Let me begin by stating that I currently reside in Austin, Texas, which is a pretty cool place. I have nothing against it. I’m not “doing it wrong.” I’m just not as in love with Austin as I am with New Orleans.

I was [...]]]>

A well-known residence in the Garden District.

Let me begin by stating that I currently reside in Austin, Texas, which is a pretty cool place. I have nothing against it. I’m not “doing it wrong.” I’m just not as in love with Austin as I am with New Orleans.

I was born in new Orleans, and I spent some of my early childhood and later, early adulthood there until Hurricane Katrina happened. We intended to go back, but circumstances (mostly financial) prevented us from doing so. Still, not one day goes by that I don’t think about New Orleans. Carnival Season began January fifth, and from then until around June, I’ll be pining for that city extra hard, and not just because of Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest. I’ve got a couple of theories and a few legitimate reasons why I can’t stop missing New Orleans:

Theory:

• New Orleans was “taken away” from me. Because I didn’t leave New Orleans voluntarily, part of me must feel that somehow it was “stolen.” If we could have found a way to return without having to live under a bridge or something, it might have been different. As it stands, in my emotional life, I kind of feel robbed.
• I spent some of my early childhood there. We all have hazy, sun-dappled childhood memories. Mine smell like live oak trees in humid weather and are filled with various NOLA accents. My grandparents and relatives have NOLA accents. I think I imprinted on the place like a baby duck!
• Before I left, I was finally easing into adult life. I had a part-time job and was finishing my B.A. degree. My husband and I were thinking of buying property at which to reside for at least the next ten years. I had several very close friends whom I saw every day, and legions of casual acquaintances whom I ran into regularly. Three days before I turned 27, it all suddenly dissolved. It was as if the previous years I had spent building my life had never happened. Keep in mind, I was lucky. I didn’t own a family home that was destroyed, or lose a loved one to the flood. It was still difficult to cope.

Legit:

• Don’t care what you say, there is no other city like NOLA. I have traveled many places in the U.S. and all over the world. New Orleans is truly unique. It’s not just the food (we’ll get there, I promise!). The combination of cultures and attitudes, having simmered slowly for 300 years, has created an environment that is impossible to duplicate.
• The food. The city has some of the best eats I’ve ever had, and trust me, I like to eat! In NOLA, you can get an excellent Bloody Mary not from a mix, a high quality po boy on fresh bread for the price of a fast food meal, French pastry made by a 6th generation French pastry chef, in-house ground lean beef and house made Italian sausage at the corner store, tamales made by a real Mexican grandmother for $.50 apiece, and a 5 course meal at a world-famous restaurant, all in the same day and in the same 8 mile radius. I know because I’ve done it.
• The history. 300 year old architecture. The oldest continuously operating open air market in the United States. The birthplace of Jazz. Oldest continuously operating street railway system in the world. (The world!) There’s more, so much more that it could (and does) fill numerous books. The history of the city is one of the most fascinating and diverse of any city in the United States.
• Something for everyone. It’s not just the French Quarter and Bourbon Street, y’all.  There are museums and historic sites so you can better yourself culturally. The Audubon Zoo is absolutely amazing, as are the Aquarium and the Insect Museum. There is usually some kind of festival happening on any given weekend. Did I mention the food yet? You can go to school if you want. You can go sailing or fishing on Lake Ponchartrain, and while you’re near the lake, you can drive across one of the longest bridges in the world. And of course, no one says you can’t just go rat around the French Quarter, or go ahead and spend an afternoon at the casino, if you want!

After Katrina, when we would go back, it would make me so sad to see neighborhoods still in ruins. I went back last year to visit, and when my friend and I drove on I-10 over parts of the city at night, we could see large dark neighborhoods which still hadn’t recovered and may never recover. These are the neighborhoods where people were too poor to fight the insurance company lawyers who said they didn’t have a claim. They are the neighborhoods that were so-called “mixed-income,” where regular Joes like you and me made their homes, but couldn’t afford to come back.

Louis Armstrong sang it, and I feel it. I do know what it means to miss New Orleans.

