The months since my last post have been such whirlwind! As you will prolly remember from Facebook, this Fall was filled with teaching, knitting, a Colledge paycheck scandal, and a few fun excursions along the way.
Speaking of Facebook, you may remember that my parents & I fell out over a status update. I won't dwell on details but I will tell you that I have since spoken to both of them about it separately. I offered forgiveness and I think we achieved a measure of mutual understanding.
As the year ends, I find myself once again in a low place financially as the last paycheck from Colledge was December 12th. I was hoping that my twirl as the Witty Knitter at the Freret Market would generate at least enough cash to cover the upcoming holes in my budget, but alas I only went a bit past the break even point. I'm resourceful though, and have faith that even though I'm not sure this instant where the funds I need will come from, they will come, whether thru my knitting or another run of the #ProfeRealness T-Shirts or an angel friend or hell, who knows? Maybe even another game show appearance LOL.
I face 2015 with no resolutions per se, but with willingness to keep my head up and listen to what the Universe is telling me. I'm filled with gratitude for and humbled by the tremendous amount of love, respect and support I've received and (hopefully) reciprocated.
Praise Be!
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Not Another 9/11 Anniversary Post....
Mine's a bit different tho. On this day in 2001, I was a hot mess. Workin in a night club, supplementing my income with shenanigans, letting other hoes stay with me when I knew they were just as much of a mess as I was & could never live up to their promises of help with the bills. Someone called on my house phone & told me to turn on the TV & there it was. The towers, the planes, the explosion, the footage of the dust clouds all up inna street. Whoever was staying with me at the time woke up & started watching with me. He started crying. I don't remember if I cried or not. I just remember a feeling of surrealness as the same few minutes of footage started over & started over, with another voice taking a turn at narrating it. I remember needing to get out while my roommate kept watching, so I met up with my baby sis at Angeli on Decatur st. I don't remember what we talked about or ate or anything or much of the rest of the day. Odds are, I went to work in some form or fashion & got loaded in some way or another, but I'm not really sure.
However, a year later I can tell you precisely where I was. I was sitting on a metal picnic-style bench in an overcrowded receiving tier in Orleans Parish Prison., being bombarded by Public Service Announcements urging me & every other American to cherish our freedom from a TV bolted to the cinder block wall.
For the unaware, a receiving tier is a set of twenty 2-man cells, where prisoners are housed until they are allowed to see a judge. There were about 50 of us in this space designed for 40. In compliance with the laws of due process, no one is supposed to be in such a tier for more than 72 hours. As this is a relatively short period of time, the inmates have no commissary privileges. Without these, the only thing that anyone possesses is the "care package" issued upon arrival, consisting of a small bar of Ivory soap, a towel, a travel size tube of toothpaste and a Kafka-esque toothbrush. No one has any type of grooming equipment. Deodorant is only a distant memory and the laundry facilities are the single man shower stalls, where inmates hang the clothes they hand wash over the mildewing brownish plastic shower curtains. It was certainly no Oz--not the TV show & certainly not the infamous NOLA gay bar. I was one of maybe 5 white guys, but that is nothing new to me. I've been riding the bus in NOLA too long to be fucked up about being pushed up someplace with a bunch of black folks. I wasn't scared, just angry. Nobody was getting raped or beat up of any kind of foolishness like that, but being there definitely sucked.
According to the media, September 11, 2002 was a day for us to solemly reflect on our freedom as Americans. So I reflected on how I'd lost mine...
On September 27, 2000, I was out in the French Quarter one night (as usual) with my dentally challenged drag queen coke dealing roommate best friend succubus & some gal we'd met at the bar & a dancer from the Corner Pocket. The 4 of us got arrested in a parkin lot downtown just after getting spotted sharing a spliff & we were all charged with possession of the $10 bag of pot in the dancer's sock. I was released on my own recognizance and given a date to appear in Magistrate Court. When I made this appearance, the Clerk told me to report back at a different date. Upon my return, the Clerk told me that the District Attorney's office had refused the charges and I was free to go.
Between 2000 & 2002, I was turning my act around. I left the party scene and found a boyfriend, got enrolled at the University of New Orleans, been champion on The Weakest Link. I got rid of that awful roommate and had no contact with the legal system until Monday, September 9, 2002.
At 9:00 a.m., I was sleeping on the couch next to my window unit air conditioner in my boxers, under a thin sheet. My homework was packed in school bag & I'd been up late, studying for our first test. My alarm clock was going off, my phone was ringing, and someone was banging on my door like they were out of their mind. I staggered around, turned off the alarm, told whoever was calling I'd get back with them & opened up the door to a NOLA Sherrif's Deputy & Special Agent all up on my porch. They asked if I was me & asked if I remembered being arrested for drugs awhile back, as they had a warrant for my arrest for possession of "A Controlled, Dangerous, Substance."
I said, "But they told me those charges were dropped, I went to court a few times behind it."
All the officers could tell me was that sometimes "they" forget to take charges off the computer & that I'd see a judge soon enough. Mercifully they let me put on a pair of shorts & flip flops before they handcuffed me & led me out to their waiting police car.
By September 11, 2002, I still hadn't seen a judge and I was one bitter bitch watching those PSAs about freedom.Where was mine? No bond had been set, yet bail-bonding companies, eager to capitalize on my loved ones' anguish, sent them letters upon letters, asking for exorbitant amounts of money to ensure my freedom. I had no idea exactly what charges I was facing, nor how I got them back after they were dropped in the first place.
Other inmates had been in this receiving tier for several weeks by this point, and some told me that they'd been there up to 60 days on the same charges without seeing anyone but the guards. Sixty days. In sixty days, I'd be evicted from my rented house. In sixty days, I'd have failed all my classes. In sixty days, all my utilities would be disconnected & I'd be hit with disconnect fees if I ever had a house to use them in again.Gripped with fear, I called my parents and all my mom could really tell me was that the bail bonding agent she'd spoken with told her I wouldn't see a judge any time soon without a lawyer.
Even though I'd just won over $30K on The Weakest Link, I wouldn't have that check until February. My parents were kinda sick of me and my drama & I'm not 100% sure they believed the story about TWL until later, so they wouldn't help me get a lawyer. Feeling sick & sad & ashamed, I asked my boyfriend to loan me $2500 as a retainer for this lawyer my friend Swervella & I had used in the past. He went to the bank & got a loan to help me out of this situation.
On Friday, September 13, 2002, I learned about the kind of freedom that money can buy. I was woken up at 4:30 a.m. to go to court, along with about 30 other inmates. We were brought to cells of varying sizes (none of which qualify as large), shackled to one another for transportation, unshackled and the herded in sections between four holding cells whose only furniture consisted of a metal toilet/sink combo bolted to the wall. When the prisoners for my section of court were called, I was cuffed by wrist & ankle to a black guy in his late teens & we were led alone into yet another holding room, but this one was not so lavishly decorated. There was a drain in the center of the floor & a bunch of Dixie cups on the floor with varying levels of urine in them. My chain partner told the lady guard in charge of us that he needed to pee, but by this point it was time for us to go into court. She told him to use one of the cups. He told her they were mostly full but she just said "Piss on top of it and come on!"
I will never forget the sight, smell & sound of this poor unwashed kid's water overflowing the cup, and how that cup tilted over and how hard I think we were both trying not to cry and failing as the yellow froth splashed both of our OPP flip flops.
The Guard Lady came in & grabbed one of us by the elbow & said "Come on ALREADY" and the metal ankle cuff smashed again into my ankle bone as I was led from the stinking room & down a filthy cinderblock corridor & into a brightly lit, carpeted courtroom, just after being separated & single-cuffed. When I saw my lawyer, my heart leapt. I knew the day was saved.
My attorney informed me that a subpoena had been sent to my former address & when I'd not appeared, a warrant had been issued. He was an older gay man with a shock of white hair and a tough-love attitude.He fussed at me for getting myself in trouble, like an irate grandparent, asked me why I hadn't informed the court of my change of address. I replied that it never occurred to me to do such a thing as I'd been under the impression that the charges were dropped. It would seem to me that if my new address could be found to have me arrested, the certainly it could have been found for the purposes of sending me a subpoena. Apparently charges being refused is not the same as charges being dropped & the DA has the right to accept them for some miscellaneous amount of time, and someone was trying to look "Tough On Crime." I was brought before a judge in Section C, who sent my case back to Magistrate Court & ordered me released around 10:30. He said a subpoena would be sent to me. At this point my attorney felt it wise to read my latest address into the record. I was taken back to the "docks" (yea those gross ass rooms) and from there back to the receiving tier around 1:30pm. I did not actually walk out of Orleans Parish Prison until 3:02 a.m. on September 14th, according to my paperwork.
The Magistrate court kept pushing my court date back & back & I didn't actually go to trial until the March 17, 2003. I was angry about this delay at first, but glad that I was able to hand the judge a copy of my previous semester's transcript showing my 4.0 GPA from UNO. I was given a 6-month suspended sentence & a $500 fine, with a payment plan. On April 21, 2003, I made my last payment and the case was CLOSED.
So much has happened since then, but this is what September 11 means to me. Not the horrible tragedy that has been forever immortalized by the 24 hour news cycle from 2001 but a more personal tragedy from the following year, when I was just another broke bitch who couldn't seem to get it right.
However, a year later I can tell you precisely where I was. I was sitting on a metal picnic-style bench in an overcrowded receiving tier in Orleans Parish Prison., being bombarded by Public Service Announcements urging me & every other American to cherish our freedom from a TV bolted to the cinder block wall.
For the unaware, a receiving tier is a set of twenty 2-man cells, where prisoners are housed until they are allowed to see a judge. There were about 50 of us in this space designed for 40. In compliance with the laws of due process, no one is supposed to be in such a tier for more than 72 hours. As this is a relatively short period of time, the inmates have no commissary privileges. Without these, the only thing that anyone possesses is the "care package" issued upon arrival, consisting of a small bar of Ivory soap, a towel, a travel size tube of toothpaste and a Kafka-esque toothbrush. No one has any type of grooming equipment. Deodorant is only a distant memory and the laundry facilities are the single man shower stalls, where inmates hang the clothes they hand wash over the mildewing brownish plastic shower curtains. It was certainly no Oz--not the TV show & certainly not the infamous NOLA gay bar. I was one of maybe 5 white guys, but that is nothing new to me. I've been riding the bus in NOLA too long to be fucked up about being pushed up someplace with a bunch of black folks. I wasn't scared, just angry. Nobody was getting raped or beat up of any kind of foolishness like that, but being there definitely sucked.
According to the media, September 11, 2002 was a day for us to solemly reflect on our freedom as Americans. So I reflected on how I'd lost mine...
On September 27, 2000, I was out in the French Quarter one night (as usual) with my dentally challenged drag queen coke dealing roommate best friend succubus & some gal we'd met at the bar & a dancer from the Corner Pocket. The 4 of us got arrested in a parkin lot downtown just after getting spotted sharing a spliff & we were all charged with possession of the $10 bag of pot in the dancer's sock. I was released on my own recognizance and given a date to appear in Magistrate Court. When I made this appearance, the Clerk told me to report back at a different date. Upon my return, the Clerk told me that the District Attorney's office had refused the charges and I was free to go.
Between 2000 & 2002, I was turning my act around. I left the party scene and found a boyfriend, got enrolled at the University of New Orleans, been champion on The Weakest Link. I got rid of that awful roommate and had no contact with the legal system until Monday, September 9, 2002.
At 9:00 a.m., I was sleeping on the couch next to my window unit air conditioner in my boxers, under a thin sheet. My homework was packed in school bag & I'd been up late, studying for our first test. My alarm clock was going off, my phone was ringing, and someone was banging on my door like they were out of their mind. I staggered around, turned off the alarm, told whoever was calling I'd get back with them & opened up the door to a NOLA Sherrif's Deputy & Special Agent all up on my porch. They asked if I was me & asked if I remembered being arrested for drugs awhile back, as they had a warrant for my arrest for possession of "A Controlled, Dangerous, Substance."
I said, "But they told me those charges were dropped, I went to court a few times behind it."
All the officers could tell me was that sometimes "they" forget to take charges off the computer & that I'd see a judge soon enough. Mercifully they let me put on a pair of shorts & flip flops before they handcuffed me & led me out to their waiting police car.
By September 11, 2002, I still hadn't seen a judge and I was one bitter bitch watching those PSAs about freedom.Where was mine? No bond had been set, yet bail-bonding companies, eager to capitalize on my loved ones' anguish, sent them letters upon letters, asking for exorbitant amounts of money to ensure my freedom. I had no idea exactly what charges I was facing, nor how I got them back after they were dropped in the first place.
