Four Sentences August 24, 2009

This weekend,  I thought about Lance and couldn’t stop laughing.  He was a hurricane of animation.   Amongst our religious community, we bonded as outcasts:  Me for being, well…me; him for being both flamboyantly gay AND in the closet (if that makes any sense). We met when he was 16 and I was 18.  Having become so accustomed to judgment and scrutiny, we didn’t know what to make of one another.  Our friend that introduced us was in line at McDonald’s leaving us in the car.  He produced a hidden 40 of 8 Ball, and said, “You want half?  I’ve never had one of these.”  After we finished, and against sage advice, we went to the hood daiquiri shop and got two house specials.  As if that weren’t enough to cement our friendship, after my night of puking, I called him the following morning.  He answered the phone sounding like Dr. John and said, “I’mma call you back when I don’t feel like shit.”  How can you not love a person like that?

We weren’t sole hangout partners, but when we hung, it was ON.  The dancing was wild, the laughter was raucous, and the fun could not be contained.  And the hugs?  The best, tightest, longest hugs ever.

People liked to ask me, “Well, what’s his story? Is he GAY?”  I would give them my best version of, “The fuck should I know?” and keep it moving.  Now, his strut, manner of speaking, fashion sense, and insistence that we see “Too Wong Foo” opening weekend pretty much told me the story, but it was really a non-issue.  It’s amazing how, even when you’re very young, your elders will jump on you and attack because you’re different, and don’t fit into their norm.  I never got that.  It’s almost like they will force you to be something that you aren’t.

And that’s sort of what happened.  He got married and had a couple of kids.  I remember him working hard for his family (something a LOT of his heterosexual critics couldn’t seem to do). Trying to force something that doesn’t fit (and we were both doing it at the time) is an incredibly draining process, and we lost touch.  When we would see each other, we were both frazzled and distracted, trying to fit our square selves into these round holes of our own creation.  The hugs were tight, but more out of relief of being with a person that accepted and knew us as ourselves, not the facsimile.

We ran into each other at the store somewhere around the summer of 2005 and made tentative plans that included food and libations.  LOTS of libations.  Of course, tentative turned to never.  Those who know me, know how terrible I am at keeping in touch, so when I moved to Maryland, of course the plans faded to black.

So it when he crossed my mind this weekend, it was very random.  I kind of remembered hearing that he’d left New Orleans, but the details were fuzzy at best.  He lived here, he was moving there, no one had answers.  Our friend who introduced us didn’t even have a current number on him, as she was going through her own craziness.

Lance, though still married, had come out a couple of years back.  Additionally, my sister was not one to gossip, so when she asked me, “Have you heard about Lance?” though I didn’t know what to make of it, I knew it couldn’t be good. And when she told me the news, I couldn’t catch my breath.  And when I could catch my breath, I went to Google and typed my friend’s name in the search box, and I paused.  And my fingers hovered over the keys, because I couldn’t really type the word that would lead me to confirm the news about my friend.

“Murder.”

The very first link contained the news about my friend’s bullet ridden body being found in a parking lot.  They found him. No one knows who.  No one knows why.  Four sentences.  He was a husband, a father and a friend.  He was loving and would readily give you what he had or find it for you if he didn’t.  He got four sentences.  Five if you count the added fact that a man in a white tee and blue jeans was spotted fleeing the scene.  His grandchildren, whom he will not hold at their birth, will not be able to give testimony to the goodness of his hugs, or how his laughter would crack through the air and force you to laugh. What he means to people just really can’t be covered in four sentences.

That shit couldn’t be covered in four billion.

“It would be so fine to see your face at my door” November 19, 2008

Autumn, though my favorite season, has also been my most difficult.  For the last few years, I’ve combated the autumn blues tooth and nail.  Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes not.  This is the time of my birthday.  I should be excited.  The thing is, five days before my 18th birthday, 11/19/94, I lost my mother.  Time flies.  It’s difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that my mother has been gone from me for 14 years.

A couple of years ago, I posted about her here. Whenever I think I’ve recounted every lesson she ever taught me, I remember something new. She was good folks. The best cups of coffee I ever had were the ones I shared with my mother. I loved when we got along, because when we did, it was so, so good. She was just such a great friend.

So this morning on the train, I had my iPod on random, and my mom’s favorite song came on.  And right behind that, another one (the opening and closing videos respectively). These were both songs that she used to sing to us all the time.  I almost didn’t blog about her today.  This year has been rough, and since I’m on the up swing, I didn’t want to make myself sad.  But, the thing about my mom is that however keen the pain of losing her is, the memories really take the edge off.

True Story November 13, 2008

I once had a friend who said that he makes “the good the enemy of the perfect.”  This means, he always waited for the perfect moment to do something, only to realize that perfect moment never comes, and time has escaped you.

When I moved into my first place without a roommate, my house was full of hand me down furniture.  A gifted dresser here, my old bed there.  These were all blessings, and in good condition, so I’m not at all complaining.  I happen to be one of those people who believe that if I’m your friend, we can sit on your floor eating fish sticks, corn and Big Shot soda (if you have to ask, you’ll never know), and it will forever rank as one of life’s highlights.  Having new furntire, to me, though moderately superficial, would mean that I was really a grown up.