And in all honesty, I agree with just about everything I wrote there. Still, I do like certain things about VD that I will share with you here:

My interest in writing stories began in the first grade, I think. We had to practice our handwriting [...]]]> A writing exercise, that is. Thought I’d take myself for a walk down memory lane. I’d love to hear your thoughts about when/where you were when you decided to do something you love to do, too!

My interest in writing stories began in the first grade, I think. We had to practice our handwriting every day. “Today is Wednesday,” we would write. “We studied math today.” Sometimes, we would get creative and talk about what we had for lunch or if we did arts and crafts. I always made an “A” in handwriting practice. One day, we made paper hats out of paper plates. The kid in class who was always seeking attention glued his paper lunch sack to the top of his hat and put construction paper headlights on it. I was impressed. I felt that such a monumental creation had to be immortalized in our daily handwriting exercise. “We made paper hats. Brent’s looked like an awtomowbeel,” I proudly wrote. I asked the teacher how to spell “automobile,” and she told me to “sound it out.” I tried my best. It was the only word I had ever misspelled on a class assignment in first grade. Dejectedly, I took my “B+” home to my mother. I think I might have actually wanted to cry a little bit. I was sensitive like that. Also, I was easily embarrassed. My mother looked at the paper and we read it aloud together, like we did almost every day after school. “Well,” my mother giggled, “at least you had the right idea!” She seemed pretty happy, actually. What I didn’t understand then was that she was proud to have a daughter who even attempted to spell “automobile” on a first grade handwriting assignment. I think that was the first day I started wanting to tell stories. I already loved to read, and it was exciting to think that I might be able to put words on paper and describe my world for other people to read.

I read a response to a parenting article on Happily Childfree today.  The author posts a response to a parenting article entitled “How to Stay Friends With Parents.” (The grammar in some of these articles needs to be ignored, by the way, possibly even in my own article!)

The [...]]]> How about this: Don’t Bother.

I read a response to a parenting article on Happily Childfree today.  The author posts a response to a parenting article entitled “How to Stay Friends With Parents.” (The grammar in some of these articles needs to be ignored, by the way, possibly even in my own article!)

The upshot of the original parenting article: If you want to keep being friends with parents, and you are childfree (or even childless at the moment) you must jump through all sorts of accommodating hoops. The upshot of Happily Childfree’s article: Why bother?

I have an answer for the last question. Personally, I would “bother” because I was still close friends with the parent in question. Emphasis on “close.” And yet, and yet…

Why would I remain friends with someone who had so many rules and regulations if those rules didn’t fit into my lifestyle? In all honesty, I don’t know if I would remain friends with anyone so demanding, parent or not! In the past, when someone made too many demands on me without giving back, the friendship did dissolve. However, if I lived in the parent author’s world, there could be a few rules for her to follow if she wished to stay friends with me, also:

1. While I understand that you are on a schedule, sometimes I might have to touch base with you during “difficult” hours, simply because I’m busy working during “naptime” or “mommy’s/daddy’s day out” and can’t take or make personal calls at that time. Please be tolerant and at least listen to the voicemail at some point, if you’re truly interested in my friendship. Also, I don’t mind spending time with you and your children if you invite me to do so, but really, about an hour or two in “toddler world” is probably all I can stand. (Exceptions will/have been made, especially if I invited myself or otherwise encroached upon your hospitality for some reason. I do that, sometimes. My parent friends were awesome about it.) Please don’t invite me over to spend time with your kids (because if they’re in the room, that’s what we’re doing), or worse, don’t invite me over and then ask, “Would you mind watching them for a little while while I cook dinner/watch tv/some other activity?” Not only is that rude, it defeats the purpose of my visit and also endangers your children. Trust me, I  have no idea what they are doing: it looks like they are small drunk people who are intent on destroying themselves. I’m completely useless in that department, and very happy to remain so.
2. If I am organizing a party, I will probably give plenty of notice. It will probably be at night/during the dinner hour. If you can’t come, I probably won’t be annoyed. I would love to see you, but I’m not going to organize my whole event around you. Sorry. If only one partner can make it, we would love to have him/her.
3. Please do not bring your kids to a “fancy restaurant.” If I say “we’d love to see the kids” while inviting you out to one, I’m probably just being polite, although I rarely do/say things like that just for politeness’ sake. If only one partner can come, we’ll probably have a great time with him/her. Maybe next time both of you can come, or, here’s an idea: why don’t you invite me somewhere and you pick the place. I might even come, if your children are genuinely well-behaved  for their ages (and not just “well-behaved” by your standards: I mean behavior I can actually tolerate without wishing I or they were dead).
4. I don’t usually answer the phone after 9pm, either. I don’t care when you leave if you come out; I have to get up early, too. If you act like you did me a favor by coming out with me, you probably won’t be invited out with me again, anyway.
5. If you don’t call me back, I don’t mind. We are all busy people, even those of us without children. I will probably call you again eventually. Or, you could just call me once in a while, if you think about it. I won’t mind, and if I have the a few minutes free, we could catch up. You could actually have an adult conversation, with an adult, even! Isn’t that what parents sometimes complain about, not getting enough “adult” time?