Other inmates had been in this receiving tier for several weeks by this point, and some told me that they'd been there up to 60 days on the same charges without seeing anyone but the guards. Sixty days. In sixty days, I'd be evicted from my rented house. In sixty days, I'd have failed all my classes. In sixty days, all my utilities would be disconnected & I'd be hit with disconnect fees if I ever had a house to use them in again.Gripped with fear, I called my parents and all my mom could really tell me was that the bail bonding agent she'd spoken with told her I wouldn't see a judge any time soon without a lawyer.
Even though I'd just won over $30K on The Weakest Link, I wouldn't have that check until February. My parents were kinda sick of me and my drama & I'm not 100% sure they believed the story about TWL until later, so they wouldn't help me get a lawyer. Feeling sick & sad & ashamed, I asked my boyfriend to loan me $2500 as a retainer for this lawyer my friend Swervella & I had used in the past. He went to the bank & got a loan to help me out of this situation.
On Friday, September 13, 2002, I learned about the kind of freedom that money can buy. I was woken up at 4:30 a.m. to go to court, along with about 30 other inmates. We were brought to cells of varying sizes (none of which qualify as large), shackled to one another for transportation, unshackled and the herded in sections between four holding cells whose only furniture consisted of a metal toilet/sink combo bolted to the wall. When the prisoners for my section of court were called, I was cuffed by wrist & ankle to a black guy in his late teens & we were led alone into yet another holding room, but this one was not so lavishly decorated. There was a drain in the center of the floor & a bunch of Dixie cups on the floor with varying levels of urine in them. My chain partner told the lady guard in charge of us that he needed to pee, but by this point it was time for us to go into court. She told him to use one of the cups. He told her they were mostly full but she just said "Piss on top of it and come on!"
I will never forget the sight, smell & sound of this poor unwashed kid's water overflowing the cup, and how that cup tilted over and how hard I think we were both trying not to cry and failing as the yellow froth splashed both of our OPP flip flops.
The Guard Lady came in & grabbed one of us by the elbow & said "Come on ALREADY" and the metal ankle cuff smashed again into my ankle bone as I was led from the stinking room & down a filthy cinderblock corridor & into a brightly lit, carpeted courtroom, just after being separated & single-cuffed. When I saw my lawyer, my heart leapt. I knew the day was saved.
My attorney informed me that a subpoena had been sent to my former address & when I'd not appeared, a warrant had been issued. He was an older gay man with a shock of white hair and a tough-love attitude.He fussed at me for getting myself in trouble, like an irate grandparent, asked me why I hadn't informed the court of my change of address. I replied that it never occurred to me to do such a thing as I'd been under the impression that the charges were dropped. It would seem to me that if my new address could be found to have me arrested, the certainly it could have been found for the purposes of sending me a subpoena. Apparently charges being refused is not the same as charges being dropped & the DA has the right to accept them for some miscellaneous amount of time, and someone was trying to look "Tough On Crime." I was brought before a judge in Section C, who sent my case back to Magistrate Court & ordered me released around 10:30. He said a subpoena would be sent to me. At this point my attorney felt it wise to read my latest address into the record. I was taken back to the "docks" (yea those gross ass rooms) and from there back to the receiving tier around 1:30pm. I did not actually walk out of Orleans Parish Prison until 3:02 a.m. on September 14th, according to my paperwork.
The Magistrate court kept pushing my court date back & back & I didn't actually go to trial until the March 17, 2003. I was angry about this delay at first, but glad that I was able to hand the judge a copy of my previous semester's transcript showing my 4.0 GPA from UNO. I was given a 6-month suspended sentence & a $500 fine, with a payment plan. On April 21, 2003, I made my last payment and the case was CLOSED.
So much has happened since then, but this is what September 11 means to me. Not the horrible tragedy that has been forever immortalized by the 24 hour news cycle from 2001 but a more personal tragedy from the following year, when I was just another broke bitch who couldn't seem to get it right.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Out of the Proverbial Frying Pan....
The first week of teaching 4 sections of Spanish 101 at Colledge went pretty much as expected. All of my classes are in different classrooms, albeit in the same building, but unfortunately not every room is created equal. My 1st class is a small amphitheater equipped with a table & a few chairs, a dry-erase board & an old-school tube TV mounted to the wall; my 2nd is a computer lab, with a raised lectern and a computer/projector setup with the tables turned towards the dry erase board; my 3rd was originally a small room with 9 rows of 3 sets of desks, no table, 1 chair, a lectern, a regular chalk board & a tube TV, and my last one is quite spacious, with plenty of desks & a table & chair & a lectern, but again with the chalk board & a tube TV. Each of my classes had a full roster of students, so that 3rd classroom had everyone feelin kinda claustrophobic. I asked my dept head, Miss Woman, to see if she could get me moved, as there were not enough desks for all of the students. She said she'd make some calls & the next day, she gave me another room. This one turned out to be another computer lab, but with the tables in a sort of U-shape, so the students have to turn to look at me and the few that have books have to hold them in their laps.
I am not sure who is deciding where to place these classes but I would love to ask them a lot of questions, starting with "WTF is wrong with you? Are you not able to count? Have you seen these rooms or even been to campus?"
But I digress.
The text we are using has an online component, which requires the student to use the Class Key included in their book & a Course Code, which I sent out in an email blast titled "Course Code" & as of yesterday, 15 students replied to that email with some variation on "I tried to get into the website but it say I need a course code. What is it?" Minus the punctuation & capitalization, I might add. It took a lot of effort not to reply with "Scroll down, stupid." But I am nice, right?
In class, I try to keep the tone light, and let the students know that due to my Math Phobia, I can understand that Spanish is not everyone's cup of tea. For the most part, they seem engaged, but lawd whoever said "There's no such thing as a stupid question" clearly never taught at Colledge. The one that sticks out most in my mind is when this one kid asked "How hard is this class?" I took a second and said "I really don't know how to answer that. It's a beginner course, you don't need to have taken Spanish before," and I continued with what I was saying. She interrupted again: "But how hard is it?" SIGH. I think I managed to re-iterate my previous statement in a reasonable manner. I'm just glad I didn't say what popped into my head....
With the 1st week out of the way, I started Monday feeling pretty OK about things, but as you will remember from my last post the money round here has been pretty tight, being that I'd been off work from Med Skool Glam for a bit & quit Ho-livier's, so I checked with the Dept Secretary to get the list of Pay Dates for adjuncts. After Miss Woman's assurances that since I was already in the system, there would be no delay in getting the first paycheck, I was shocked beyond all reason to be handed a piece of paper showing that the 1st check wouldn't be direct deposited until October 3rd, AKA 6 weeks after the beginning of classes. Miss Secretary sort of shrugged her shoulders about it & suggested that I call Miss Lady in Payroll about it. I went outside & gathered my thoughts & made the call. Miss Lady confirmed that this schedule was correct, and sort of tried be empathetic at first & said, "Yea it's hard," before passing the buck on to the state administration in Baton Rouge. When I said, "I wish someone had given me this information BEFORE I signed the contract, because honestly I would not have done it."
Her response? "So whatcha gonna do? You gonna keep teaching?"
All I could say before hanging up was, "I'll have to get back to you on that."
I held it together in front of the next 2 classes I had to teach & sort of kept it together when I went to Miss Boss Woman's office and questioned her about all of this. Like I sort of managed not to cry when I told her that I would be homeless by the time the 1st check came. She played it up like she had no idea the date would be that late (YEAH RIGHT), even going so far as to say "This is immoral! Asking people to work for six weeks without pay! I'm going to talk to the Dean about this, and see if we can at least get you an advance."
Mysteriously, the Dean had just left. She said she'd talk to him & call me today after 1PM, and I left campus somewhat mollified but still devastated. Almost choking on the feeling that I have made a gigantic mistake. Like I should have listened to that gut feeling that made me turn down this job in the first place. Wondering if I should go back to working at Ho-livier's on the weekends until October. Wondering how this old carcass of mine was gonna be able to do it.
Thanks once again to the magic of social media, a dear friend stepped in & offered to loan me the $ missing from my budget until October & I accepted. I am so grateful for it but still outraged and sad to be in this fucking position AGAIN. Incredulous that I'm having to re-apply for food stamps while I have two jobs & umpteen college degrees.
For now I'm just going to try to breathe deep and not get all overwhelmed. To be centered and figure out what the next step is. I know things will get better. They always do. Until then, I'll just keep looking at the world thru my beautiful Big Freedia glasses, to me they represent how much so many people love me & wish the best for me, even when I'm feeling all lonely and scared and irate and unable to be in public for fear of a meltdown.
I'm publishing this so I can look back later and be glad that I got through this fresh round of Colledge Fuckery. To remind myself not to get tricked again, and to let other hoes know not to get involved in this whole adjunct game unless you don't need the money.
I am not sure who is deciding where to place these classes but I would love to ask them a lot of questions, starting with "WTF is wrong with you? Are you not able to count? Have you seen these rooms or even been to campus?"
But I digress.
The text we are using has an online component, which requires the student to use the Class Key included in their book & a Course Code, which I sent out in an email blast titled "Course Code" & as of yesterday, 15 students replied to that email with some variation on "I tried to get into the website but it say I need a course code. What is it?" Minus the punctuation & capitalization, I might add. It took a lot of effort not to reply with "Scroll down, stupid." But I am nice, right?
In class, I try to keep the tone light, and let the students know that due to my Math Phobia, I can understand that Spanish is not everyone's cup of tea. For the most part, they seem engaged, but lawd whoever said "There's no such thing as a stupid question" clearly never taught at Colledge. The one that sticks out most in my mind is when this one kid asked "How hard is this class?" I took a second and said "I really don't know how to answer that. It's a beginner course, you don't need to have taken Spanish before," and I continued with what I was saying. She interrupted again: "But how hard is it?" SIGH. I think I managed to re-iterate my previous statement in a reasonable manner. I'm just glad I didn't say what popped into my head....
With the 1st week out of the way, I started Monday feeling pretty OK about things, but as you will remember from my last post the money round here has been pretty tight, being that I'd been off work from Med Skool Glam for a bit & quit Ho-livier's, so I checked with the Dept Secretary to get the list of Pay Dates for adjuncts. After Miss Woman's assurances that since I was already in the system, there would be no delay in getting the first paycheck, I was shocked beyond all reason to be handed a piece of paper showing that the 1st check wouldn't be direct deposited until October 3rd, AKA 6 weeks after the beginning of classes. Miss Secretary sort of shrugged her shoulders about it & suggested that I call Miss Lady in Payroll about it. I went outside & gathered my thoughts & made the call. Miss Lady confirmed that this schedule was correct, and sort of tried be empathetic at first & said, "Yea it's hard," before passing the buck on to the state administration in Baton Rouge. When I said, "I wish someone had given me this information BEFORE I signed the contract, because honestly I would not have done it."
Her response? "So whatcha gonna do? You gonna keep teaching?"
All I could say before hanging up was, "I'll have to get back to you on that."
I held it together in front of the next 2 classes I had to teach & sort of kept it together when I went to Miss Boss Woman's office and questioned her about all of this. Like I sort of managed not to cry when I told her that I would be homeless by the time the 1st check came. She played it up like she had no idea the date would be that late (YEAH RIGHT), even going so far as to say "This is immoral! Asking people to work for six weeks without pay! I'm going to talk to the Dean about this, and see if we can at least get you an advance."
Mysteriously, the Dean had just left. She said she'd talk to him & call me today after 1PM, and I left campus somewhat mollified but still devastated. Almost choking on the feeling that I have made a gigantic mistake. Like I should have listened to that gut feeling that made me turn down this job in the first place. Wondering if I should go back to working at Ho-livier's on the weekends until October. Wondering how this old carcass of mine was gonna be able to do it.
Thanks once again to the magic of social media, a dear friend stepped in & offered to loan me the $ missing from my budget until October & I accepted. I am so grateful for it but still outraged and sad to be in this fucking position AGAIN. Incredulous that I'm having to re-apply for food stamps while I have two jobs & umpteen college degrees.
For now I'm just going to try to breathe deep and not get all overwhelmed. To be centered and figure out what the next step is. I know things will get better. They always do. Until then, I'll just keep looking at the world thru my beautiful Big Freedia glasses, to me they represent how much so many people love me & wish the best for me, even when I'm feeling all lonely and scared and irate and unable to be in public for fear of a meltdown.
I'm publishing this so I can look back later and be glad that I got through this fresh round of Colledge Fuckery. To remind myself not to get tricked again, and to let other hoes know not to get involved in this whole adjunct game unless you don't need the money.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Once More, With All Kinds of Feelings.....
