don't "do the gras" Oh well, more room for us. And tomorrow. Tomorrow!! Drew Brees!! Regardless of whether he deserves it, he has become NOLA's son. A great football player; a great man. A rags to riches story, from his injured shoulder to our injured city. Redemption! Their will be grown men screaming tomorrow. Holding up signs, hoping to catch a bead, a doubloon, or perhaps a football thrown from this man's hand. Throw Dat!!

My last Mardi Gras blog stated that I wouldn't be working Fat Tuesday. Things change, and yes, I will be working. Lundi Gras and Mardi Gras. So tomorrow, I will live it up. Because, you know, it's the end of the world as we know it. The Saints won the Superbowl. And Breesus is our King!

Happy Carnival, ya'll!!!!

Done and done.

It's been quite a long time since I posted anything to this tired old blog. And now tired old me will attempt to relieve some tension that is threatening to explode out of my orifices if not relieved by writing. Or typing. Or just staring at this glowing monitor.

So, 2008 has come and gone. I already can't remember it.

The last few months have been consumed by my pregnancy and delivery, and now of course, new baby.

It's hard to remember anything else when your whole existence is focused on growing a human.

And yet in this world your whole existence is really just a million chopped-up, processed, robotic motions that are mundanely spit out day after day. Unless you are a rock star. So, your whole existence is really focusing on paying the bills, raising a child, loving a partner, keeping a family together, weeping at death, screaming at stupidity, stressing at work, and abusing your vices.

And yet, as 2008 fades away, I know it wasn't that bad. Their were marriages, and engagements, and promotions, and progress, and openings, and lackings of hurricanes, etc etc etc.

In fact, I would whole heartedly be embracing this New Year if it weren't for the fact that returning to work after 9 weeks off is looming over my achy head. In fact, I only have 3 more days at home with my newest addition before the dreaded return. So, this one little iota of an event in this world has me cringing in the corner like my dog does when the kitten comes in the room. Of course the added fact that I have no one to watch the newest addition is also a little worrisome. Daycares are full, hired helped wants the big change...which I would love to pay, but alas, money seems lacking. And as I stare at my little bean that is cozy in his swing on this night that is now frigid at 33 degrees, I fight back tears (again) because how could mommy leave for 12 hours a day, even if it's only 3 days a week. Physically my body will scream as my breasts get engorged, mentally my body will scream as I have to look into the eyes of drug addicts and assholes while wondering what my baby is doing while these jackasses are wasting away their lives.

Ok, so maybe the hormones have taken control on this night.

Maybe pumping will be easier than I think during a nursing shift.

Maybe we'll get a nanny that who will love our kids as much as we do, but will work for lima beans.

I know I'll get over it. I know things will happen regardless of whether or not I stress out about them. I just wish things could be easier. Maybe that should be my New Year's resolution. Or maybe I should just move somewhere that gives mothers a paid year off so they may raise their children.

I raise my imaginary toasting glass to single mothers that maintain jobs while providing a loving environment. I raise it to working preggers, and mothers that had to go back @ 6 weeks. I raise it to women who are trying to get pregnant, or who have lost a baby, who can't understand how I could complain about anything when I can hold a precious life in my arms. I raise it to work places that are mom and family friendly. I raise it to nannies and babysitters who really love kids and love being a part of another family. I raise it to my kids, who I hope can understand why mommy isn't there when they need her.

I raise it to myself, but only to see if it needs to be refilled.

The Boeuf Gras is a bit concerned

I worked today, the Tuesday of all Tuesdays.  I haven't worked a Mardi Gras in years and years. So it was with a very heavy heart that I took the back roads to work, and pulled into my parking garage.  But not before I saw a glimpse of St. Charles Avenue, which becomes alive with the energy of all that are standing, sitting, dancing, catching, throwing, drinking, laughing, sharing, and being New Orleanians.  Luckily for me, the weekend before Mardi Gras can be just as exciting as the main event, and I was able to celebrate the big weekend with friends and family. 

This year was a bit different for me, being as I shared my Mardi Gras experience with my almost three-year-old.  The rapture that usually comes from having a care free day/night/weekend of watching parades was replaced with the joy of seeing my boy wave his arms excitedly, shouting "row me ssssthing mister"  (No, he hasn't quite mastered talking yet).  I was also aware of the panic that threatened to overtake me as a pack of beads sailed a little too close to his head, or when the ladder got a little too shaky, or when I realized that my baby is a faster runner than I thought possible.  So, while I had an eyeful of the awesome artistry of floats, I also had an eye on the would-be kidnappers.  And just when you say, sheesh lady, stop being so paranoid...or stop worrying for no reason....The Idiots of our dear, dear city show up and make you realize that there is reason to worry.  And maybe even to panic.  7 people were wounded by gunfire today on the parade route.  I saw one of the victims that came to our ER and luckily he didn't even have to be admitted.  The others were taken to University Hospital.  I pray they fare well.  NOPD evidently caught the two suspects: young, black males.  