So here’s the upshot of my article: friendship is a social contract. We operate within social contracts in order to help each other to be happier and healthier. That’s what boundaries are for. If you want a friend, be a friend. If you want good neighbors, be a good neighbor. Be aware that your lifestyle and your boundaries and what-not may look a little different from the outside. This advice is not just for parents, it’s for everyone. I think the author at Happily Childfree just doesn’t want to be friends with entitled, demanding people, not necessarily parents. Although entitled, demanding parents are just as annoying as any other entitled, demanding people. Some parents just use their children as an excuse to be so, which is kind of icky. All parents aren’t like that. This particular demanding person in the article just happens to be a parent.

I’m sure I’m as guilty as the next person. I try [...]]]> I love to watch people, especially at restaurants. I like to see groups of people and watch their body language as they talk to each other. Recently, though I find people are too busy checking their phones to really engage with each other.

I’m sure I’m as guilty as the next person. I try to have good communications etiquette, but it’s just so tempting to take a quick peek at my phone, especially if the other party at my table is doing one of those 10 minute “this will just take a second” phone checks. In all honesty, I tend not to make one-on-one engagements twice with someone who does that to me. It’s bad enough in a group, but if I’m sitting there with my thumb up my ass while you comment on your friend’s Facebook post, I will remember that and not the oh-so-stimulating conversation we had about your coupon savings at Randall’s.

Ruminating on these topics has led me to think about conversation in general. I am blessed to have several intelligent and well-spoken friends who also seem to tolerate my own verbal troglodytery. (Yes, they really should all get medals, preferably ones made of chocolate.) I decided to take a look at my friends’ respective methods of communication, and why one conversation can leave me interested, energized, and satisfied, while another can leave me bored, frustrated, and sapped of the will to live. I’ve noticed at group gatherings that a lot of people (including myself) have trouble with the following:

1. Engage, engage, engage. If your conversation partner doesn’t feel you are really paying attention, s/he may feel that s/he has permission to disengage also.  (S/He may also begin plotting your demise without your noticing.) Use eye contact and verbal cues to let your partner know you are listening or when you are speaking to show you care about his or her thoughts on the subject. Conversation works on a social contract: we cannot expect our conversation partners to live up to their responsibilities if we don’t live up to ours.
2. Try not to interrupt. This one’s for me (I get excited and blurt! It’s terrible.), but I see it pretty often in others. A lot of times we aren’t aware that we do it. Incidentally, some interruption during a conversation isn’t necessarily bad or a sign of boredom. It can be a sign that the conversation is interesting and people are having a good time. Just try not to be that person all the time. Also, if you find that someone is always interrupting you, it could be a sign that you interrupt people, too. People often mimic the conversational style of the people they talk to. Keep that in mind before you get too critical.
3. Second-, third-, or fourth-hand experiences are not interesting. I do not want to know about your friend’s trip to Europe unless you went with him. Statements like, “Oh, you’ve been to Italy? My friend said it was nice,” are ok, but don’t spend twenty minutes telling us about all of the stuff your friend said he did in Italy. I’m more likely to be interested in your trip to visit your grandmother who lives across town. “Oh, I’ve never traveled much, but I like to go to <such-and-so-place> an hour away from here. Have you been?” Then you can tell me about all the neat stuff you do there. That would be cool. Maybe we could plan to go there together!
4. Do not talk about what you did on the internet that day, unless it is somehow relevant. It is tedious and makes other people in the room want to kill you. If you want to exchange Facebook or Twitter info, that’s ok, right? Or if we’re at the Big Ass Twitter Happy Hour, it’s kind of a given. But seriously, if you start telling me what this guy did on a forum I don’t follow, or “This one time, on Facebook” stories, I am going to punch you in the face and cover you with bloody mary vomit. Even if I’m not drinking bloody marys. Top that.
5. Do NOT, and I repeat, do NOT talk repeatedly about Friend A when spending time with Friend B. Are you specifically trying to give the impression that your current situation and the people with you right now are boring the hell out of you? If they are, then go spend time with people who don’t bore you. If you are not trying to give this impression, then stop talking about stuff you did with so-and-so unless, again, it is somehow relevant to the situation. While we’re on the subject, if you and your partner/spouse/pet orangutan have plans later with parties who are not present, please don’t talk to each other about times/places/details in front of people who aren’t invited. It is incredibly rude, and I will lose most of my respect for you in that moment. It’s the conversational equivalent of cutting a huge fart in church.
6. Shoot for open-ended subjects and questions. I do not mean talk about incendiary topics, like immigration, abortion, gay marriage, or free parking. Something more like, Person A: “You know, I was at this party the other night, and nobody in the room was actually in the room.” Person B: “What? Was it some sort of metaphysical party?” Person A: “Haha! No, silly, although you are clever to suggest so. No, what I meant was that two people were texting, one person was listening to her MP3 player, one guy was on his laptop, and I was stoned out of my mind on black tar heroin! Hey, so, what do you think of the incredible influx of information and cheap hard drugs we have today? Are these factors negatively affecting us as a society?” That last would be an example of an open-ended question.
7. Avoid Aggressive and/or Inappropriate Communication. What falls under this category? Cursing (yeah, I know, I know, I’m a pottymouth), jokes at the expense of other people/groups and “off color” jokes, too much personal disclosure, incendiary topics (race, politics, religion, sexuality, etc), and criticism of persons present and not present. Now is just not the time to loudly recount your disgusting medical history, make jokes about female body parts or functions, or tell everyone what you really think about your last boss. In fact, doing so can make you seem desperate for attention, completely immature and narrow minded, or two-faced, just to name a few adjectives. Nothing like inappropriate conversation to make everyone suddenly have to go get a drink refill.

I think if we all took a good look at our conversational skills and made an effort to be better communicators, we might find we have more decent conversations with each other. Weird, huh? We wouldn’t have to go to parties and pretend that we have somewhere more important to be by checking our phones every five minutes.

Judging from my blog, I must think I’m the poster child for mental health or something! The quote above comes from an article in BBC Health News about the changed [...]]]>

If normal behaviour is increasingly being categorised as mental illness then that creates a burden on individuals, families and on society as a whole.

Judging from my blog, I must think I’m the poster child for mental health or something! The quote above comes from an article in BBC Health News about the changed diagnoses in the upcoming DSM-5.  I have actually been thinking about “overdiagnosis” a lot, but not necessarily by psych health professionals. I’m not really qualified to comment on whether or not the new definitions in the DSM-5 will lead the psych community to diagnose the wrong people. What I am more concerned about is whether people will “diagnose” themselves or others, which they seem to do now just fine, with no outside help from professionals.

Think about it. How many times have you heard someone say “Oh, you are so OCD!” What do you think “OCD” really means? Do you think it means “Obsessively Neat and Tidy”? OCD is a disorder that affects the quality of life of the sufferer. People who have it are affected in a variety of ways, and the compulsions range from washing, to checking, to hoarding. Yep. Hoarders are often disorganized and not tidy. Don’t believe me? Read here. Of course, the other end of the OCD myth is that some people think that “real” OCD is very rare. It is actually relatively common for a psych disorder.

My other concern is youth and teen diagnoses. First of all, adolescence is a cruel trick. Adolescent behavior (which continues until around age 25 or so, believe it or not), is freakish in and of itself. So why do we cart Suzy off to the PMD because she is moody, withdrawn, and defiant? Why can’t we just have a pizza and movie night with her, give her a safe space in which to be alone, and take away her phone privileges, like our parents did when we behaved that way?