As you will probably know from Facebook, Saturday night was my last shift at Ho-livier's Restaurant (name changed to protect the trifling) for the foreseeable future. I got an offer to teach 4 sections of Spanish 101 at the Colledge where I used to work, starting August 18. I initially rejected the offer, mostly based on the bad experience I had there previously. However, after another in a long string of restaurant shifts where I was scheduled to work & got sent home due to over-staffing, I reconsidered. I put my math phobia aside and looked at the money; teaching as an adjunct is not great pay, but it is consistent whereas the pay at Ho-livier's has been a crapshoot at best. I also considered how an MWF daytime teaching schedule would work with my Tuesday/Thursday schedule at the Med Skool. This is before I even tell you how much my body has been aching after those long restaurant shifts. However, I haven't forgotten all the nonsense that I went through at Colledge last time--not getting the 1st paycheck until the 2nd pay cycle, having problems with simple things like getting an email password, very little in the way of professional support from the department chair. So I'm kind of ambivalent about Colledge on one hand, but on the other, I'm glad to have a way out of the service industry. My last shift at Ho-livier's may not have been the worst one ever, but it definitely confirmed that leaving (or more precisely, not returning when the restaurant re-opens in a few weeks after maintenance) was the right decision.
I was assigned to the "good" section and so I started off thinking it was gonna be a cute last hurrah. Then I started getting tables & they were every waiter's worst nightmare. My first table was an older Midwestern couple who ordered a round of cocktails & told me they "were in no hurry" and that they were going to be ordering each course separately. Right about this time, a family of 5 took a 7-seat table--allegedly they were waiting for some other ppl who never showed. Actually only 3 of them arrived at 1st, an older lady and her 2 daughters in law. The lady's sons were parking, so I went to the table and offered them cocktails or wine, which they rejected out of hand. They also asked for some take-away menus as well, & it seemed to me like they were comparing those menus to the ones they'd been given by the hostess. The 3 of them sat around, looking at the menu, and after 10 minutes or so, the 2 gentlemen arrived. These men barely looked me in the face throughout the whole meal. I asked the table if they had any questions about the menu, and the matriarch asked for a recommendation between 2 of the dishes, and I gave it, and she said she'd most likely have the Vegetarian Pasta, but wasn't ready to order yet, so I let them have a few more minutes with the menus. I checked on the Aging Midwesterners, who finally ordered an appetizer to share & the gentleman ordered an Absolut Vodka Martini, "shaken not stirred" and then felt the need to tell me some story about how he & his wife had gone to some Absolut Bar someplace where everything was made of ice. I think I looked engaged and made some banter but honestly I could not for the life of me understand why he thought I needed to hear this. I went back to the family of 5 at the table for 7 and asked if they were still waiting on their other guests, and one of the daughters in law said she didn't feel like waiting any more & she was ready to order. I think I started with the Matriarch, she started SLOWLY asking me a ton of accusatory questions "How big is the Shrimp Scampi? I bet it's a small portion. Which one is bigger, the Crawfish Etouffee or the Shrimp Creole? What vegetables come with this? And that? And this other thing over here?" She ordered one thing, changed her mind & just paused for a minute and a half before ordering something else. I took the rest of the table's order, and actually one of the women ordered for her husband, since he couldn't be bothered to deal with me.
Did I mention that the kitchen was apparently out of all sorts of things? Apparently they ordered minimal supplies due to the planned closure, but this was really weird because there was initially only 1 actual menu item that was on the "86 list" but I noticed that the dishes didn't have certain things--for example, the mushroom appetizer is meant to be topped with fried leeks, but they were out of fried leeks & just sent the dish out without them. The steak is meant to be accompanied by potatoes & homemade steak sauce, but SURPRISE they were out of that stuff as well. Naturally, someone at the 5-top had ordered the steak. After this huge ordeal with the cooks, some potatoes were found, but of course they didn't start cooking those until the rest of the food was ready to go out. I was actually still waiting on one of the entrees as well, but my manager told me to run the rest of the food & he'd be right behind me with the last item. As I was dropping the food off at the table, I told the gentleman with the steak that the potatoes were coming right up, and I let the person whose entree was coming up that her stuff would be right there, and it showed up while I was putting down these people's entrees. This man started questioning me about where his potatoes were, and thankfully his wife said "He just told you they are coming right up." I went back to the kitchen in search of this man's sides.
This is the point where the hostess came & told me that they pulled out those damn paper menus they'd asked about before and started comparing the descriptions to what they actually had & someone noticed that they steak is meant to be accompanied by asparagus, which the kitchen clearly forgot--or prolly didn't know about. By some miracle, they had some asparagus & so I brought it to the gentleman, along with his potatoes, minus steak sauce. They didn't give me a whole ton of problems once everyone had all their food but they penalized me when it came time to pay--a $20 tip on a $217 check. Those old-ass Midwesterners didn't tip much better, and that pretty much set the tone for the whole evening. I had two foreign tables that left 10% tips, and only one good 4-top that had a decent size bill and they left an appropriate tip. It got crazy busy with large parties in our upstairs area at one point and the kitchen "crashed" so we had to stop taking tables for about half an hour. Once the kitchen was ready to go, it started to rain quite heavily, so there weren't too many more tables after that & the kitchen was out of so much stuff that we ended up taking the last table around 9 and putting up the "Closed" sign. That last table was mine--2 parents, 3 small kids, & me having to explain what we were out of. They were pleasant enough, and left a whopping $20 on a $137 check. Even though we closed an hour early, we still didn't actually get out of there til after 11, bones aching & bitterness in my heart.
Sigh. I guess you could say this week is my vacation, but actually it's just more unpaid time off. I have Tuesday & Thursday scheduled at the Med Skool, but I'm definitely stressing the money thing, as I'm already running short due to taking off a weekend for my baby sister's visit & my lil cousin's wedding in mid-July. Also, I'm not sure if Colledge is gonna keep me holding for 2 weeks on that 1st paycheck--my dept head says no, but a friend who works there says "prolly so." I guess we'll see, but damn it would sure be nice not to be livin on the edge like this.
I was assigned to the "good" section and so I started off thinking it was gonna be a cute last hurrah. Then I started getting tables & they were every waiter's worst nightmare. My first table was an older Midwestern couple who ordered a round of cocktails & told me they "were in no hurry" and that they were going to be ordering each course separately. Right about this time, a family of 5 took a 7-seat table--allegedly they were waiting for some other ppl who never showed. Actually only 3 of them arrived at 1st, an older lady and her 2 daughters in law. The lady's sons were parking, so I went to the table and offered them cocktails or wine, which they rejected out of hand. They also asked for some take-away menus as well, & it seemed to me like they were comparing those menus to the ones they'd been given by the hostess. The 3 of them sat around, looking at the menu, and after 10 minutes or so, the 2 gentlemen arrived. These men barely looked me in the face throughout the whole meal. I asked the table if they had any questions about the menu, and the matriarch asked for a recommendation between 2 of the dishes, and I gave it, and she said she'd most likely have the Vegetarian Pasta, but wasn't ready to order yet, so I let them have a few more minutes with the menus. I checked on the Aging Midwesterners, who finally ordered an appetizer to share & the gentleman ordered an Absolut Vodka Martini, "shaken not stirred" and then felt the need to tell me some story about how he & his wife had gone to some Absolut Bar someplace where everything was made of ice. I think I looked engaged and made some banter but honestly I could not for the life of me understand why he thought I needed to hear this. I went back to the family of 5 at the table for 7 and asked if they were still waiting on their other guests, and one of the daughters in law said she didn't feel like waiting any more & she was ready to order. I think I started with the Matriarch, she started SLOWLY asking me a ton of accusatory questions "How big is the Shrimp Scampi? I bet it's a small portion. Which one is bigger, the Crawfish Etouffee or the Shrimp Creole? What vegetables come with this? And that? And this other thing over here?" She ordered one thing, changed her mind & just paused for a minute and a half before ordering something else. I took the rest of the table's order, and actually one of the women ordered for her husband, since he couldn't be bothered to deal with me.
Did I mention that the kitchen was apparently out of all sorts of things? Apparently they ordered minimal supplies due to the planned closure, but this was really weird because there was initially only 1 actual menu item that was on the "86 list" but I noticed that the dishes didn't have certain things--for example, the mushroom appetizer is meant to be topped with fried leeks, but they were out of fried leeks & just sent the dish out without them. The steak is meant to be accompanied by potatoes & homemade steak sauce, but SURPRISE they were out of that stuff as well. Naturally, someone at the 5-top had ordered the steak. After this huge ordeal with the cooks, some potatoes were found, but of course they didn't start cooking those until the rest of the food was ready to go out. I was actually still waiting on one of the entrees as well, but my manager told me to run the rest of the food & he'd be right behind me with the last item. As I was dropping the food off at the table, I told the gentleman with the steak that the potatoes were coming right up, and I let the person whose entree was coming up that her stuff would be right there, and it showed up while I was putting down these people's entrees. This man started questioning me about where his potatoes were, and thankfully his wife said "He just told you they are coming right up." I went back to the kitchen in search of this man's sides.
This is the point where the hostess came & told me that they pulled out those damn paper menus they'd asked about before and started comparing the descriptions to what they actually had & someone noticed that they steak is meant to be accompanied by asparagus, which the kitchen clearly forgot--or prolly didn't know about. By some miracle, they had some asparagus & so I brought it to the gentleman, along with his potatoes, minus steak sauce. They didn't give me a whole ton of problems once everyone had all their food but they penalized me when it came time to pay--a $20 tip on a $217 check. Those old-ass Midwesterners didn't tip much better, and that pretty much set the tone for the whole evening. I had two foreign tables that left 10% tips, and only one good 4-top that had a decent size bill and they left an appropriate tip. It got crazy busy with large parties in our upstairs area at one point and the kitchen "crashed" so we had to stop taking tables for about half an hour. Once the kitchen was ready to go, it started to rain quite heavily, so there weren't too many more tables after that & the kitchen was out of so much stuff that we ended up taking the last table around 9 and putting up the "Closed" sign. That last table was mine--2 parents, 3 small kids, & me having to explain what we were out of. They were pleasant enough, and left a whopping $20 on a $137 check. Even though we closed an hour early, we still didn't actually get out of there til after 11, bones aching & bitterness in my heart.
Sigh. I guess you could say this week is my vacation, but actually it's just more unpaid time off. I have Tuesday & Thursday scheduled at the Med Skool, but I'm definitely stressing the money thing, as I'm already running short due to taking off a weekend for my baby sister's visit & my lil cousin's wedding in mid-July. Also, I'm not sure if Colledge is gonna keep me holding for 2 weeks on that 1st paycheck--my dept head says no, but a friend who works there says "prolly so." I guess we'll see, but damn it would sure be nice not to be livin on the edge like this.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Wizard World Comic Con NOLA 2014
As most of you already know, I usually only attend one Sci-Fi Convention per year, Gallifrey One. I scrimp and save and pay for things like airfare & acommodations as early as I can to get the expenses out of the way. It's a good thing I do it like this, especially given that since mid-December my waiter job has been trifling with a side of tragedy in the form of 2 of my 3 weekly shifts turning out to be days when management calls and tells me not to come in due to zero reservations, and the 1 shift I do work turning out to be a less than $50 twirl.I've had a bit of extra work at the Med Skool, and some extra income from peddling my fine knitwear, but not really enough to offset the $200 or so hemorrhaging from my weekly budget. I was (and still am, to be honest) worried about coming up $$ for meals and autographs at Gallifrey when Wizard World Comic Con New Orleans announced that Matt Smith (srsly if you don't know who this is by now, Google him, HUNTY) would be making his 1st US Convention Appearance since his last episode of Doctor Who here!
My hearts just broke. I was so hurt to know that I'd be going to Gally right after Matt Smith was in NOLA, and I wouldn't get to see him. I couldn't afford a 1 day, no-frills ticket, much less a $325 VIP Matt Smith Experience, which included a 3-day pass, one (1) photo session and (1) autograph session, as well as head of the line privileges to his Q & A session. In sheer desperation, I started a Go Fund Me page, offering custom Doctor Who Scarves in exchange for making one fanboy's dream come true.
In 7 hours, I was $10 above goal. By the next day, I was $130 past goal!! I was flabbergasted. Absolutely fuckin gobsmacked that so many people were so quick to help me out like this. My fingers trembled as I clicked that mouse a day later and purchased & printed out my VIP barcode. I got update emails about the event that contained the FB quotes about the event. The passes sold out and by the past week, ppl were offering to pay any price for Matt Smith VIP stuff. I swear, I felt like the Boy with the Golden Ticket.
As my nerves cranked up about this (and of course the upcoming Gally), I found myself in a state of SQUEEEEE that led me to knit Matt Smith a present, a Season 18 Doctor Who Scarf in beautiful Lion Brand Chenille Yarn, along with a card, thanking him for coming to NOLA. I tried my damnedest to come up with something reasonably intelligent or at least not too-scary-fan-sounding to say to him when I gave him my gift.
