I hope none of the kids at my school ever has to write something like this.

My Glossary of Curse Words
by: sAm RaY, age 8

Ass: is where he hits you, with the belt or his hands, if you are lucky & he is not too mad.

Asshole: the taste of coke cans with cigarette butts inside of them on  the morning after their friends come by.

Bitch: the light from the living room shining in your eye & the sound of a slap & a sob from your mother.

Cocksucker: a punch in the guts while blood runs in your eye, the smoke curling off the end of the inevitable roach clip laying in the ashtray.

Cunt: his workmen, telling you to save the smell of the secretaries if they let them put your fingers in there, as they laugh and take off on some job or another with him.

Dick: the feel of his hands around your red raw aching throat, as he spits the word and his own spit all over your teary face and he bangs the wall behind you with your own head.

Faggot: the feel of Dana Gair’s slap on the back of your neck as it turns red at the same time as your cheeks and you burst out crying in front of the entire second grade class.

Fairy: your mother’s face all screwed up, talking about an elementary school teacher of hers and how mean all the kids were to him.

Goddammit: the pillow over your face, him screaming “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP” until you can’t get enough air in to scream, the smell and taste of head sweat clogging up your throat until you pass out.

Motherfucker: the feel of the car swerving around in those few seconds’ right before the glass breaks and the whole world is thrown around for a loop, and you bite your tongue and just for a second everything goes slow & you can just see, just for a second, a perfect round bubble of spit and blood hover in the air of the backseat of the Karmen Ghia before everything speeds up again and the bubble bursts all over your face.

Nigger-lover: running thru the house as he chases you around when he finds out your imaginary friend is named “Lakeida” before you change it into something more acceptable & gender neutral like “Akka & Bock”

Puss, Puss, Pusssssy: sitting around the dinner table with your aunt saying she can’t hear him saying it over & over again under his breath as he sits between you and her and her calling you a liar.

Son of a bitch: waiting for the train to pass at the second set of railroad tracks on Paul Mallard Road, coming from the river; the feel of his rough calloused hands grabbing your hair from the front seat of the car and just popping your head off the back of your mother’s head rest.

I told you it wasn't over...

So just after I blogged last night I got a text from Mo Gumbo:

"JESUS! I hope nothing is terribly wrong with you!"

& this morning I got an e-mail:

"Maybe you are out of town
Sent messages and texts. Don't understand how thus is going. 

So your pissed?  Hung up on you while upset.  Ok. 
That has nothing to do with my daughter or my grandmother. I am willing to pay you for what was my grandmothers.  If I am irrational or whatever you think, fine. 
That does not excuse your inability to respond. 

Martha can stop by. 
If I don't hear from you, I think it would be sad to have to have help with this. 
200.00?  

Please." 




OK this is me again. I guess this foolishness has gone on long enough. I am not interested in holding this ugly ass bag hostage & frankly I have more knitting needles than I can possibly ever use. I am thinking of texting her something along these lines:

"My address has not changed. Send the return post box & I will send you the bag & some needles in exchange for not having to communicate with you any more. I am not angry & I do forgive you, but I am not participating in your madness any further."

Some hoes can't take a hint...

....or Crazy Hoes I have known, the Unfolding Saga.

Last night while I was sleeping, I received 5 pages worth of text messages & a voicemail from "Do Not Answer" AKA the one & only Mo Gumbo (whom you will surely remember from August's blog "Saying Goodbye").

"Sent u email. No response. Please. If there is something you need, let me take care of something for you in exchange for my grandma's bag and some needles. My daughter, Mini Gumbo is learning to knit and we are goint to take a class together. I get ya about 60 and again when I get paid next Friday. Could wire. Or visit or wishlist. If you no longer have them it's ok. Not trying to Indian give (Bitch, Please. This is the definition of Indian giving.) Just thought if you don't care it would be nice for us to use them and it should have nothing to do with you being mad at me for hanging up on you in the midst of my worst point."


I am really glad I didn't get woken up by this madness. The fact that she cannot conceptualise that I am not mad, I just don't care tells me that she & I do not inhabit the same reality & we do not need to be communicating.

"I sent you an email & didn't get a response & I sent you some texts & you didn't respond & I looked for you on Facebook but you're not on there any more...I don't know, I can't imagine this is all because I hung up on you when I was going thru some shit. I just don't get it...But I sent you text messages...I think I already talked to you about my grandma's knitting needles. I'll send you a hundred bucks & a return priority postage paid box to send the bag and some needles in. & if not, you'll have a hundred bucks, I don't know if you'll send them to me..call me back"

You will notice that at no time do I see or hear the word sorry any place in here. & I don't know what email she has been using but it is clearly not one of the ones I have checked daily for the last 5 years or so.