After months of saving and searching, I went on my quest.  In January of 2005, I told my dad to come meet me at Kirschman’s, because I’d found my sofa and chair.  It was a plush, deep blue number, with huge throw pillows.  It came with a matching chair and ottoman.  The biggest reason I bought it, was because I saw myself in that big cushy chair, under the toastiest of fleece blankets, drinking coffee or pinot noir, and watching my favorite movie.  I dreamed of the perfect moment, when the kids were gone, and I didn’t have homework (I was at UNO at the time), and all the dishes were done, and the laundry was folded.  My reward was going to be to sit in my big cushy chair and relax.

I always had homework.  When you have two children, the laundry is never done; sometimes that fleece blanket is one of the things in the dirty clothes.  There’s always another dish to be washed.  We went from Martin Luther King, Jr. Day to Mardi Gras; from Mardi Gras to Easter; Easter to Memorial Day, Memorial Day to the Fourth of July.  Still I longed for the perfect moment.  August of that year, I drove to my sister’s house in Shreveport, never having sat in that chair.

When I returned, I was on vacation, had no homework, my dishes were all done, and all of my laundry was cleaned.  But that place was no longer my home, and my chair no longer existed.

It makes me wonder why I bothered to get it in the first place.

Lazy Southern Sundays October 26, 2008

Subtitled “It’s Not the Heat, It’s the Humidity”

As much as I love autumn – and make no mistake, I love autumn – sometimes, I miss those unseasonably hot days in October and November that you can only get in the DEEP south.  An unexpected cookout simply because the temp is 87 is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.

This will sound weird, but there’s something both sultry and electric about the heat of the south.  Not only because everyone gets half naked (country boys washing their cars in wifebeaters…good lord!) but also because it makes everything go a little slower, a little easier, a little softer.  I remember taking a trip to the country with my mom around my birthday.  I was in a tank top, jean shorts and some jellies.  My feet stank to be damned – just HELLACIOUS.  But, that’s autumn in the south.

it’s strange, the things you miss.

just b

Early Morning Meanderings October 14, 2008

For the second day in a row, I woke up too early.  This morning, at least, I made it to almost 5 am.  I’m also battling a cold.  Yaaaaaaaaay insomnia and snot!!  *blank stare*

I moan in my sleep.  I’ve been told that they noise occasionally borders on the obscene.  I wonder what other sounds I make?  More importantly, do I fart in my sleep?  This may seem unimportant to some, but I’m all for handing out the caveats, ya know?  “Dude, I’m pretty kick ass, but after lights out, I can blow the sheets to the roof.”  Don’t know how well that would go over.

There’s this iced tea that I’ve only had in Shreveport, LA named Red Diamond.  Would driving to Louisiana for tea be unreasonable?

i have SOOOOO fallen off the diet/exercise wagon.  GRRRR.  Probably should have spent this early morning blogging time packing my gym bag, right?  Yeah…

Can I just break in and say OMG! so much SNOT!

Am I the only person that cries at the end of every episode of “Cold Case Files?”  EVERY episode.  Isn’t this show meant for people that are like, a hundred?  I’m not so sure this is good for them.

Six times in the last 24 hours, I’ve felt the need to say, “You REALLY need to ge that bitch up out you.”

Last night, I was talking to one of my girlfriends who accompanied me on the cruise (OMG she has the best gossip!) and we were laughing about all of our misadvantures.  We’ve known each other for well over 25 years.  One day, I’ll have to share with you the tale of the girls’ night out when the toothless man took off his wedding ring for me and gave me $3 to buy a drink.  Really.  And I worry about being single.  Silly girl. *blank stare again*

Sunny side up eggs.  Who eats them?  I ALWAYS see them advertised on TV, but I’ve been to Silver Diner, Kettle, Waffle House, IHOP, Denny’s AND Shoney’s, and I have never ONCE seen a plate of sunny side up eggs.  Not once.  Not in my party.  Not in the restaurant.  Lame.

There’s still a lot of snot going on here.

Gazelle October 9, 2008

Last Saturday, when I took my kids to the park, I watched my children.  I set them loose, and just observed them.  I do that from time to time, to get a feel for who they are.  It’s surprising what you learn.

So, Finge and the ‘Bug, set loose upon the unsuspecting world.  they wanted to go inside of the rec center and play air hockey.  Finge was the instigator.  “Let’s race,” he whispered innocuously.  As a child, I used to race (and lose) against the neighborhood girls who ran track, and I feel like all is fair.  He’s longer, so that just means she has to work harder.  She used to be a really bad sport about losing, and I almost stopped them.  I fell back.

let me preface this by saying that both of my children have very athletic builds.  Even as infants, they each had extremely well defined calf muscles.  Finge was only a few days old, and he braced against me and stool tall in my lap.  I was so glad that he wasn’t big on tantrums, because the two that he threw during his toddler years were quite exhausting.  I remember needing a B-12 shot AND a nap.  Ladybug wasn’t much better.  None of that, however, prepared me for what I saw.