Well, today finally came & it started off great! My Public Knitting Partner, Eva, called and asked if I needed a ride & she dropped me off at the Convention Center in my 9th Doctor costume (grrl I told you I was broke, I couldn't afford a Matt Smith costume), and wished me well. I stepped into the building, ready for Glam. What I got was sent down a line marked off with colored tape on the floor, and sent to pick up my Swag Bag, containing a lithograph of Matt Smith, as well as a ticket with two smaller tearaway tickets for Photo Op & Autograph Sesh. I was informed that I was in Group F. As in there are a bunch of hoes in Groups A thru E and you will be in line behind them. I walked through another entrance, where the security ppl were berating us to show our left wrists the whole way down the hallway, past a warning that SyFy's tacky Heroes of Cosplay show was taping) and into a giant-sized dealers room. A heartbreaker for a broke bitch, but I headed over to the autograph area and past the 400 or so other VIPs into another set of Scotch tape runways and I waited. And waited. There was a lot of chatting amongst us, and as Groups A thru E headed thru, I got a ton of great pics of fans in costume, the usual. The anticipation mounted as the lines hustled on by into the curtained off area that ppl were continuously being admonished not to look through. Eventually, my line started moving and I went past the curtain and into the place where the magic would happen. I put my stuff down on the table, and walked over to Matt Smith, sitting on a stool and flashing the peace sign to the camera. He sort of looked at me as I walked up, but didn't say hello or anything, and turned to the camera and the cameraman said something, the flash went, and the handlers were giving me a claim ticket and I grabbed my swag bag & his gift bag and kept walking.
I was pretty off put by the whole experience. In fact I was kinda pissed, and headed outside for a smoke & called my BFF to vent a bit. I tried to put a good face on it, and reassured myself that the autograph sesh would be better, and at least I'd get to say hi & give him my gift and maybe the Reader's Digest version of my lil speech. Surprisingly, the 8x10 of our photo op was ready, so I grabbed it and headed past Groups A-E, and lined up with some other folks for some crazy talk and people watching. More heady anticipation as we played a sort of Red Rover thing, everyone taking two steps over to the next set of Colored Floor Tape, as the Con staff passed out Post-It notes. I questioned them about it, and they told me to write any personalization I might want on it. I used my Sonic Screwdriver Ink pen to write my name. As we got to the rat maze tensa-barrier area, the Con Staff were getting increasingly loud about keeping things moving. As I got up to the front I noticed a long table with Matt Smith at the end, and about three handlers talking to the attendees, who handed up their items. When I gave my photo, the Post-It was peeled off and discarded & I was informed that there was no more time for personalizing, so I'd have a generic autograph. I watched the handler slide down my beloved photo, and Matt Smith smeared a sort of signature on it and pushed it down the line to another handler, who in turn pushed it over to me.
 |
| I have to say, it's a good picture |
One of my friends was in the General admission line, and as I walked out she asked how it was. All I could say was "Grrl this fuckin SUCKS. $325 & I didn't even get to make eye contact with him." I walked out, fuming. My lil speech unsaid. My gift bag still in my hand. The rest of the day was similarly marred by the concessions stand running out of any po-boy fixings besides fried shrimp (no thanks, I'm allergic) and the nearby restaurant having no clean, empty tables, and a sort of line of famished-looking attendees, but no hostess or anything like that. I was so angry I could have puked. I wanted to apologize to every single person who sponsored this trip for not having more fun.
It did get better though. I ran into a friend in the front of the Alleged VIP line for Matt Smith's Q & A session, and I was glad to finally get to sit down and hear the man talk.Well, after we sat around for about 30 minutes, Wizard World Shill, I mean, MC, Tony Kim came out and announced that Sony was doing us a big favor and letting us see a trailer for their umpcoming blockbuster, Pompeii.
I spent most of the time watching the projection screens on either side of the stage because I was sitting behind a tall dude and would have had to lean over the Ho that fell asleep in her chair next to me to see. Also, some dude with an analog camera was clicking photos on high speed film sitting behind me every few minutes, while prolly a 3rd of the audience were taking video of him like they were videographers. UGH. Well, eventually we got to the questions. He fielded such hot topics as "What is your favorite animal?" (he had a list of 5, including otters and badgers) and "What other show would you want to be on?" (this is when many other fans felt the need to suggest things, like Sherlock, the Real World, oh bitch I don't know what all), and pretty soon, I was walking out and ran into a casual friend who was kind enough to give me a ride home.
 |
| Srsly this bitch was sleeping |
I wish this wasn't the story I had to tell. I wanted to be able to tell you all that today was everything I hoped it would be, and more. I'm still going back tomorrow, perhaps my lowered expectations will lessen any residual disappointment. I just want to say again how grateful and glad I am that I did this though. As my wise friend KC pointed out, it would have been so much if I hadn't gone & had to wonder What If for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, anybody wanna buy a scarf?
Friday, January 17, 2014
Strange Reunion
Last week, I got in touch with Big Laurel, a close friend from my pre-Katrina life. We used to spend a lot of time together, during those golden days when life was an honest breath taken in good faith. She was instrumental in finding me an apartment (where I'm still living) during that chaotic time in January 2006, when I discovered that my previous landlord was living in the apartment I'd planned to return to. She stayed here that Spring, after I'd had surgery and was forced to spend the semester recuperating in Hahnville with my grandmother.
The last time I saw her, in late May of 2006, my mom & I met her for lunch and we had a nice time. I remember a lot of laughs and a good meal. I moved back into my apt a week or so later, and never heard from Laurel again. She stopped answering my calls, her voicemail got full, and I was left to wonder what I'd done wrong. I called her number from time to time, just to see if it was still connected, but I can't tell you when the last time is that I tried.
We have a mutual friend named Amy that I occasionally chat with on Facebook, and Amy recently told me that Laurel wanted me to call & gave me her number. I called Laurel & all she could really say about not being in touch so long was that she "went crazy for awhile & didn't call anybody" which isn't really an explanation, but rather a faux-pology. During the course of the conversation, I found out that she'd been working at a bar room in our old neighborhood up until last year, and that she's not working steady right now, but she'd love to re-connect. I told her I'd be free on Tuesday, after 5 & we planned for her to pick me up & take me to her place.
I was really looking forward to this. I got nostalgic, thinking of all the times we shared. She brought me to my first Peaches show, we watched foreign films together, she was just there when I needed her. Until she wasn't.
She picked me up from work, and as we were driving thru the French Quarter, towards her place in Mid-City, she got a call from this guy called Rory. This is when she told me that we had to pick him up. I asked, where are we bringing him? She said, well, he's staying with me, so we're taking him back to my house.
I was more than a bit taken aback by this. I was even more taken aback when she informed me that she has an old lady named Zelda staying in her spare room, and she'd be joining us for dinner.
This seemed like a really strange way to re-connect, but I went with it. Rory was at a bar in Quarter, still having fun, so Laurel said she'd just pick him up later & we went back to her house & I met Zelda, a 60-something lady sitting on Miss Baby's couch in her housecoat, talking about cleaning the kitchen. Rory called again and said that he had left the bar and started walking towards Laurel's house, so Laurel & I took a ride to pick him up.
We got him from in front of the Esplanade food store on N. Villere & Esplanade, where he was drinking a beer from a can that he crushed & threw away, before grabbing his guitar case & putting it in Laurel's car trunk. He regaled us with stories of his day, watching gutter punks get money for panhandling while he played his guitar and didn't get anything. Well, I guess he must have gotten something, because on the way home, he asked Laurel to stop at another store so he could buy a big bottle of Skol vodka and a fountain cold drink.
Once we got in the house, I sat in a recliner in the living room and resumed knitting, while he sat in a loveseat across the room from me, with Laurel & Zelda on a couch to my right. Rory started taking alternating sips of his Skol and his fountain soda, and then he told that story about the gutterpunks again, but this time, the gutter punks got in a fight with some old man in a business suit, and Rory intervened and kept the peace.
I remember being really confused about what was going on here. Then he started questioning me about gay stuff--who is on top, who is on the bottom, who is the bitch, who is the butch. All of these ignorant personal questions that I really NEVER understand why people feel free to ask me. I refused to participate in this. I just kept responding, "Why are you so interested in this?" "You can look this stuff up on the Internet if you really want to know." and other sassy repartée, designed to deflect this sort of thing.
I remember telling Laurel a story, and he kept trying to derail me, but erry body knows that some quasi-homeless bastard sipping on a Skol Drink is no match for the Witty Knitter. I could see he was getting frustrated that he wasn't getting to be his Alpha Male Self with me, but eventually he & Laurel went into the kitchen to cook dinner & Zelda and I sat around, watching Helix on the DVR & chatting.
Laurel & Rory came up and served us dinner (after having to ride to the store to get more macaroni), and he was on what I'm sure he thought was his very best behavior. He even served me a Skol & Cranberry juice cocktail, but I opted to keep drinking my lil bottle of water.
Dinner itself was simple but delicious! A green salad, fried pork chops, mac & cheese. Trailer-Tastic perhaps, but damn tasty.
Ooh I just realized I didn't mention that Rory didn't eat, he just kept swiggin from his bottle & sucking thru his straw as the rest of us had our feast on TV trays.
After dinner, he was still playing the gracious host & picked up our plates and brought them back to the kitchen, before resuming his spot.
At this point, Zelda & I are chatting and he & Laurel are talking & I'm not sure exactly what they were talking about, but I could see that he was getting sort of animated, and he got off his loveseat and came across the room & stood next to me and proceeded to call Laurel's name and say "What if I did this?" and grabbed me by the head.
He put his hand flat on the top of my head, with his index fingers pressed flat on my forehead and his thumb over my ear.
I froze. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stab him with my knitting needles, but they were plastic & I didn't want to get blood all over my Blue Beauty 4th Doctor Scarf, and I just froze. I looked at Laurel, who was just looking at him, dumbfounded.
After...30 seconds? 45? He let go & crossed the room to Laurel & started telling her something about how he was trying to make her laugh & then he looked over at me & said "Sam I'm sorry I wasn't trying to disrespect you (oh how he made those words drip with falsehood) or invade your space, I was just trying to make my girl laugh. I wasn't trying to piss you off or anything"
"Well what reaction did you expect from me?"
He sorta mumbled something & then staggered out of the room, towards the kitchen.
"Well what reaction did you expect from me?"
He sorta mumbled something & then staggered out of the room, towards the kitchen.
I started throwing my stuff into my knitting bag & I told Laurel, "I'm really ready to go now. Either you bringing me home or I'll walk to Broad St and get the bus, but either way I'm outta here in the next 50 seconds"
Zelda, in the tradition of Southern Women, acted like nothing had happened, and gave me a hug & said "Well, I hope we'll see each other again real soon! I'd love to introduce you to my gay nephew"
All I could say was "We'll see" and I walked out of the house, with Laurel close behind, keys in her hand.
Zelda, in the tradition of Southern Women, acted like nothing had happened, and gave me a hug & said "Well, I hope we'll see each other again real soon! I'd love to introduce you to my gay nephew"
All I could say was "We'll see" and I walked out of the house, with Laurel close behind, keys in her hand.
We got in the car, and I honestly did not know what to say to Laurel. I could barely even look at her face.
"Baby, I'm sorry that happened, but he was really just trying to make me laugh," she told me.
"No. That is not the only thing that was happening there and if you don't see it, then you are stupid or willfully blind. He felt threatened and wanted to dominate me in some way to prove some point and he did it. And you let him. FYI, me being taken, by a woman I trust, into a situation that I did not create, without my consent, and some man putting his hands on me is exactly my childhood and I am not going to re-live it with you. Not with you, not with anyone. I love you, Laurel, but this is not ever going to happen again. Maybe I can deal with you socially or in my house, but this will. Not. Happen. AGAIN."
She said "I can't apologize for anyone else's actions, but I am sorry you got upset" and continued on with the litany of minimizing that I remember so well. We talked all the way to my house and she even came up & we hung out for quite some time, but I never really got what I needed. Not a real apology for 7½ years of absence, nor for putting me into danger.
I had resumed my old role, as well, letting myself be pacified or talking about other things. There was even some talk of my meeting up with her next week for Fat Falafel Glam in Mid-City, but now I don't think so.
I don't think so at all.
I'm angry that this happened. But I'd be angrier at myself if I let it happen again.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Unmanaged, not Unmanageable... So Far
Some of you may have noticed that I posted awhile back on Facebook about seeking counseling. Suffice it to say that lately I've been stressing hard & working harder, and found myself overindulging in past vices that have no place in my life today. I reached out to my so-called wife & she has been gracious enough to help me get to my appointments in the burbs.