12 hours later, while I am at work I get another phone call from Do Not Answer & a voicemail & then around 1 PM I get another phone call from a number that's not in my phone book but has the same area code as Do Not Answer.I got a text that said: "Please get back to me" followed but not 1 but 2 txts with phone numbers in them.

After I got out of work, I listened to her voicemail. Desperately unhappy at not getting her way.

"Hi. I'm sorry if you think I've dropped the ball...I've sent you emails, you don't respond.I don't know what to do, if do you have a bill or something I can pay, I'll pay your cell phone bill for the next few months, in exchange for the needles & the bag if you're not attached to it, I'm not trying to be a bitch about this but I thought I talked to you about this already. & I'm sick & lots is going but I can't believe you're bitching...or not bitching, but being non-responsive because I hung up on you when I've seen you forgive people for shitloads worse sins...but just let me do something really huge for you in exchange for something really small. I don't even know if you're at the same address, so I kinda don't wanna send a hundred dollar bill, but just please text me or call me or something. Please!"

I think this is some kind of a test from God. Lord knows getting the bills paid is my #1 priority but the price tag is too high. I know this ho too well to be getting up into something like this with her. As my friend Agnes says, "How can she be so ignorant?"

I keep asking myself the same thing. But I have the feeling like Mo Gumbo is not gonna let go of this. I just do not wanna have any more interactions with her. I'm not angry at her for hanging up on me, it made my decision that much easier. I'm tired of riding the crazy train & I'm not interested in another ride.

Weird & Wacky LRW Week-end!

This past week was a blessed time of knitting & serenity out in the Ville with my grrl Sandi. Even though there were mishaps galore for those around us, we had our own little island of calm during my Fall Break from ISL.

I came home a day early (Thursday) & spent the time knitting & getting prepared for the Oleg Cassini (actually Oretha Castle Haley, but I like Oleg Cassini better) Art Market on Saturday & planning to attend the Coliseum Square Neighborhood Association Art Market on Sunday.

Prior to all of this, I had asked around amongst friends if anyone had a pop-up fest-style tent that I could borrow for the weekend. My fave Black Dyke LRW, Kris, said that her mom had one & that they would give me a ride to the Art Market on the day of the event. I confirmed our plans via text on Friday evening plans were set for her mom & her to pick me up at 8AM. Around that time, I hadn't heard from them, so I txted Kris "Hello?" & she txted back that they were running late & that her mom is not one for timeliness. They showed up a few minutes later & after we get all my stuff into the SUV & meet her mom (grrrl she is AWESOME, btw, laughs & cutting up galore--an LRW from way back, I promise) & I said, "Thank you for the ride & the tent"

Then Miss Baby is like "About the tent...." Oh Lawd. Here we go. She had a tent & her cousin had a tent & they exchanged tents & then the cousin retrieved her tent some kinda way without returning Miss Baby's tent but she needs another tent anyway so....

"So does this story end with me getting out of this car with a tent? Cuz that was kinda the whole point."

Miss Baby say they have tents at Winn Dixie. I say, We just passed it up grrl, make a u-turn.

Kris & I power-walk up into the WD on Chef Menteur Hwy & spot a $20 gazebo style tent.
What neither of us LRWs realized is that this is NOT a pop-up tent. This is, in fact, a tent with about 30 or so metal rods that have to be either fitted into each other OR into one of 5 plastic hubs. There are also feet that have to be attached. So before you know it, there I am with 2 generations of LRWs on Oleg Cassini Blvd, trying to assemble this madness. I don't think that I mentioned that Kris's mother is not wearing shoes (I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS WOMAN!!) Once we have it up, they take off to a funeral & the tent looks good. I hang my scarves from the supports just like I always do. Unfortunately, there is no way to stabilize the feet of this tent (kinda hard to put tent pegs into sidewalks, by the way) so it keeps weebling & wobbling around. Good thing I had my knitting to occupy me or I would have had a nervous breakdown. Any time I actually looked at the tent I got a major case of anxiety, just imagining my poor little babies being blown away by a freak gust of wind. I met a few interesting ppl but made only 1 sad little $15 sale. Not even enough to cover cab fare, much less the booth rental.

