Dear New Orleans and the word taint.

I wrote this in February of '09 when I was still in Drug Court; my graduation date getting closer. Closer to me getting to visit the only city that will take me as I am. I don't have to conform for New Orleans and neither does anyone else. That is one of the reasons I love it so much there. You can be whoever you want to be and no one will say a damn thing about it. It's the true definition of free. Unfortunately, thieves think the same way about your belongings. But it's worth it to live there. Worth every damn bit of it. And now.... the blog.

I still cry about it, when the mood strikes me. I always cry about it, when I read something in the paper. New Orleans broke my heart and like an abusive lover I can’t seem to get enough of, I always go back. Spiritually, I never left.

And if you think I’m crazy to go back, you don’t know the city like I do. I know the Mississippi River on a boiling summer afternoon, what lies under piles of garbage that sit on the street corner in the French Quarter, I know how to spell Tchoupitoulas, and know what entails getting your po-boy dressed, and I surely know what it means to miss New Orleans. I know the dirty secrets of the Quarter and how to cop dope in the 9^th ward. I know that it’s in my blood like virus. A virus to some, but how I survive living in Florida for the next year.....

New Orleans gives me hope when I feel blue. New Orleans paints me red when I feel saucy. New Orleans feeds me BBQ shrimp when I hunger for her comfort. Sometimes, I scroll through apartment rentals on Craigslist.com and imagine my furniture sitting in the empty space. My furniture which remains in storage in a unit Uptown, a beacon of hope, sure to bring me home.....

I live life with reckless abandon and New Orleans is there along for the ride. Holding my hand and urging me to take one more shot of Jager. She’s gotten me shitfaced, but always held my hair back when I was puking in the street. She’s rode shotgun when I navigate aimlessly through her purple, gold, and green veins. Driving dreamlike through the Garden District, seeing time suspended through vintage eyes. ....

She’s inspired me to write pages and pages of her vibrant beauty like no other in the world. Pages and pages of her sordid and shadowy past, veiled by banana leaves and lace iron fences. Inside closet courtyards, under a moon ripe with passion. I want to take her in my arms and never let go.

~Strange "The Taint" Fruit 

One of the millions of reasons I love New Orleans

In June 2006 I moved back to New Orleans after a 10 month hiatus living in Portland, Oregon. I moved to a quaint albeit tiny...very tiny, studio on Lower Decatur. I could stand in the middle of the room and move and inch one side to the other and be able to touch the walls. I could spit from one end of the apt and the spit would land in the bathroom, on the other end of the apt. Does that give you any idea how small my studio was? Really fucking small.

One morning I stopped at Envie, one of my favorite coffee shops 2 doors down from my cage *ahem* studio apartment. As I walked out with my vanilla latte, I took a left turn on Governor Nicholls and strolled up to the dog park to let Clementine and Captain Murphy run around and do their thang.

Along the way I encountered a man the size of Lou Ferrigno wearing a black leather skirt, a black beret, a long red wig, black silk blouse,  fishnet stockings, 6 inch heels and wielding a riding crop.

As I passed him I looked over to my friend and said "AND THAT... is why I love New Orleans."

Advertisements~Help a single momma out! And please don't pity me. Seriously.

I'm thinking about putting up adverts on my blog. As you know, every time you click on a link I get money. Pretty neat huh? I seem to think so.

As many of you know, I love to write. Funny, absurd, shocking, true life hilarity. I've been trying to write a book for years and as you all know, my lazy ass can never seem to finish it. Or get very far [4 chapters in]. Blogging is instant and gets instant results. I'm an impatient person and feel this setup is perfect for me.

Ok, I don't think I have anything else to say. I guess I feel a little ashamed having to resort to this, but I don't like real jobs. Because real jobs mean leaving the house and dealing with the public. Neither of which I am cut out to do.

Well, I take that back. Sort of. If it wasn't for Hurricane Katrina I would have finished massage therapy school along with obtaining a business degree. If it weren't for The Animal getting Salmonella I could take him to daycare at Haney and attend MT school there. But alas, they don't take children still testing positive for Salmonella [it can stay there dormant for up to a year].

Got off topic, sorry. What I wanted to add is that the only way I like dealing with the public is when I'm not a waitress serving self righteous assholes who've let their hunger get so debilitating that they march inside with a chip on their shoulder. Hungry people = angry people. With MT I'm there to relax them. That and I love homeopathic medicines and alternatives to modern medicine. Which is not good for your soul.

And with that...I'm out.