I felt for so long that my life was at a crossroads and lately it's starting to feel more and more like a dead end.
Without the structure and accountability of being in skool, I feel as if I'm just treading water, like there's some other, more important thing I'm meant to be doing. I've never felt like this before. Even when I was raving hard I always felt like that's what was supposed to be happening. These days just feel like drifting from one job to the other, tired all the time and getting the blues behind it all.
But like Tracy Chapman used to sing: I'm not breaking down/ I'm not falling apart/ I just lost a lil faith/ when you broke my heart.
In my journey towards making peace from my broken pieces (no copyright infringement intended), I'm coming to see that I have to honor my gifts, my passions: specifically writing & knitting & Doctor Who. To that end, I'll be updating at least one of my four blogs every day this month.
So fasten your seatbelts, Gentle Readers, it's bout to be a bumpy ride!
Monday, August 19, 2013
To Teach or Not to Teach?
That was the question. Whether it was nobler to suffer the daily humiliation of low pay, ignorant administrators, and slacker students or actually pay my own bills, without having to rely on friends and loved ones to bail my over-educated ass out of financial despair.
Some of you may remember that a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my former department head at the Colledge, asking me to teach 2 sections of Spanish from 11AM-1PM on MWF this semester. As I'd been unemployed since June & under-employed since January, I initially said yes. It was one of those "when it rains, it pours" type situations, as I'd just gotten back my old job at Olivier's Restaurant in the French Quarter and I was gearing up for Tuesdays & Thursdays at the Med Skool to get started. After 2 months of being unemployed and with all my bills having "PAST DUE" stamped all over them, it seemed like a godsend.
Then I gave myself some time to really sit down and think about what this semester would look like:
Taking 2 buses every morning on MWF to get to Colledge (while carrying a change of clothes for my restaurant shift, not to mention whatever supplies I'd need for class) and then a 3rd bus to go downtown and work at the restaurant, and a 4th bus to go home after the restaurant closed at 10PM. TTH would be a bit more relaxed, as it only takes 1 bus to get back & forth from the Med Skool, and my days there generally start around 1PM. Saturday nights would be tied up at the restaurant, as that is a big $$$ night, so that would only leave me Sundays for laundry, errands, and personal entertainment. I found myself feeling exhausted just thinking about it all, and that was before I remembered how much out of class time it takes to grade tests and homework.
I read back over my blogs from this time last year, and remembered how unhappy I was then. How many days I woke up and just stared at the cracks in my ceiling, hoping the whole damn house would cave in just so I wouldn't have to drag myself across town, wondering if this was why I'd put in so much work to get a Master's Degree.
I tried to be more objective. I wrote a list of pros & cons about working at the Colledge. It looked something like this:
Pros:
Looks good on a résumé (but does it, really?)
Respectable (but is it, really?)
Cons:
Takes at least 1 month (2 pay cycles) to get the 1st paycheck
It took over 6 weeks for the Colledge to give me the password for my email.
Colledge doesn't take out state taxes (this year I owe LA $150 bc of that)
Taking 2 buses to get there.
Not having an office or any place to meet with students outside of class.
Unpaid meetings and professional development sessions.
No benefits (insurance, etc)
Based on a rumor I heard about adjunct teachers getting a raise, the pay works out to be $138 (pre-taxes) per class per week.
I stopped at the last item. I was all sad and angry and irate at how little my time was valued by the Colledge (and the educational system in a bigger sense, this stuff is quite typical for adjuncts) and the decision wasn't so agonizing. I average just about $138 per NIGHT at the restaurant. There haven't been many times in my life that I've been in a position to turn down work, but I was glad to be able to Just Say No to being exploited by the Higher Education System.
As I reflected on it, working as an adjunct teacher at Colledge just seems like a really stupid thing for me to do. I'm a lot of things, Gentle Readers, but stupid is not one of them.
Some of you may remember that a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my former department head at the Colledge, asking me to teach 2 sections of Spanish from 11AM-1PM on MWF this semester. As I'd been unemployed since June & under-employed since January, I initially said yes. It was one of those "when it rains, it pours" type situations, as I'd just gotten back my old job at Olivier's Restaurant in the French Quarter and I was gearing up for Tuesdays & Thursdays at the Med Skool to get started. After 2 months of being unemployed and with all my bills having "PAST DUE" stamped all over them, it seemed like a godsend.
Then I gave myself some time to really sit down and think about what this semester would look like:
Taking 2 buses every morning on MWF to get to Colledge (while carrying a change of clothes for my restaurant shift, not to mention whatever supplies I'd need for class) and then a 3rd bus to go downtown and work at the restaurant, and a 4th bus to go home after the restaurant closed at 10PM. TTH would be a bit more relaxed, as it only takes 1 bus to get back & forth from the Med Skool, and my days there generally start around 1PM. Saturday nights would be tied up at the restaurant, as that is a big $$$ night, so that would only leave me Sundays for laundry, errands, and personal entertainment. I found myself feeling exhausted just thinking about it all, and that was before I remembered how much out of class time it takes to grade tests and homework.
I read back over my blogs from this time last year, and remembered how unhappy I was then. How many days I woke up and just stared at the cracks in my ceiling, hoping the whole damn house would cave in just so I wouldn't have to drag myself across town, wondering if this was why I'd put in so much work to get a Master's Degree.
I tried to be more objective. I wrote a list of pros & cons about working at the Colledge. It looked something like this:
Pros:
Looks good on a résumé (but does it, really?)
Respectable (but is it, really?)
Cons:
Takes at least 1 month (2 pay cycles) to get the 1st paycheck
It took over 6 weeks for the Colledge to give me the password for my email.
Colledge doesn't take out state taxes (this year I owe LA $150 bc of that)
Taking 2 buses to get there.
Not having an office or any place to meet with students outside of class.
Unpaid meetings and professional development sessions.
No benefits (insurance, etc)
Based on a rumor I heard about adjunct teachers getting a raise, the pay works out to be $138 (pre-taxes) per class per week.
I stopped at the last item. I was all sad and angry and irate at how little my time was valued by the Colledge (and the educational system in a bigger sense, this stuff is quite typical for adjuncts) and the decision wasn't so agonizing. I average just about $138 per NIGHT at the restaurant. There haven't been many times in my life that I've been in a position to turn down work, but I was glad to be able to Just Say No to being exploited by the Higher Education System.
As I reflected on it, working as an adjunct teacher at Colledge just seems like a really stupid thing for me to do. I'm a lot of things, Gentle Readers, but stupid is not one of them.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Muted, but Not Monochrome
As my 39th birthday
looms ever closer, there is something, well someone really, on my heart.
Someone I won't see. Possibly not ever again.
Faithful readers
will remember how
I got all verklempt in the grocery store last April, missing my best gay guy
friend, Jacky. He & I met at the restaurant where we worked prior to
Hurricane Katrina. We had a lot in common, both having grown up gay in rural
South Louisiana & running a bit amok in NOLA in our 20s, and by the time we
met, we were both trying to come up. There was no sexual chemistry there, but
we got each other, laughed at the same things, were equally ruthless Scrabble
players. We were a dream team at the restaurant, a big favorite with guests
& management alike.We fled Hurricane Katrina together, and remained very
close afterwards.Once I moved into my current apartment, he visited pretty frequently
for Wine & Scrabble weekends. My sister, Diana & Jacky & I even
rented a car together & drove to Austin from NOLA to welcome my other
sister, Sara, home from Japan a few years ago.
He was the closest
thing I had to a brother.
He unexplainedly
stopped responding to my text messages in December 2011, and in early January
2012, he sent me a text asking me not to contact him again. No explanation. I
figured he got sober or got sick of how rough I talk to people or both. I
honored his request for no contact for over a year, as much as it ate me up
inside.
It hurt like hell.
This black empty feeling in my heart felt like it was swallowing me and finally
I broke down & sent him an email:
It has been over a
year since you asked me not to contact you & I haven't. I still don't
understand why. All I can say is, whatever I did or said, I'm sorry.
I miss you all the
time. Every single day, at least 1 thing happens to remind me of you. Of our
friendship.
I can barely get thru
a trip to Rouse's without bursting into tears. I keep hearing in my mind some
funny thing we said or did and once or twice I've even been just about to tell
you something, and I go to say it and you're not there and I don't know why.
I don't know what else
to say. Please forgive me for whatever it was.
Sam
About a week later, he
responded:
Sam,
Hope things are going
well for you.
I made a decision to
become the healthiest (physically, mentally, spiritually) that I could be, and
I had to make some tough choices. I have been sober since Dec 7, 2011, and at
the same time, could no longer afford to embrace your negative and constant
belittling behavior. After the last conversation we had when you repeatedly
called me and my decisions/thoughts/etc. "stupid" and
"dumb" for the 8000th time, I finally had the courage to remove that
negative energy from my life. I also realized that the majority of the reason
why I had put up with that for so long was because you provided a haven
for me to get drunk. So I owed it to not only myself to delete negative
energy from my life, but I owed it to you to stop taking advantage of the
situation to benefit my addiction. I wish the best for you. Thanks for checking
up on me; I think about you often as well. Especially during these past seasons
of Drag Race, lol. I have forgiven you and will never forget the good times!
Jacky
If you don't feel it,
you can't heal it, they say. Well, I sure felt this, like a hundred rats
chewing on my guts. I must have read those lines at least a dozen times, trying
to analyze every single nuance of meaning like some neurotic teen, but all I
kept seeing was "I would have talked to you about this, but you are too
damaged to bother with. You are just too fuckin mean to people for them to
stand you unless they are loaded."
Anne Sexton, the mad poetess, said:
I find now, swallowing one teaspoon
of pain, that it drops downward
to the past where it mixes
with last year's cupful
and downward into a decade's quart
and downward into a lifetime's ocean.
And so it was. I felt
that multiplying teaspoon wake up feelings of abandonment ranging from
unanswered text messages to my biological father, whom I've never seen, who
must have known even before I was born that I would just be too much trouble. All
I could do was just lay down in bed and just fucking cry it out, sobbing til I
had hiccups, going thru the Stages of Grief merry-go-round over and over.
Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance-Denial-Anger---oh you get it.
I fell asleep and dreamed of Jacky and me, singing along with Dalida, (he'd learned the French lyrics phonetically), playing Scrabble on my porch on Grand Route St John, he plays the word "EQUATION," hitting 2 Triple word scores and getting 164 points. "You bitch!!" I say and then I look up and he's just gone. His glass of wine half-empty and nothing and nobody in his chair. And all the color just went out of everything, just drained away, blue skies and red wine all just turning different shades of grey and Dalida is drowned out by the ringing in my ears.
But I wake up. The world is in color again. Muted but not monochrome. The people I have in my life are an amazing, eclectic, loving bunch and I am grateful for all of them. I know I'm surrounded by love and affection and good will. But somehow the snack cakes aren't as sweet, the triple-shot espresso isn't as strong, and when the next person doesn't answer a text, it's really not the end of the world, just one less bell to answer.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Another one gone too soon...
Over the weekend I found out that my old friend, Dorian Estevez, died. Not even a month after his 35th birthday. He had high blood pressure, diabetes & recurring bouts of pancreatitis, his brother (another old friend) was telling me.
I can't say Dorian & I were super close, but we were both on the scene. I remember him as sweet but troubled, like so many of us were, including me. I wish I hadn't been on so many drugs back then & could tell you some story that would explain to you how he was but that's not the case.
I know I should remember that the generation of gay men before me were attending more funerals than birthdays when they were the age I am now, but it doesn't help. Not really. I didn't really imagine I'd ever see Dorian again (he'd moved away along time ago & I am practically a hermit these days) but to know that I definitely can't see him again...feels like a kick in the chest.
There's another side of me that thinks all this upset is just self-indulgent claptrap, after all think of his brother, who suddenly has more on his plate than I can even imagine. Think of his 17-year old daughter. Think of their loss. Think of it & pray for them & stop playin the martyr & just get up already & LIVE.
Live for those who can't do it any more. Live & love for those who don't want to do it any more. Live even when you don't want to do it any more. Live for yourself, for tomorrow, for whatever, but for pity's sake, just LIVE.
Let yourself cry out your anger & heartbreak of the ungodly unfairness of it all but then when the crying is done and you can breathe right again, LIVE.
I can't say Dorian & I were super close, but we were both on the scene. I remember him as sweet but troubled, like so many of us were, including me. I wish I hadn't been on so many drugs back then & could tell you some story that would explain to you how he was but that's not the case.
I know I should remember that the generation of gay men before me were attending more funerals than birthdays when they were the age I am now, but it doesn't help. Not really. I didn't really imagine I'd ever see Dorian again (he'd moved away along time ago & I am practically a hermit these days) but to know that I definitely can't see him again...feels like a kick in the chest.