When it was all over, I learned that if an item requires at least 3 (preferably 4) to assemble it, it will probably be an ordeal for 1 ho to dis-assemble it. But dis-assemble it I did, packed up my brightly-colored delights & called a cab, completely flummoxed as to how I was gonna pull it off for another market today.

So I was feeling kinda down about it all last night when I told a friend of mine from the gay site about what had happened in a very general way & he sent me a flurry of messages, offering to take some of my work up to Wisconsin, where he is from, next weekend, and eventually we ended up on the phone, talking business. I told him, I don't usually trust my work to people I haven't met in person, so I really must insist we get together for a meal. So we made brunch plans for today.

I cancelled my attendance at the Coliseum Square based on a combination of factors, including tent drama, poor sales & the prospect of a brunch date.

So when he gets here, he's just how he looks in the pictures, ruggedly handsome, bright blue eyes & a little older than me, early 50s. He comes in, we talk a bit, I show him some of my babies. There is definitely a lot of chemistry between us, some huggin & things & then he says, well here's something about me that you didn't see on the website, I have a prosthetic foot.

At this point, I figure I have 3 options. Acknowledge him & accept it, freak out & reject him or ignore it & just go to brunch and then blow him off afterwards.

I'm glad I chose the 1st one. He's had a fascinating life, done a lot of travelling, lived in really cool places. I had made reservations for us at Café Degas, but this is how the conversation went with them:

--Café Degas?
--I'd like to make a reservation, please.
--Hold on.
clunk, click, clatter
people talking to each other
I hear the man who answered the phone's voice
--Can you take this reservation?
indistinct murmuring
click clunk clatter
Woman's Voice
--Hello?
(I'm thinking, bitch you are not on your cell phone, you are at work, where are your manners??)
--I'd like to make a reservation, please.
--OK What time?
--11:45 AM tomorr--
--We don't serve that late.
--Tomorrow, at 11:45 AM.
--Oh.
(audible page flicking)
--What time?
--11:45AM.
--How many?
--2
--What's the name?
--Sam
--What?
--Sam
--Can you spell that?
--Ess Ay Em, grrl
--Oh, Sam!
--Yes, that's it.
--OK.
--OK?
--See you tomorrow.

You can see why I felt like maybe if the people who answer the phone are that inept, maybe it would be better to find brunch elsewhere.

So I cancelled our reservations there & we went over to The Ruby Slipper, but there was a huge crowd of ppl waiting to be seated. So we went to Martinique Bistro & were one of the 1st tables there.

He had the Oyster Chowder, followed by the Rolled Omelet with Roasted Potatoes & I had the Sautéed Escargot followed by the Pork Tenderloin "Grillades" with Stone Ground Chèvre Grits. The food was delicious & the service was reasonable, although I did find the staff a tad, shall we say, under-dressed. I don't care what anyone says, a Saints Jersey is not an appropriate work uniform if you work in a restaurant where 2 courses without alcohol totals up to $52, I'm Just Saying.... The kitchen moved awfully slowly to say that we were only the 2nd table, but when our food did arrive, it was certainly worth the wait. The under-dressed waiter seated us in a particularly sunny spot, so we skipped dessert & headed back here for a little, shall we say, dessert of our own.

During lunch, he had disclosed to me that he takes blood thinners to avoid clots in the veins near his prosthesis & this sometimes has a particular side effect common to many men. I am willing to work around this. But we got back up over here, he's crazy bout my body hair, I'm having fun, he's having fun, we're having fun, so I think. But eventually he got frustrated and decided to leave. I tried to talk him out of it but he was clearly self-conscious and there was no talking him out of it. After he put his foot back on & got dressed, we talked a bit more business & I gave him a few items to take up to this Craft Show that his mother attends in Wisconsin. He says he think they will sell just bc they are from NOLA. I hope so.

We will see each other again in November. Let's see where this adventure takes me...

Meanwhile, tomorrow is back to work at multi-lengual behavior disorder central elementary.
I am not having anxiety about it yet. That will come soon enough, I feel sure.
I have been meaning to blog about so many things but sometimes I don't feel like I should for fear of being sued by some parent or something & other times I wanna blog about Crazy Hoes I have known, but again, static from the parents & also lately I'm just so damn tired all the time I can't stand it. I am not bad in the AM, but getting up at 5:45 every day sucks. You can keep all those damn sunrises, I'll take a sunset instead. But I really don't appreciate having to see both of them.

Sorry bout that last part. Rant over.

Blog over.

Resuming my knitting & Peter Davison as Dr Who Years Marathon to assuage my troubled soul...