I don't know how to fix this. I'm sure having some sort of license to procreate would help, but barring that, it seems next to impossible to change the tide that this city is being overwhelmed with.   But I know it IS possible.  These kids, this huge population of boys from twelve to twenty-something, have gotten screwed.  And because of that, for the most part, they are killing each other, killing themselves, killing our city.   Why hasn't someone showed them the basic building block of a decent human being? You know, the one that makes you think that shooting someone with a gun ISN'T a good idea? 

Parents, where are you?  

Family, where are you? 

Religion, where are you?

God, where are you....

Oh wait, it's Ash Wednesday.  He's laboring in the desert in preparation to be crucified.

Guess they didn't have guns back then?

So I ponder, but not really put anything into action.  Like so many.   

I see an average of twenty patients a day.  I treat all of them with kindness and respect, and I know it's the first time many of them have been treated that way in a long, long time.  I know I make a difference in some of their lives, and I use that thread of gratification to quell my guilt of not doing more to fix my city.  So I clamber to find good news to post to Lips Upwards.  I clamber to stay positive in the wake of so many negatives.  I clamber to cling to the childish philosophy "It'll be o.k."   I clamber to get the feelings that we experience during the seasons of happiness in New Orleans: Summertime crawfish boils, Fall festivals, Christmas celebrations, and Mardi Gras pageantry.   And it works.  It keeps me loving my city, my home.

I won't be working next year on Fat Tuesday.  

I'll be parading.  With my paranoid eyes wide, wide open.

Two drunks too many

Fucking fairness.

Why can't people understand that I should have it my way, every day? And I'm not talking Burger King, folks. 

Fucking responsibilities that get in the way of irresponsibility.

Fucking running out of white wine.

Fucking what happened to my life?

Fucking anger.

Fucking sadness.

Fucking where did all the time go?

Fucking blame.

Fucking Katrina.

Fucking same old story.

Fucking feeling sorry for oneself.

Fucking curse words that I try not to use.

Fucking you, you, you, you and you.

Fucking me, but not tonight.

Fucking crassness.

Fucking Saturday, midnight, home, alone.

Hey, what happened to hurricane katrina?

So August 29 has come and gone, and yet i did not write an insightful blog about the 3rd anniversary of THE hurricane!

oh yeah, i was busy shitting in my pants as nola prepared for Gustav.

But it was nothin', at least not in NoLA.  (sorry, still having trouble with my keyboard and capitalization and the shift key in general darn it i can't close this parenthesis.  

ok, i digress.

hurricane katrina.

more than a thousand dead.

that is a lot of people.

i really am too tired to be writing this, but i will continue on for a bit.

New orleans needs to get her ass in shape.

we have an entirely too large of a population that is either:

a. too stooopid

or

b. too ignorant

to be a positive force for positive change in our dear city.

AND YET.

we also have an entirely too large of a population that is either:

a. moving away to OTHER cities like austin or dc or ny or wherever else there is besides nola

or

b. too uncaring to care---that's right, too uncaring to care--- about the plight of our beloved city

or

c. too poor to facilitate change.

However, i am proud to say that i have the answer.

one day, when i am no longer a procrastinator, i will be starting sessions.

they will be called, 

how not to be a dumbass.

strike that, i want it to be family friendly.

How bout,

how not to be stupid.

perfect.

my goal is to instill levels of consciousness to people of all classes, races, and backgrounds. i'm gonna save this city millions of dollars, and a million or so souls,  by teaching people how to use condoms, how to have goals, how to pull up your pants so that in fact your ass crack is covered, how to not think that materials are more important than your neighbor, how to care, to really care, how to not be mean, how not to blatantly lie, how to put restless energy to good use, and how to deal with the other fools that didn't attend my class.

i won't even charge.  i'll just need a space, a chalkboard, an eraser.  bring your own seats, bring your own refreshments.  if you can afford it, bring a lot of refreshments.  

how does this relate to THE hurricane one might ask?

Katrina changed my life.  Gave me that little nudge called perspective.  Made me invincible to all, except for the times when i still feel that the slightest shift in wind could knock me down, bawling in a sea of despair.

i selfishly want other people to become better.

for themselves,

for me.

scuff marks and missing inventory.

forgive my non-use of capitalization, but my shift key seems to be broken.

one of the worst emotions that i can think of is injustice, specifically when the injustice is being done to you personally.  to be accused of something that you did not do is a horrible feeling that makes this writer red-in-the-face, and even scores her a trip to the bathroom where she can hurriedly splash water on her face and try to make herself look like she wasn't crying.

it hits home that other people can really make your life miserable; regardless that your life's goal is to make other people happy. ok, so maybe i'm succumbing to a bit of martyr-dom here, but too bad, i've had a glass of wine and i'm feeling sorry for myself.

legalities complicate the matter when i know i could lose my license and job if this accusation turned ugly.  however, i cling to faith in my coworkers, that they "have my back."  

i didn't do it.

don't you believe me?