There's another side of me that thinks all this upset is just self-indulgent claptrap, after all think of his brother, who suddenly has more on his plate than I can even imagine. Think of his 17-year old daughter. Think of their loss. Think of it & pray for them & stop playin the martyr & just get up already & LIVE.
Live for those who can't do it any more. Live & love for those who don't want to do it any more. Live even when you don't want to do it any more. Live for yourself, for tomorrow, for whatever, but for pity's sake, just LIVE.
Let yourself cry out your anger & heartbreak of the ungodly unfairness of it all but then when the crying is done and you can breathe right again, LIVE.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
At the intersection of Synchronicity & Sadness...
No, the title isn't
some quaintly-named street corner here in NOLA but rather the
temporal/emotional space I was in when I encountered a Trinity of Tragedies (a
Triptych of the Triflin? a Troupe of the Tired?) and an Eerie Epilogue. Please
keep in mind I am in the midst of a third knitting project, worked in the
Trinity Stitch at this time.
“Oh well, I got kinda trapped in the bathhouse & I couldn’t leave. I still wanna hang out with you though. When are you free tomorrow?”
This definitely
qualifies as part of the ongoing saga I think of as “Crazy Hoes I used to Know”
Picture it:
Holy Week, 2013.
Holy Week, 2013.
On Wednesday I get an
email from crazy ass Mo Gumbo (*of whom more here),
with whom I had a brief series of emails (she sent from a cell number I didn't
recognize) in January, when I disclosed that I had been workin at that ungodly
Colledge. Once I realized it was her I stopped answering. In this warped
version of Holy Week, she can be thought of as the Unholy Ghost in the Machine.
Had first interview
with historic New Orleans collection. They just requested my salary
requirements. NOW, how do I find you Sam? Can I just buy you dinner
or something?
Maybe ill try you at Colledge.
MY CELL is XXX-XXX-XXXX
Fuck. Now I have to find a house.
Maybe ill try you at Colledge.
MY CELL is XXX-XXX-XXXX
Fuck. Now I have to find a house.
My first thought was, I
remember this Ho getting an advance to write a book, why does she find it so
difficult to use subject pronouns? Then I thought, maybe that’s why that book
never got published. Does she seriously think I’m about to call her? At any
rate, in my tradition of crossing the street when I see crazy coming, I didn’t
respond to this email & went about my day.
On Holy Thursday, I
was on the 10:30AM bus, knitting, heading to work at the Med Skool, and I see
this guy I’ll call Scooter getting on the bus. We were boyfriends for a few
days during the last few months of my Wilderness Years. This would have been in
late 2001, after my quasi-literate dentally challenged transsexual roommate had
moved out (AKA gotten arrested) and I was working a nightclub on Bourbon St.
Scooter was a stripper at a nameless skeevy white trash gay bar a few blox away
& around the corner. He was new to the scene & even though I knew I was
on my way out, we had some fun while we could, but honestly our relationship
was as plastic as the star shaped ring filled with glittery liquid &
reflective hearts that I gave him.
I’m not sure when the
last time was we saw each other, but it was definitely some time before my last
hurrah during Mardi Gras 2002, and yet there he was, struggling to figure out
where to put the money in the fare box. He looked pretty much the same, still
slender and fair skinned and dressed to kill. Real Dolce & Gabbana
sunglasses (I can spot a fake a mile away) a Gucci Belt, Versace Jeans. As he
walked towards me, I looked up from my knitting & said “Scooter?”
To which he replied: “Oh
my GAWD! Sam!! I remember you! We had sex!”
My eyes just got
really big & all I could say was: “Yes, We did.”
“Did I just say that real
loud on this bus?”
“Yes, you did, now sit
down & let’s talk, since I can’t look at anybody else on this bus.”
So he sat down &
we caught up a bit. He’s just move back from someplace else, looking for an
apartment since whoever he is living with now is putting him out for not
sleeping with him or some foolishness like this.
As he keeps talking, I
realize he’s speaking in that super fast yet getting quieter way that ppl have
a tendency to do when their minds are on fry from doing that nasty crystal
meth. Of course, the fact that he started this whole conversation with the
sentence “We had sex!!” prolly should have been my first clue that the child
was on drugs, but there you have it.
He says something
about wishing his mom would just give him the money for his apartment deposit
without wanting to control him; he is 30 years old, after all.
(Yes, hoes, this means
he was 18 when we were fooling around)
“Grrl that is the
whole point. You are 30 years old, you shouldn’t need your mom to pay for
anything, and if you do, you really ought to expect her to want some control
since evidently whatever you are doing isn’t getting it”
He kinda got that
faraway look that people get when they are all hazed out but hear the truth
& can’t dispute it. Then he changed the subject, asking if we were at our
bus stop yet. Since we were both going to the end of the line, we kept talking.
He seemed really impressed that I’ve stayed off the scene and out of trouble
for over a decade. He honestly asked “How did you do it?” and it really wasn’t
something I could answer in the 5 minutes I had before I had to be walking into
work. I really wanted to just call off & spend the day talking to this
beautiful creature, to see where it all went wrong & maybe even share some
hope with him. So we exchanged numbers. As he stepped away he said something
that kinda shook me up. He said something about me getting some syringes from
the med skool.
So I had this image of
this gorgeous little thing hurting himself like this all day. It just made me
so feckin sad. It isn’t what I wanted for him. I know I couldn’t have saved him
but damn. He comes from a good family.
I texted him when I
got out of work & he said he wanted to come over, so I told him which bus
to take & everything he needed to know & he said he’d be leaving around
7:30.
7:30 came & went,
no Scooter. Around 8 I texted “Are you still coming over?” & then around
midnight I just sent “???” as I was wrapping up the dinner I’d cooked for us. I’d
been too upset about getting stood up to eat anyway. No fool like an old fool.
At 1AM this man calls
me & says, “Hey! Is it too late to hang out? You need to get a car”
“Grrl what happened to
you?”
“Oh well, I got kinda trapped in the bathhouse & I couldn’t leave. I still wanna hang out with you though. When are you free tomorrow?”
“Grrl it’s OK. I’m OK.
If the best thing you can come up with on a Thursday Night is being slung up in
the bathhouse, I don’t think we really need to be hangin out.”
Silence for a sec
& “Ok, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
We hung up & I was
eventually able to get some (troubled) sleep. I meditated, prayed, whatever you
wanna call it & on Good Friday, I sent him this text:
“Look. I can’t see you.
You lied to me last night & that’s it. I don’t deal with liars or ppl who
choose addict behavior over spending time with me. I’m not mad, but I have
pretty basic rules. Living up to your word is a Big 1. I wish you the best
& hope you can find a way to make better choices.”
I felt free after I
sent this. I did some more praying & meditating & chanting &
finally came up with something to tell Mo Gumbo. I felt like I needed closure
& didn’t want to hear anything else from her, so I sent this:
I am not sure what it
is you want from me, and frankly, I don't care any more. You and I are not
friends. We are not going to be friends. It is not that you "hung up on me
when you were having a bad time" it's that you called in the middle of the
night, asked me to call up your latest baby daddy to tell him you were going to
have an abortion & then when I wouldn't do it & tried to talk sense to
you, you hung up on me. I am not angry about this any more. If anything, I'm thankful,
it made my decision to end our friendship that much easier.
You know why I didn't immediately start blowing up your phone, calling back? Because you didn't want what I had to offer. I couldn't see then (and can't see now) any good reason to continuously interact with you as you go from one self-induced crisis to the next.
The fact that your next communication with me was an attempt on your part to take back some knitting needles (with no apology nor even mention of your frankly atrocious behavior) was the nail in the proverbial coffin. That series of increasingly desperate phone calls were the clods of dirt covering the coffin & frankly this email is the headstone.
Please understand that I am not angry with you. Just tired of all the lies and the drama and the nonsense. One of your messages said something like "I've seen you forgive ppl for lots of worse things" ---I do forgive you for being so out of control, Mo Gumbo. I honestly do. Forgiveness does not mean that I need or even want you back in my life.
This is not just a goodbye to you, Mo Gumbo, but also to taking on problems that are not mine in some vain attempt to make myself out to be a hero. Goodbye to perpetuating a pattern of behavior that may have worked at one time but is now just exhausting.
I pray you find peace.
You know why I didn't immediately start blowing up your phone, calling back? Because you didn't want what I had to offer. I couldn't see then (and can't see now) any good reason to continuously interact with you as you go from one self-induced crisis to the next.
The fact that your next communication with me was an attempt on your part to take back some knitting needles (with no apology nor even mention of your frankly atrocious behavior) was the nail in the proverbial coffin. That series of increasingly desperate phone calls were the clods of dirt covering the coffin & frankly this email is the headstone.
Please understand that I am not angry with you. Just tired of all the lies and the drama and the nonsense. One of your messages said something like "I've seen you forgive ppl for lots of worse things" ---I do forgive you for being so out of control, Mo Gumbo. I honestly do. Forgiveness does not mean that I need or even want you back in my life.
This is not just a goodbye to you, Mo Gumbo, but also to taking on problems that are not mine in some vain attempt to make myself out to be a hero. Goodbye to perpetuating a pattern of behavior that may have worked at one time but is now just exhausting.
I pray you find peace.
All this spiritual cleansing
makes a gal hungry, and my grrl Daniella & I had plans to visit our fave
restaurant, El Gato Negro, with our re-usable signature cups! She came over to
my place first and we talked for awhile & I gave her the full 411 about Mo
Gumbo & Scooter & erry thang.
When we parked
Daniella’s car & were heading to meet Nanette, I looked over at Daniella
& said “Bitch I feel like I am on red alert for some other ghost from my
past to come around some corner & accost me.”
We had a laugh &
then a great lunch (as usual) and as Daniella and I were walking back to the car, about a block from where we'd parked, I saw this homeless man in a doorway, sitting next to a pair of crutches,
telling some other guy that he didn’t wanna live past 40, and he was already
40.
As I was walking by, I
glanced at him and my blood absolutely ran cold. It was Pablo. A straight guy
from the Wilderness Years. He was at my 25th birthday party. He came
to my house. A real Latin Lover looking type, usually in a black leather
motorcycle jacket with Morrissey hair, high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and
naturally tan skin and dark eyes with a slightly crooked front tooth that
flawed his perfection in such a way that it made him all the more beautiful.
All that beauty was
gone, those cheeks & that jaw obscured by a layer of fat and that swarthy
skin tone just grey, all grey and ashy. Hair all chopped off like a prisoner. That
adorable crooked tooth now practically perpendicular to his gums and stained
from smoking a billion cigarettes and Lawd knows what else over the last 13 or
so years since we’d seen each other.
My 1st
instinct was to give him a hug & when I bent down to do it, I caught a
whiff of 3-days-no-showering & misery. Unmistakable. Made sadder by him
reaching for the cigarette butt I’d just thrown down and even moreso when he
started grabbing at my re-usable (recently refilled) cup from El Gato Negro. I
stood up and he was talking crazy to me, telling me that he’d recently tried to
kill himself, he showed me fresh scars on his forearms and pulled up his shirt
and there were bullet scars and other scars and then he pulled up his left pant
leg & showed me his calf. Where there should be muscle and skin there is a
huge scar like a big piece of his calf muscle has been ripped off &
cauterized. I seriously could have burst into tears right then and there.
He asked for a sip, he
asked for a smoke. I took the full pack of ciggies I’d opened on the way to the restaurant
& tried to hand it to him. He wanted me to stay and talk and I couldn’t. He
tried to enlist Daniella: “He’s leaving me! Make him stay!” and I just said, “Baby
I can’t stay. I’m on my way someplace and honestly this is too much. Please
take these cigarettes & let me get outta here.”
Daniella & I
walked to the car in silence. As she was bringing me to Hahnville to visit my
Grandmother for Easter weekend, the Trinity bit hit me. The Younger, Still
Beautiful Young Man, The Once Beautiful Older Man, and the Unholy, Never
Beautiful, Ghost in the Machine.
By the time I got to
Geese’s house, I got not 1 but 3 (3 again?) emails from Mo Gumbo:
I get it.
You were wrong on multiple levels and right on others.
But given the overall purpose of your words, I am not sure that truth is an endeavor.
I've paid the prices and suffered enough pain to have HAD to change.
You were wrong about the needles.
Yes, I did want a few back. And I did apologize for asking as i explained I had no idea my daughter would begin to knit. Anyone with a heart would understand my conflict. I asked for a few, or the bag. Not both. I wanted to giver her a piece of my grandmother, not the while kit and caboodle.
Based on this email, I see you may not care about that piece of the "truth."
You might have guessed that I got off the phone and sat upon examining your words, harsh as they can be. I have more than once expressed my appreciation for the same.