Ambushed.....

So this last week at work was a toughie, to say the least. As you will remember from previous posts, I am a teacher's assistant for 2 classes of 3rd graders in a French Immersion school. The teachers are a French man & a Senegalese woman. The Frenchman's class is like behavior disorder central, with one of the students in particular being the butterfly whose wings cause hurricanes. Her whole day is a series of freak-outs, to the point where having to deal with this girl gives me anxiety. I seriously dread dealing with this girl. Miss Senegal's class is well-behaved as she is strict and yells at them a lot.

Anyway, I got an email from the Principal a few days ago, asking me to shadow another assistant in another class for the 1st two hours of the last couple of days. After the 1st day of that, the Lead Teacher (aka not either of the teachers I work for) of 3rd grade pulled me aside & wanted to talk to me about how things were going. I was very direct with her. I told her that I have had more training to wait tables and that I find the Frenchman dismissive & uncommunicative, while Miss Senegal the Tooth-Sucker at least has tasks for me when I arrive in class, little piles of paper with Post-Its on them. We talked about the  situation overall, about cultural differences and expectations and clarification of my role, and I definitely got the impression that there had been some discussion about my job performance amongst the staff and at the end of it, I felt good that I had finally received some sort of feedback. Some of it was negative, to be sure, but at the very least, I felt like Miss Lead Teacher heard what I said.

So yesterday after we dismissed the kids, I found out that that I had a meeting with Miss Senegal, the Frenchman & Miss Lead. Right then. About me. Miss Lead came in with a feedback form, (various criteria on a scale of 1-4 I think, such as "Speaks the Target Language with Students" and "Fosters learning environment") and Miss Senegal had the class & good taste to point out the imperfections in my French, such as switching up masculine/feminine nouns and sometimes just approximating a word in French from either of the other languages I speak. She had a laugh about my saying "calculation" instead of "calcul," for example. The Frenchman, on the other hand, said that my "register" with the kids is not right & I say "bad words" like "dégueulasse" for "disgusting" or "gamin" instead of "enfant" for "kid."

This was starting to get hard to take & I was hoping we could just stick to the criteria, and go on to the next checklist item. But no. Miss Senegal seized the occasion to enumerate every misstep I've made since August 29th.

--From the very first day, you walked into class, you didn't know what the students were doing, they might have been taking a test & you said "Bonjour les enfants" with enthusiasm in your voice, and you perturbed the whole class. The next week, you were too nice to the kids & always sucking your teeth & then you bragged to me  about having 2 Master's degrees and said you didn't like making photocopies...

This is where I had to break in. "No, you misunderstand. I never said that. I don't have 2 Masters, and what I didn't like was being sent to make double-sided photocopies without being given a code for the machine & every other person in the teachers' lounge just watching me have a problem & ignoring my requests for help so they could keep eating and talking about their vacation plans."

This didn't slow down Miss Senegal though, she didn't miss a beat and continued to present her skewed POV on the last few weeks, telling me that I help the kids too much when they are supposed to be doing individual work & the 1st time she asked me to do remedial work 1-on-1 with the kids, I refused (a flat lie--she had taken me by surprise once by asking me to tutor a kid in a subject I wasn't familiar with) and when I did, "my attitude" showed her that I didn't want to do it, and the one time she let me lead the class in a subject, I went too far explaining rounding numbers, and the other time she left me alone with the kids, she came back in and they were talking too much. She seemed really put out that I asked to be shown how to do things, evidently I should be able to figure out how to grade tests without answer keys or use a completely unfamiliar grading scale just by observing, so "in all frankness" she asked, "How can I use you?"

This is one of those places where that split-second translation delay (we were having the whole conversation in French) probably saved me from getting an assault charge. I just cannot tell you how insulted I was by her straying from the task at hand and turning a feedback session into an occasion to annihilate me. I was absolutely "bouche-bé" as the French say (like mouth hanging open in surprise) and Miss Lead Teacher tried to intervene a bit and make Miss Senegal understand my good intentions & divert the conversation & here came the 2nd part of the 1-2 punch when Mr Frenchman hit me with a few anecdotes of how distracting I am for the kids but at least he had some advice to offer about how to keep calm & get better results out of them.

But it really didn't matter what he said. The blood was all rushing up in my ears and I felt like Miss Senegal had taken every positive feeling I had about the job and pissed all over them. By the time the meeting was over, I couldn't look anyone in the room in the face. Then Miss Senegal went over to the table where she had made a big mess from making fruit smoothies with the kids, so guess who had to grab the bowls & the blender carafes & took them & washed them in the sink of the girls bathroom?