His stride is much longer than hers.  However, I have NEVER seen legs move so fast.  If I wasn’t aware of its physical impossibility, I would have sworn that her feet never touched the ground.  They just skimmed the tippy tops of the blades of grass.  I blinked, but I could have sworn that she beat him.  But that’s his sister.  He was going easy on her, right?

Later, two other kids joined them playing.  A boy that was around 12, and a girl who had to be around ten.  They decided to race.  “Bug took the girl on first.  No comparison.  She beat her handily.  The boy?  smoked him like a link at HIlshire Farm.  They raced again, and again and again.  Each time, she beat them like they owed her money.

Now, she’s expressed interest in soccer, and i will sign her up.  However, I’m thinking that if she goes that route, she’ll be missing her calling.

Azure October 9, 2008

I have been slim on the posting for the last two days.  Tuesday I wrote and didn’t post.  Yesterday, I didn’t write at all.  I was a little blue.  Blue enough that I didn’t even feel like writing or fighting through it.  But don’t cry for me, Argentina.  There’s a time and place for everything, and that includes being a little blue.  Sometimes, you have to just let it have its time, and get out of your system.

So today, I woke up a little bit better.  A little more smiley.  I still didn’t feel like putting makeup on though.  Sometimes, I have to put that diva shit on PAUSE.  No one turned to stone, and I still smell nice, so I think I can put that in the “W” column.

Have any of you seen that Ikea commercial with the black lady that has the raspy voice?  Who IS she?!  If someone were to roll up on me with that voice, all uninvited and whatnot.  For some reason, she makes me think of Scatman Crothers in “The Shining.”  Just a creepy quality that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I have an unreasonable crush on T.I.  To the point that I can’t guarantee that I would not throw my underwear at him should we meet.  He’s got this song called “Porn Star” and…you know what?  Next topic.

So, how bout them Saints?  Why the fuck are we playing injured kickers during CRUCIAL field goal attempts.  How the fuck did we lose to Minnesota in the ‘Dome.  If some New Orleanian non-Saints lover talks shit on this topic, I will hunt you down and do unspeakable things to you.

Who watched South Park last night?  I can’t wait to use the term “dick shooter” in conversation.  I haven’t even decided its context.  I just know that it must be done.

Am I the only one that was waiting for McCain to keel over during Tuesday night’s debate?  I just remember thinking, “I’m missing frigging SVU for this?!”

When people say, “Ugh, I don’t even watch TV anymore,” in that self satisfied way, am I the only person that wants to punch them in the balls?  Or the boob?  There’s nothing cool about you.  In my mind, you smell poorly, because you haven’t watched commercials, so you don’t know what great strides science has made in wetness and odor protection.  You and your 1987 Speed Stick.  I bite my thumb at you.

In closing, I would like to quote the great WASP philosopher, Peter Griffin, “Ladies and Gentlemen:  Testicles.  That is all.”

just b

*Let’s pray that I have something more substantive to discuss tomorrow.

Finge and the ‘Bug September 28, 2008

I really want to pinch his cheeks.  However, I think he fancies himself a bit of a badass.

This is the face I’m more familiar with anyway.

When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had a one word answer:  “SUPERSTAR!”

Easy like Sunday morning September 21, 2008

I’m damn near kicking my feet on the edge of the bed.  Today, the kids and I are going to see “Jim Henson’s Fantastic World” at the International Gallery.  Yippie!!!

I am such a big kid, so a peek inside the mind of the genius instrumental in damn near everything I learned as a shortie.  The shows created for children these days seem to rely more on the cute factor than actual education and imagination.  (Except that damned Dora.  I kind of imagine her at the gateway to happiness and delight with a pipe wrench saying “AIN’T NO HAPPINESS UNLESS YOU COME THROUGH ME!”)  So let’s recap my week:

• Jim Henson’s Fantastic World
• Autumn
• Putting the final edits on my short story for contest submission
• The Living Single Reunion

Good times, ladies and gentlemen.  Good times.

b jack

My Most Favorite September 20, 2008

The first time I saw snow, I fell in love.  The first time I fell in snow – not so much.  But thoughts of egg nog and warm blanketsmake winter a lovely time of year.  Enter spring whe everything is verdant and renewed.  Marvelous.  Summertime is hot, passionate and romantic.  I’m an optimist, so I love all the seasons.

But this week brings autumn, and autumn is my favorite season of all.  I love cool mornings and wind in my hair.  I love donning shades with names like burnt orange and espresso.  I love sweaters and suede.  i love leaves in my hair.

Oh the leaves.  Being from New Orleans, we kind of get cheated out of fall.  Everything pretty much goes from green to brown.  If we’re lucky, it’s interrupted by a pale shade of yellow.  Leaves on the east coast just take your breath away.  Orange, red, bright yellow, brown (not just regular brown – this beautifully rich shade) and PURPLE.  Purple has always been my color.  I moved here, and the tree outside of my apartment turned purple.  I came here with so many questions about whether or not I belonged, so many doubts about whether I made the right move.  And then came my purple tree.  Autumn made me fall in love with the East Coast.

Well, autumn and West Indian brothers, but that’s most assuredly another topic for another day.

B Jack