Since then, much has changed.
I have no drama to share. Have only done good. Dug deep and found my worth.
I will send you some cash and an address. If you choose to send some I'd my grandmother to my daughter, my soul will smile, exhale, and thank you again.
I will send it to you at Delgado.
I hope you are getting the rest that you need, from many things.
You were wrong on multiple levels and right on others.
But given the overall purpose of your words, I am not sure that truth is an endeavor.
I've paid the prices and suffered enough pain to have HAD to change.
You were wrong about the needles.
Yes, I did want a few back. And I did apologize for asking as i explained I had no idea my daughter would begin to knit. Anyone with a heart would understand my conflict. I asked for a few, or the bag. Not both. I wanted to giver her a piece of my grandmother, not the while kit and caboodle.
Based on this email, I see you may not care about that piece of the "truth."
You might have guessed that I got off the phone and sat upon examining your words, harsh as they can be. I have more than once expressed my appreciation for the same.
Since then, much has changed.
I have no drama to share. Have only done good. Dug deep and found my worth.
I will send you some cash and an address. If you choose to send some I'd my grandmother to my daughter, my soul will smile, exhale, and thank you again.
I will send it to you at Delgado.
I hope you are getting the rest that you need, from many things.
Then this:
Oh. My salary
requirements could eliminate me from consideration. Finally have a chance
at the perfect job. The one I would try to retire from.
But I may not get it. I'm sure you are not the only to hope that I don't.
But I'm in a position to be good either way. And I think that may be part of the point.
If u are as repelled as you claim, you should not have a problem forwarding those things to my daughter. It would be the good and right thing to do.
But I may not get it. I'm sure you are not the only to hope that I don't.
But I'm in a position to be good either way. And I think that may be part of the point.
If u are as repelled as you claim, you should not have a problem forwarding those things to my daughter. It would be the good and right thing to do.
And finally this, with
“My Husband Can Pick Them Up” as the subject:
Since you are more
interested in having a whipping post and using me as a spring oars to work out
your issues than simply being a better person than me and doing the right
thing, Phil can come get the needles for my daughter. Or since my dad
taught there I can have someone from English department get them from
you. No need to say why.
I had no idea how much hate/contempt you carry. But my grandmother and daughter have nothing to do with it. I gave you those out of friendship. If you are not interested in that friendship, in offering you cash to get them back.
If you didn't need the cash, just be willing to drop them by English department.
I'm sorry for the discomfort I caused you. I've been a horrible friend.
But I don't deserve your shit, and from the words you wrote, you don't want mine. So please be willing to drop off the needles/bag. Dont do it for me. Do it for my grandmother and daughter who never did shit to you.
I love you and that is that.
Ill pay a bill by phone if that will help. Send you an amazon gift card, whatever.
Now, instead of being a friend and responding, how about just make it a business transaction? How bout just tell me what a bitch like me has to do to get those back from the person who wrote all that venom?
So, please. If you are willing to drop off with someone for any fee at all, please let me know. If not, because of what they are....I will come see you myself if I have to.
Not one person you respect could possibly think it right of you to keep those, regardless of your depiction of who I AM.
DO RIGHT, even if you think I am incapable.
I had no idea how much hate/contempt you carry. But my grandmother and daughter have nothing to do with it. I gave you those out of friendship. If you are not interested in that friendship, in offering you cash to get them back.
If you didn't need the cash, just be willing to drop them by English department.
I'm sorry for the discomfort I caused you. I've been a horrible friend.
But I don't deserve your shit, and from the words you wrote, you don't want mine. So please be willing to drop off the needles/bag. Dont do it for me. Do it for my grandmother and daughter who never did shit to you.
I love you and that is that.
Ill pay a bill by phone if that will help. Send you an amazon gift card, whatever.
Now, instead of being a friend and responding, how about just make it a business transaction? How bout just tell me what a bitch like me has to do to get those back from the person who wrote all that venom?
So, please. If you are willing to drop off with someone for any fee at all, please let me know. If not, because of what they are....I will come see you myself if I have to.
Not one person you respect could possibly think it right of you to keep those, regardless of your depiction of who I AM.
DO RIGHT, even if you think I am incapable.
Oh lawd bitch, Really?
I shared all of this
with my lifelong BFF, Sandi & she was as appalled about this crazy ho’s
off-the-hook emails as I’m sure you are.
So I took some time
& dug down deep to try to make this Psycho Hose Beast understand. On Easter
Sunday, I sent her this:
I'm not interested in
having a whipping post or anything else. I'm neither angry nor contemptuous.
I'm not doing anything to you or your child. I do not have anything of yours;
the bag & the needles went to Salvation Army about a month after I gave you
an address & never received anything.
Please stop contacting me. I believe I have been abundantly clear that I have forgiven you for all mistakes on your part and misunderstandings on mine.
I do not wish you harm or suffering, I just wish you would stop all of this madness.
Please stop contacting me. I believe I have been abundantly clear that I have forgiven you for all mistakes on your part and misunderstandings on mine.
I do not wish you harm or suffering, I just wish you would stop all of this madness.
She sent back “Wow.
Have a great week.”
This makes me think
she may begin to grasp what I was telling her here.
I was knitting a
project in the Trinity stitch & I remember thinking, ok, that’s 3, but if
you remember, you need 4 stitches to make the stitch (because you are making 3
from one & then one from 3) so I started to wonder what the 4th kick in the
balls would be.
I had to wait about a
week, before I got a call from an old school friend who told me that one of my
students from last semester (the one whose eyes never tracked right & was
always talking crazy & clearly on drugs) had been found dead at home. She
was only 31.
Don’t get me wrong, I
could see this person was on a bad path, but I really didn’t think it would end
this soon. I don’t feel guilty, or that anything that I could have done would
have stopped this tragedy but DAMN. So fuckin sad. Nobody has said what the
specific cause of death was, but it clearly wasn’t murder & otherwise
healthy 31 year olds don’t just drop dead from natural causes, so I’m guessing
it was drugs.
I am just trying to
figure out what does it all mean? Why am I coming across these people at this
time, in this way? I am leaning towards “There but for the Grace of God/The Universe/Krsna/WhateverYouNeedToCallIt
Go I”
Monday, March 4, 2013
GLOW:The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling
It is 1986. I am an effete 12-year-old, reading the Letters page of the TV Focus (the Times-Picayune's answer to the TV Guide, as the title might imply) and there is a letter of complaint about this new show called GLOW. Cheesy jokes & women in skimpy clothes wrestling on TV at 11:30 on Sunday nights? Oh the scandal! The decline in morals!
I remember the reply noting that GLOW's ratings were through the roof, and that the editorial staff seemed to think the letter-writer was rather overwrought. (Try sayin that when you're drunk) There was a picture of Americana, a screengrab from one of the rap segments, in full regalia, surrounded by other glamorously dressed women. Well, I had been mourning the loss of Wonder Woman on TV for several years now & I needed a costumed heroine or two in my imaginative life. I was not let down.
Four years later, The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling had been on tour, there was a magazine about the show, the GLOW girls were on talk shows, game shows, you name it and then one Sunday night, the girls were gone. I frantically scanned the TV Focus. No one was writing in to ask what happened to the GLOW girls. No one was talking about it on the news. I was scandalized & saddened. But I had lost Doctor Who in a similarly inexplicable manner & had already learned that liking these two shows made me an outcast at school so I just kinda tucked GLOW away in a corner of my heart & got on with things.
I remember the reply noting that GLOW's ratings were through the roof, and that the editorial staff seemed to think the letter-writer was rather overwrought. (Try sayin that when you're drunk) There was a picture of Americana, a screengrab from one of the rap segments, in full regalia, surrounded by other glamorously dressed women. Well, I had been mourning the loss of Wonder Woman on TV for several years now & I needed a costumed heroine or two in my imaginative life. I was not let down.
Four years later, The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling had been on tour, there was a magazine about the show, the GLOW girls were on talk shows, game shows, you name it and then one Sunday night, the girls were gone. I frantically scanned the TV Focus. No one was writing in to ask what happened to the GLOW girls. No one was talking about it on the news. I was scandalized & saddened. But I had lost Doctor Who in a similarly inexplicable manner & had already learned that liking these two shows made me an outcast at school so I just kinda tucked GLOW away in a corner of my heart & got on with things.
Cut to February 28, 2013. I've been following the genesis of this documentary about the GLOW girls for what feels like ages, thanks in large part to Angelina Altishin, who played Little Egypt during season 2.. I contributed the few pennies I could to the project & the reward was a digital screener of the film. My hands trembled a bit when I got the email & clicked the link. My sister saw the film at a festival in ATX & had warned me that I would be touched by these women & their stories but nothing could have prepared me for what this hour & 14 minutes had in store
This award-winning documentary is a great overview of the TV show in general and takes the time to give us glimpses into the lives of a few of the stars of the show, such as Matilda the Hun, Big Bad Mama, Susie Spirit, and the Heavy Metal Sisters, but Brett Whitcomb's superb direction makes the unforgettable Mount Fiji the star of the story. You are one hard-hearted ho if you don't shed a tear when you watch the footage of Mt Fiji body slamming Bob Eubanks, host of the game show Card Sharks followed by Fiji today, unable to walk due to bad knees & diabetes, in a nursing home for the past several years, but still the same gentle giantess who can find it in her heart to worry if her former co-stars are OK, if they're eating, how their families are, in the face of her own raw-edged anguish.
Fans beware: You may experience shock when you hear Godiva, Matilda the Hun & Ninotchka all speaking in their real accents, I know I did. & on the topic of Matilda the Hun, she is a well-spoken, hard-working woman who knew how to really kick ass in her day. I mean, this bitch wrestled a bear when state wrestling laws wouldn't let her wrestle men (AKA the men were too damn afraid of her to mess with her & hid behind the law) & even though she has some health struggles these days, she still finds time to give a birthday slam-o-gram to a resident of her retirement community! It's a really big shame the film-makers didn't show the full version of the song "Nasty & Mean" so you could actually see this mad woman eating raw meat! Her dedication to the sport (at the very real cost of her own health) is far from sad. You can bet I'll be picking up her autobiography ASAP!!
As I watched I remembered being that gay adolescent with a big imagination & how I lived with violence & yet here were these women, these bewigged goddesses (to steal my sister's phrase) who made a living in violence & still found time to crack a joke or sign autographs for fans even younger than me! I remember thinking if they can do it so can I. Susie Spirit actually broke her arm in a match against a Headhunter & the 1st episode I saw featured a segment on the accident & her recovery & she could get through it & look good & so could I. As an adult, with all the g-strings & buns everywhere (OH LAWD BEASTIE), I can totally see where it would be hot for some guys my age but for me these chicks were like comic book superheroes come to life. It was a pure escape, part action adventure, part Hee-Haw, part Fabergé infomercial & I loved every single second of it. It was like nothing else on TV and made me think of the endless possibilities of the medium.
Fans beware: You may experience shock when you hear Godiva, Matilda the Hun & Ninotchka all speaking in their real accents, I know I did. & on the topic of Matilda the Hun, she is a well-spoken, hard-working woman who knew how to really kick ass in her day. I mean, this bitch wrestled a bear when state wrestling laws wouldn't let her wrestle men (AKA the men were too damn afraid of her to mess with her & hid behind the law) & even though she has some health struggles these days, she still finds time to give a birthday slam-o-gram to a resident of her retirement community! It's a really big shame the film-makers didn't show the full version of the song "Nasty & Mean" so you could actually see this mad woman eating raw meat! Her dedication to the sport (at the very real cost of her own health) is far from sad. You can bet I'll be picking up her autobiography ASAP!!
As I watched I remembered being that gay adolescent with a big imagination & how I lived with violence & yet here were these women, these bewigged goddesses (to steal my sister's phrase) who made a living in violence & still found time to crack a joke or sign autographs for fans even younger than me! I remember thinking if they can do it so can I. Susie Spirit actually broke her arm in a match against a Headhunter & the 1st episode I saw featured a segment on the accident & her recovery & she could get through it & look good & so could I. As an adult, with all the g-strings & buns everywhere (OH LAWD BEASTIE), I can totally see where it would be hot for some guys my age but for me these chicks were like comic book superheroes come to life. It was a pure escape, part action adventure, part Hee-Haw, part Fabergé infomercial & I loved every single second of it. It was like nothing else on TV and made me think of the endless possibilities of the medium.
I have to admit, though, I know a bit more than the casual viewer about this film & there is a lot of information that gets left out in Bradford Thomason's effort to present a coherent, concise narrative. I imagine a large part of this is due to the fact that the show's co-creators, David McClane & Matt Cimber declined to participate in the documentary, but I'd have liked a more chronological approach to the show's 4 years, to say nothing of an explanation for Miles Headlock! The only other complaint that I have is that the GLOW girls are only ever identified as their character names & even the closing credits do not list their real names respective to the characters. OK so I guess that's really 2 complaints, but they are related.