Miss Lead Teacher could tell I was upset and came into the bathroom and asked if I wanted to come talk to her. I said "Non, on a tout dit" (No, everything was said). It was rude of me, especially when she was reaching out, but I kept my back turned and my eyes down and just looked at the carafe I was rinsing. She asked if I was OK. I just said "Oui." She asked if she would see me Monday, I just shrugged & said "On verra," (We will see.") But just now, as I'm thinking of it, maybe I said "Tu verras" (You will see)...at any rate, I meant the other.

Obviously, I will be back at work Monday. I wish I didn't have to be though. It sucks that I get along (I think) with every other member of the staff there, but these two....ugh.

I can't tell you how angry I still am about the way this whole thing went. Oh well, it is only until December 20th. Mercifully our Fall Break starts a week from yesterday & I can start looking for new job leads.....



PS. Damn the DA's office for not giving me that translator's job.

1 week later...

Still no word from the Council on Day 13 of the adventure that is my job at ISL. Well, actually I talked to Miss Rotarian Lady & she said that she knew the other woman had made a decision, but she didn't know whom she had chosen. 7 days later it seems pretty likely that it wasn't me, as I have left at least 2 voicemails for the other lady & still heard nothing.

Yesterday, I finally thought to ask for a copy of the kids' daily schedule, since no one had given me one. This way, I am not continuously surprised that I am having to take them somewhere. As I mentioned previously, my day is split between 2 classes of 16 3rd graders. I take each group to lunch on alternating days & today I was with the....."interesting" class. All kids are a handful, but this group is even more so. During lunch, one of them threw up in front of the rest of them. Another one was going into Def-con 14 over being excluded from a hand-clapping game, these 2 little boys were just being all rowdy with each other, everythang.

When I had them line up, 2 by 2, I made them take each others' hands, since if I don't, they go from being a line to being  mob in like 3 seconds flat. As we get to the hallway, I was walking along side them & the last two boys were behind me & I heard one of them say, "He's a faggot!"

My blood absolutely ran cold. My hands are shaking as I type this & I remember being 7 years old, in Mrs. Smith's 2nd Grade class at Hahnville Elementary, sitting in my little desk & another kid slapping me so hard on the back of my neck out of nowhere & me bursting into tears & him saying just that one word. Faggot. And no one came. I just buried my face in my little arms & just cried silently for a few minutes until Mrs Smith said, "wake up, Sam" & I just swallowed real hard & wiped my eyes & just kept going.

"Qui a dit ça??!?" (Who said that?)

& the one kid I'll call A. immediately piped up, "I didn't say anything!" Clearly, I know it's him, besides the fact that I know what his voice sounds like. I led them back up to the classroom & to my surprise, there was  a Teachers' meeting going on, so I had to stand in the hallway, shushing the kids for a minute or two while the rest of them went into another classroom & Ulysse started with a Science lesson. I stood around for a minute, looking for some papers to correct or something & went into the hallway to look for Isabel, the other teacher I am assisting. She was still all slung up in her meeting, but she saw me looking in the window of the door & came out & we went into the other class & I told her what happened, looking for advice on discipline & she sucked her teeth in that Senegalese way I have adopted (I have GOT to stop doing this, BTW) & told me some horror stories about being called names by the students & then she said, "I don't find you very professional, so naturally the kids talk to you like you are their equal."

"So it's my fault?"

"No, but if you don't take a firm line with them, they will walk all over you."

Just about then, the kids came back in. She advised me to go outside for a walk, smoke a cigarette & relax b4 coming back in. So I did.

I swear, if I hadn't left my backpack up in the building, I'm pretty sure I'd have been on the Magazine bus in 2 minutes flat. But instead I gathered myself together & headed to the Principal's office. I told her my story.  She identified both my issues & we talked for several minutes. She was incredibly supportive & we even had a hug afterwards. Then we headed downstairs to pull A. out of class. I hung back at 1st, and watched the Master at work. She started off with, "Do you know why I pulled you out of class?" & he was all evasive & when she got to the heart of the matter, he tried to say at first that it was the other little boy. We pulled the other little boy out of class & A. got all nervous & tried to flip the script & they both tried to tell some story that Miss Woman dismissed out of hand. She sent the other little boy back to class & then things got real serious. She explained to him about bad words & derogatory words. She asked if he even knew what the word faggot meant. He said, "It means you don't like someone?"