Warning! Paragraphs 5-7 are lamer than the rest.

Before I begin this blog let me make a few or one things clear. I like commas. A lot. I admit it. I use commas like breathing. If I do not place them every six words or so I might die. Did that, make, any sense? Aha! Did you catch that? I did that on purpose. But most of the time I don't. Which is probably a direct result of dropping out of high school to live life like Jack Kerouac ala On the Road. 

When I wasn't pigging out on Taco Bell and sleeping English class away in the parking lot of Winn-Dixie, I made an appearance in my English class only to drool the hour away at my desk. After a few failed attempts at pretending I didn't just drool Lake Superior on my desk I got hip and started putting pieces of paper under my bored, gaping maw so that when I woke up I would fake a dramatic yawn to distract anyone from noticing me wadding up and flicking my drool paper to the floor.

I will add that after a few months of adventuring, I got my GED, went to college [community-hey, it was a start] to be an English major [ha!] and quit 6 months before I was to graduate to move to Portland, Oregon to resume my life as Lackadaisical Lauren. Adventurer and homeless befriender. Remind me to tell you about Richard, my bestest homeless friend in Portland. 

The Animal [my son] is in bed and so is my other animal. She is not to be on the bed or any furniture for that matter. Why? Because she is of an indeterminate age and has a tinkle problem. I got her after my dog Daisy died. Exactly one day after. I had no intention of getting another dog after the love of my life had been put to sleep but my mom insisted we visit the Humane Society to get me another dog. Presumably, so that I wouldn’t kill myself when she wasn't looking. 

Long story short. After two hours of circling the shelter for my my mom's satisfaction I actually found a furry little creature I took home and named Clementine. My boyfriend at the time suggested it as our favorite TV show was Reno 911 and the whore cop Clementine was one of our favorite characters. That and she comes with her own song! She also came with a tag that had her hometown placed in Hammond, Louisiana. I took it as a sign as we were moving to New Orleans in the next couple of months so away we went... home with a new dog.

The humane society found her wandering the parking lot of a McDonald's on the beach. No one knows how old she really is and that was 6 years ago. Even then she had missing teeth and grey hair. 6 years later with even less teeth and a tinkle problem. She's got medicine for it, but it doesn't plug it completely. Thank god we have wood and tile floors. And even then it's not really apparent unless she's sat somewhere for awhile and there will be a little puddle where her pooch cooch was. Haha. I said "pooch cooch".

Anyways, I decided to let Ole Clem crawl into bed with me as I laid a towel under her booty if she decides to leak a little while she's up here. We haven't snuggled together in a long time so I think she deserves it.

Wow... this was not the blog I intended it to be. I meant to put up that little disclaimer about my comma problem and move on to how this is Happy Blog. It will be all rainbows and unicorns. No foreboding clouds of doom and ringworms on your taint. This is my garden of Oregon grown marijuana, addiction free Xanax, Confederate Jasmine, and purple and green tulips. Hm, there's got to be a kitchen in there somewhere if I'm going to be growing pot on my magical/stressfree/blog-garden of Happiness. Annnnnyyyways.     

What have we learned so far? I obsessively overuse commas, my dog leaks pee, and I have a penchant for homeless people. 

FYI: I hate the word penchant. Like, when I read peoples profiles and they say they have a penchant for something. It's like the ultimate indicator that the person is either stuck up, a hipster, a wannabe hipster, or mentally retarded. Come to think of it... every single one of those stereotypes is an indicator that the person is mentally retarded. 

Oh yeah... I, without fail, will offend everyone at some point throughout the lifespan of this blog. You will have to get over this fact right now or I recommend discontinuing reading my blog. It's just who I am. I mean no harm. I'm not a bigot, or a racist, a mean person. I like to think a little well placed offensiveness is funny. That's all. No big deal. We can get over this together right now and tomorrow can be sees sawing in a park full of marshmallows so if you're over 500 pounds and you catapult me over your head I won't break my neck. Instead, I'll laugh jovially [wait, aren't the people over 500 pounds the only ones who can laugh jovially?]...ahem... I'll laugh hysterically and pull out a bag of graham crackers, Hershey bars, and a torch lighter. We will eat and be merry.

This blog is dedicated to the people who have been following my manic, sometimes depressed, crazed, everyonceinawhile funny, nonsensical, blogs for years. A lot of you are stalkers. And out all of you I love the stalkers most of all. I love youuuuuuuuuuuu!

"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead." ~ Charles Bukowski