Little Johnny can’t sit still in class? He interrupts and throws tantrums at home? Well, maybe Little Johnny has ADD, or possibly Little Johnny is a spoiled rotten little jerk. Possibly he wouldn’t be so desperate for attention if we paid him the proper kind of parental attention at the right time and in the right places, instead of just freaking out when he doesn’t magically behave the way we want him to.

Ok, here’s where the caveat comes in, so read this carefully: In no way am I trying to belittle, disparage, or otherwise detract from youth, teen, or other diagnoses which may affect you, your loved ones, or your loved ones’ loved ones. Also, I am in no way implying that the disorders I talk about here (and even others!) are not very real problems which do exist and do hurt people. I’m just saying that while we’re working to reduce the stigma that mental illness implies (and we are working to do that, aren’t we?), we should also be less quick to label behavior as “mental illness.”

I just committed the most evil act. Therefore, like many criminals, I must now confess to the internet.

Our office really isn’t for the “general public.” So we have a “no soliciting” sign on the door [...]]]> [NOTE: This was two days ago. I think James came to pick me up for lunch or something.]

I just committed the most evil act. Therefore, like many criminals, I must now confess to the internet.

Our office really isn’t for the “general public.” So we have a “no soliciting” sign on the door and we keep it locked. Sadly, I am stuck out in front of the door like the stupid receptionist, er, ahem, excellent administrative assistant that I am. What happens? People are always trying to open the door, or knocking on it, trying to get in. They *know* they’re in the wrong place. They want directions. Because, you know, I don’t have any work to do, and of course I know every business that’s located up and down either side of HWY 183. Right?

There are several other businesses in this mall. One is a huge ophthalmology office. Directly across from me is a chiropractic office with cute little plants and crap all around the door. Next door to me is a technical surveying (I think) business which also has a poor sap stuck next to the window while he does his work. Do people knock on those doors? Of course not. I am so lucky.

Well, today. Hmm, today, no one is in the office and I was spending some quality “me” time looking at iPhone cases I probably won’t buy. I was busy, dammit! In any case, a car pulled up and an Asian couple got out. The man was on crutches. They begin arguing loudly in what I assume is their native language. It sounded like a dialect of Chinese, but what do I know about Asian languages? Very little.

I didn’t want to answer the door and deal with them, so I stared hard at the computer screen and picked up the office phone and pretended to be talking on it. That’s right, kids, you heard it here first. The Asian couple would have to actually knock on the door to get my attention. I held my breath and stared at the monitor like the secrets of the universe were contained within. I talked to an imaginary person on the phone about how much I wished the couple would go away. I hoped they wouldn’t knock, please, God, don’t let them knock! And they didn’t! They got back in their car and went away, arguing very loudly the entire time! Huzzah!

But what’s this? Now I am overcome with guilt. Not “and remorse” but guilt just the same… And so I purge myself, here in digital la-la land. Cheers, kids. I hope you won’t see me in “doesn’t give lost Asian couples with leg injuries directions” hell.

04/22/2010

Merging on Highway 183

I cursed as a saloon-like sedan pulled into my blind spot

just after I turned on the yellow clicking signal

to indicate my intent.

The dirty nickel sky hung low as I was propelled,

in my aging metal [...]]]> I thought I’d post a frivolous something for National Poetry Month.

04/22/2010

Merging on Highway 183

I cursed as a saloon-like sedan pulled into my blind spot

just after I turned on the yellow clicking signal

to indicate my intent.

The dirty nickel sky hung low as I was propelled,

in my aging metal box, careening toward my office.

I slowed to try and find the window

I needed to turn

I needed to reach my destination

and our eyes met.

His hands, too, were white

both tense on the steering wheel

his car also faded from many rains

years of service in a world ever changing.

The familiar look of resigned terror

of smaller creatures surrounded by larger, more dangerous animals

passed between us before he smiled

and slowed enough

so I could gain the left lane. My relief

spread over my belly like warm triumph

like a favorite blanket spread over a sunny lawn.