This is one of those times where I just wanted to burst out laughing but I didn't react (thankfully). Without flinching, Miss Principal Lady never gave him a definition but steered the conversation deftly into how much words hurt and how she was gonna have to tell his parents about the whole thing. He cried a bit, and after some prompting, apologized.

I thanked Miss Principal Lady profusely for having my back like that & after the kids all left, I got up on that bus & headed for the comfort of blogging & soaking my feet in my lil foot bath. Damn I wish I had me some hot boy to rub my feet.


& Damn the DA's office for not calling me back.

LRW faces the Council....

Today was Day 6 of my job as a Teacher's Aide at ISL. While I was on my break, I walked over to Mojo's coffee shop & ran into a fellow hot-mess-turned-success, who owns the coffee shop! We didn't get to talk for very long, but it sure was nice to run into an old friend & know he's doing well despite (or maybe even because) of his former levels of tragedy, not unlike myself.

Anyway, my day at ISL was good, there was not a ton of stuff to do & interacting with the students really is a joy. However, one of the teachers whom I assist always has some menial thing for me to do after the kids are gone, like sharpen & sort a bunch of colored pencils. Today, my last task was to open all of our age-appropriate French-French dictionaries to a specific page (218, if you're wondering) & cover the anatomical drawings from chest to genitals with Post-it notes that I had to tape down, as if this is going to stop a determined 8-year-old from looking.

As most of you will already know, I had a 2nd interview scheduled with the DA's office today at 4:30. Mercifully, my dear friend Steve was able to give me a ride from ISL (this would have been an hour-long multiple-bus excursion otherwise, so I really am grateful for this) to the DA's office. I got to there 15 minutes early, and when I presented myself at the front desk, the Rotarian Lady from the 1st interview greeted me warmly, and had me sit at a conference table in the lobby to translate 3 pages of legal-related sentences from English into Spanish & 1 page in the opposite language combination to work on. When she asked if I had a pen, I said, "Of course," and got started.

She came down & checked on my progress twice & the 2nd time she had me stop & come up to meet with the rest of the interviewers. "How many more interviewers are we talking about here?" I thought, and as I walked up to this conference room, I could see that there were no less than 6 other people seated around this table, with the hot seat waiting for me.

The lady who conducted my 1st interview was seated at the head of the table and on her right was a white lady from the victims & witnesses services & a Hispanic lady & to her left was a Black lady from some other department and another white lady from the Diversion Dept & another Hispanic lady. It felt like the council of LRWs. Miss Woman from the 1st interview says "As I told you in the 1st interview, the 2nd interview will consist of you role-playing with these Spanish ladies & these White ladies with you acting as translator & then you will go downstairs with one of our native speakers to go over your written answers" (Clearly I am paraphrasing a bit) but I am now thinking, "Bitch you didn't tell me anything about this at the 1st interview. I am sure about this because I was hanging on your every word." But I just went with it.

There were words I didn't know, OK. I think I conveyed the better part of the material but there were definitely what felt like pauses to me. There was even a point where one of these White Ladies kinda carried on and I got lost in what she was saying & I had to ask her to repeat it. But I soldiered through it and when it was over, Miss Black Lady said, "well, that went really well."

Now I have to say this. Despite the fact that she said that, if I had left right then I'd have said, "Oh well, you didn't get this one, you will do better & get the next one." The pauses made me nervous & probably hyper-critical, but when I was going downstairs with Miss Native Speaker to go over the written portion, she complimented my Spanish & said in so many words that it was "excelente."

We went over the written answers and talked about a phrase I had translated awkwardly from the Miranda rights and then it was over. She seemed to accept my translations & may have noticed that I corrected the  Spanish statements for grammar, accentuation & punctuation (I am sure any of my students who read this will tell you I am a stickler for these sorts of things). I think I forgot to mention that after the role-playing, Miss Woman from the 1st interview told me I should have a definite answer within 2-3 days.

I walked out into the beautiful, breezy weather & it felt like it used to when I was walking to work at Chateaubriand during those gorgeous, Pre-Katrina purply sunsets that we only get in South Louisiana, back when hope grew every day in my heart all the time along with all those different colored rosebushes I'd planted. I hope that's a good sign.

But if this is not what is in the cards for me at the moment, it is fine. My current job is really a wonderful opportunity to help NOLA youth to grow & learn, even if part of it includes a lil academic bitch-work There are a few LRWs there too, trust!

Thanks for reading!!