I absolutely recommend this movie, even if you are not familiar with the era. It is an inspiring story for all of us. I give it 4/5 stars.
I absolutely recommend this movie, even if you are not familiar with the era. It is an inspiring story for all of us. I give it 4/5 stars.
You can check it out here:
http://www.glowthemovie.com/
http://www.glowthemovie.com/
You can also wait for it to be shown on Logo as part of its What?! Documentary Season:
http://www.logotv.com/video/misc/882015/what-logo-documentaries-glow-the-story-of-the-gorgeous-ladies-of-wrestling-preview.jhtml
http://www.logotv.com/video/misc/882015/what-logo-documentaries-glow-the-story-of-the-gorgeous-ladies-of-wrestling-preview.jhtml
The DVD is scheduled for release on March 26 & is currently available for pre-order on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/GLOW-Story-Gorgeous-Ladies-Wrestling/dp/B00A6TMA0S/ref=reg_hu-rd_add_1_dp
(Clearly this is also on my Wish List, hint hint)
http://www.amazon.com/GLOW-Story-Gorgeous-Ladies-Wrestling/dp/B00A6TMA0S/ref=reg_hu-rd_add_1_dp
(Clearly this is also on my Wish List, hint hint)
If you are interested in catching up with the GLOW girls, lots of them are on Facebook & Little Egypt has been an amazing advocate for the showing, arranging reunions & so much more & her page is a great clearing house to:
https://www.facebook.com/littleegypt
Of course you can always scour Youtube for old matches (sometimes in other languages), & Little Egypt has a great web series on there called Tagging with Little Egypt, where you can get some real behind the scenes scoop from legends of GLOW like Americana, Hollywood & Ashley Cartier:
https://www.facebook.com/littleegypt
Of course you can always scour Youtube for old matches (sometimes in other languages), & Little Egypt has a great web series on there called Tagging with Little Egypt, where you can get some real behind the scenes scoop from legends of GLOW like Americana, Hollywood & Ashley Cartier:
& if all of this still hasn't satisfied your appetite for spangly spandex & crimped hair nostalgia, you can also buy GLOW DVDs here:
http://www.gorgeousladiesofwrestling.com/
http://www.gorgeousladiesofwrestling.com/
Thanks to the film-makers & participants for presenting us with such a compelling story, here's hoping there will be even more in-depth features (season by season, for example) in the future!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Gallifrey 2013--The Weekend of A Lifetime
Yes, Gentle Readers, I'm gonna take the lid off the cookie jar & tell you about my favorite time of year. If you don't know what Gallifrey One (AKA Gally) is, the simple answer is that it's a Doctor Who convention held in L.A. every Spring. The more complex answer is that it is a place where I've met friends that feel more like family than you could believe. People who could just look at me & know what I'm thinking & finish my sentences who don't even know my last name. This particular year, my BFF since age 14 & her wife came for their first time & it was beyond magic to watch my "families" blend so beautifully. I'm going to try to deliver a linear narrative, before it all fades into an impressionistic haze of elation-filled moments.
Much joy ensued as I trucked up to the lobby area, distributing some Mardi Gras Swag to friends old & new. & PS No I didn't make anyone show me they titties. In fact, the few titties that were voluntarily shown I'd rather not have seen at all, but there you have it. Despite operating on very little sleep, I was awake & chatting the house down until 5am (AKA 7am to my poor lil body clock).
Day 1: Eyes pop open at 9am after a few hours of chaotic, clairvoyant dreams and I'm in & out of the shower & off to breakfast at Denny's with the legendary race-bending cosplayer, Quiana Howard & my Gally Roomies.
As many of you will know, I have had some financial setbacks the last couple weeks at the Art Markets, so my budget was restricted to autographs, meals & TARDIS console photos, so I headed straight to the Dealers' room where Classic Series companions Peter Purves & Debbie Watling were signing. They were both so lovely! When Peter found out I was from NOLA, he asked about how I made it thru the storm & when Debbie found out I had a tattoo, we had a lil talk about her tattoo (OMG Who knew Victoria Waterfield had a tattoo?!?!!!!) & its slightly taboo location.
I spent most of the rest of the day re-connecting with old friends & got my old home friends to join me for a quick picture with the lovingly-restored TARDIS console prop from the 1995 TV Movie:
Pretty soon it was time for the opening ceremonies, so we went into the hot, overstuffed big ballroom & welcomed the guests & Shaun Lyon, who is part of the team that's been running this con so successfully for the last 24 years, gave us a great surprise treat when he presented a screening of a classic series episode of Doctor Who, previously thought to be lost, Airlock, from the story "Galaxy 4." If you don't understand why this is a big deal to me, how in the hell did you get on this blog anyway????
Josh (aka Roommate Prime) & I had breakfast at Denny's on our own & it was nice to get a lil 1-on-1 time with him as I ate the hell outta my Breakfast skillet.Then I was off for more adventures. The day's big highlights included: running into Anjli Mohindra in the hallway, sharing an elevator with Sylvester McCoy before getting his autograph, as well as talking at some length with the incredible Freema Agyeman about her work on Law & Order:UK, as well as the new hit show here in the US, The Carrie Diaries.
By this point in the con, I'd gotten all the autographs & pics I'd hoped for (and then some) and I once again, spent my time to its best advantage by catching up with the other Legendary Gally Children like Handsome Timmy D, Taylor Deathray, Eva "Rogue" Monahan, Heather Riggs, & oh so many more....I even made some plans with a certain cosplayer to do a lil gender-bending cosplay next year, but I'm keeping that secret til the time comes.
Day 0 (Thursday, Feb 14): I arrive at LobbyCon (the unofficial, ongoing party that starts whenever fans begin to gather in & around the LAX Marriott and keeps going til the last of us leaves) around 10:30pm Pacific Time. Please understand that during the week leading up to this I was absolutely manic with excitement over this event. I could hardly sleep, but fortunately I had a knitting project (a 4th Doctor inspired scarf for my Sistah, Roy) to keep me occupied, not to mention the never-ending late-night 1-man fashion-parade that I kept doing with all of my outfits. So you can imagine that I was positively buzzing with energy (not to mention those 2 double Bloody Marys I'd had on the plane) when United Airlines (FINALLY) let us off the plane & I was able to grab my luggage & get on the hotel shuttle. The 1st person I see is my friend Sal, dressed as Colin Baker & we share hugs & he gives me my 1st ribbons of the con. I head down to the poolside room that Josh & Roy (my Gally roomies) have already secured. My BFF & her wife & her cousin are already sitting round a table, chatting with some new friends they've made. Unfortunately, one of these ppl had already had too much to drink with rather dire consequences for some of the landscaping, so I briefly said "Hi, Hoes" & kept on trucking to the room, where I was able to give Roy his present, hug on Josh's neck & put down my bags. After fixing the 1st of many Grey Goose & essence of cranberry juice cocktails, my client, Jason Shepherd met me & I gave him the 4th Doctor-inspired scarf in velvet chenille that he'd commissioned from me:
 |
| Someone has a pic of me & him & Roy & Josh in our scarves... |
Day 1: Eyes pop open at 9am after a few hours of chaotic, clairvoyant dreams and I'm in & out of the shower & off to breakfast at Denny's with the legendary race-bending cosplayer, Quiana Howard & my Gally Roomies.
 |
| Beauties at breakfast |
As many of you will know, I have had some financial setbacks the last couple weeks at the Art Markets, so my budget was restricted to autographs, meals & TARDIS console photos, so I headed straight to the Dealers' room where Classic Series companions Peter Purves & Debbie Watling were signing. They were both so lovely! When Peter found out I was from NOLA, he asked about how I made it thru the storm & when Debbie found out I had a tattoo, we had a lil talk about her tattoo (OMG Who knew Victoria Waterfield had a tattoo?!?!!!!) & its slightly taboo location.
I spent most of the rest of the day re-connecting with old friends & got my old home friends to join me for a quick picture with the lovingly-restored TARDIS console prop from the 1995 TV Movie:
 |
| Hold on!!!! |
After this was over, I went outside to the smoking patio in front of the ballroom area to find Big K (my BFF's wife) chatting the house down with legend of British stage & screen, Michael Jayston, who played the Valeyard (or, if you ask Kelli, the Valkyrie...sigh) during the Trial of a Time Lord season. Going into it, I thought these hoes were my entourage, but it looks like I ended up being their paparazzi instead:
Well, then we took a lil dinner break & it was time for more Grey Goose & essence of cranberry & crazy talk. We went into the MST 337 presentation of Daleks Invasion Earth 2150AD (yes, like Mystery Science Theater but strictly for DW related stuff.) It was funny, although the sound wasn't great, & that room was too hot for me to sit in one place while half-drunk without falling asleep so we headed over to the Party Called Mercy for awhile, & then we hung out poolside til security say we had to leave the area due to noise complaints. We didn't let it slow us down though & before you knew it, Miss Stacey & I had made some new friends & gotten invited to their room party onna 5th floor. Great times had by all--I had my first taste of "Irish Kisses" (Chambord & Bailey's shots---!!!!! YUMMMMM)....in fact I had such a great time I'm not really sure when I made it back to my room....
Day 2: Eyes wide open again at 9ish AM & I got to meet up with my long-time Gally Gal Pal, J'-enne D'amian & her son Kai (whose outfit kinda matched mine):
 |
| I swear we didn't plan this |
 |
| She's even prettier in person!! |
Then I felt the time was right for a costume change & I headed over to that TARDIS console for my 2nd photo with it (yes hoes, planning this was like working on my own personal press junket. You would think I was Rihanna):
 |
| My scarf looks even better in person too, & it looks Fierce here.... |
We were going to try to watch the Masquerade of Mandragora (the cosplay contest) that evening, but since the room was so packed, we decided to hang out some more, mostly with Michael Jayston. I may have attended a somewhat infamous party at some point, but I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors.......
Day 3: last official day of the Con, and guess who's once again up before 10AM. This day I was moving slowly in the AM & kinda stumbled around a bit til my roomies grabbed me & we headed down the road for our last breakfast skillets....This was the day I was closest to feeling hungover, although mostly I was just dehydrated, but still lookin' cute & feelin cute enough to be photographed once more by that TARDIS console, this time dressed in my TARDIS drag:
 |
| Time Ram!! |
You may notice that I attended no panels this year. It was not from lack of interest but rather lack of time between my punishing schedule of pictures, signings & socializing, not to mention the sheer number of ppl in the rooms. This year Gally limited tix to 3200 & I can tell you it was still too crowded for my liking in the main room at least. This is not a complaint by any means, I don't feel I missed out on the Gallifrey experience in any way (this is my 5th, after all). Also, the programming was very cleverly arranged so it never felt like 3200 ppl in the hallways. Mad props, as usual to Shaun Lyon, Robbie Bourget, Dan Sandifer, & all the other volunteers & staff who made this the best Gallifrey yet. I apologize to anyone I forgot to mention in this post, I haven't forgotten you in my heart, I was just trying to keep this a reasonable length.
Anyway, so there was more boozing more fun, & more time with Michael Jayston poolside on Sunday night. I swear, my gals & I were the envy of many as Mr Jayston held court at our table, talking over topics ranging from working with Petula Clark in Phantom of the Opera to Lalla Ward's lesbian affair after her break-up with Tom Baker. Michael Jayston was a real class act. Even though I'm sure we'd all have just been happy to listen to him talk, he actually asked us questions and let us tell our stories as well. Of course there was always that lil fan voice in my head saying "OMG we are partying with the Valeyard!!!!!!!!!!!!" but I think I was cool most of the time.
My Grrls eventually went to bed & I twirled out to LobbyCon with a sparkly, flashing wand, that I later gifted to my amazingly talented cosplayer friends, Mette & Bryan. I know a buncha ppl took pics of me with this damn thing, so I'd appreciate it if you posted them......
The only mistake I made all weekend was actually going to bed on Sunday night when I should have just stayed up, bc I missed my direct flight home by *that* much & had to get re-ticketed for a flight with a layover in Houston. I had such a marvellous weekend that this setback didn't even bother me. I just kept going back to the Con in my mind, thinking of the surprise french kiss I'd gotten (oh you know who you are, you naughty, tall thing!!) or how I literally rolled on the floor laughing with my UK sister, Ali Pearce, or any number of infinitely joyful moments that no single blog could ever hope to capture.
I know many of my fellow Gally members are having some post-con depression (as I usually do) but this year, it feels different somehow. Instead of being sad that it's over I'm still as happy as hell that it happened at all & really looking forward to doing it again next year.....
Build High For Happiness!!!
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