Baby gear Hindsight

There exists a market that is a literal goldmine in our capitalist society. It's the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that one can actually lay their hands on. A geyser of oil Beverly Hillbillies style that causes executives to dance an old fashioned jig like Jed Clampett. This market, and therefore their wallets, are vulnerable to the emotions elicited by even the hint of what their products can do and who you are or need to be to choose them...they are  new parents! And if you don't know what I mean go to your nearest big box baby store. You'll see pictures of loving moms using said product with a beautiful, happy baby in her arms. Or just turn on your TV "Choosy moms choose Jiff" translation "a good parent buys this."As a result, one can end up buying tons of things that just aren't necessary because, heck, that's what a good parent does! I.e. the baby spa for example.

Having just birthed my first child, I have been subject to this phenomenon. There have been few people along the way to offer guidance. Mom: "Oh, it was so long ago...I don't remember" or "We didn't have those when you were little." Having learned by experience and being the good person and parent I am, I am sharing how to navigate the peddlers of ware you encounter during this time. They are out there in droves, extending their grubby little hands for the money you relinquish out of guilt and an honest desire to do right by your kid.

I will tell you essentially, what I've found necessary and what I could pass on during my precious one's first year of life.
TRAVEL SYSTEMS
First of all, I must admit that I am a person very susceptible to trends. This may explain the first item on my list that doing it all over, I would have bought! I happened to miss the memo on this item's popularity and for this reason I didn't get one. I'm talking about these really cool travel systems wherein the baby seat fits into a light minimalist frame. It allows for easy mauevering in and out of the car and into stores. One can avoid the car seat hop with an ever increasingly heavy infant child. Also you don't have to get a huge stroller out of the trunk and labor for 15 minutes trying to remember-or learn-how to unfold it to put said baby seat in it. I've only seen them in black. Very cool and modern. When you want it to be a stroller, you just click in the bassinet instead of the car seat and voila! Bassinet style, front or rear facing, this is the only item that I've been envious of. A friend just had a baby girl and what did she roll into the house? One of these lovely contraptions of course. I caught myself staring at the stroller more than the baby! And this episode ended with a promise to myself that I'm getting that stroller if I have another one! There's a good reason to have a child. I can barely keep myself from buying one now, but I already have two. That's right. The stroller I do have works for general use, but for walks and runs I recommend a jogging stroller for a much smoother and faster ride. And I do recommend this as walking/jogging is a good way to get your postpartum workout in and calm a fussy baby!
Now my husband wanted us to buy everything new, but come on...I'm not rich yet. Until then I think it is reasonable to buy some things used. There are a plethora of websites of people selling things they no longer need. Offer Up or Let Go, for example. We bought the jogging stroller on one of these. There are also mom exchange stores, where moms sell their lightly used items and these items are then sold to the public at a reduced cost. You will find that some items the baby just grows out of so quickly he hardly got to use them. These stores are good for that type of thing. For example, we bought a high chair, booster seat, various toys and glass bottles at this type of store.
GLASS ONLY HERE
I must say that looking back, I would have loved  if someone told me how superior glass bottles are to plastic! The milk seemed to leech into the plastic after a certain amount of usage, no matter how much I cleaned and sterilized them. Also they had a funky odor after repeated uses. I don't have this problem with glass. I also don't have to worry about any chemicals getting into the milk from the plastic, BPA or otherwise. They just feel cleaner. Many are sold with silicone covers to prevent breaking from little baby tosses. They are pretty cheap too. Especially the Evenflo classic, which is not as stylish or modern as other brands but a traditional design as the name suggests.  I get by with five 8 ounce and five 4 ounce bottles.
Speaking of the natural route, you may get the idea that I am one of those cloth diaper parents. I tried it, once, literally. It was too messy and too much trouble. Like one of my coworkers said, "We used cloth diapers in my day because we had to." I'm sure it would be good for the environment and my wallet, but it is so easy just to change the baby's diaper and throw all that mess away. I wish I was the type of mom who used cloth diapers, but reality check, I am not.
BABY SWING
Ok do this: Invest in a baby swing. It doesn't matter what kind. Get a swing! Depending on your budget and once again, style factor, you may opt for the mamaRoo. It has like seven different swinging motions and a super cool design. I have heard these are great but the baby will outgrow it very quickly. In fact, there is a 20-25 lb weight limit on most swings. We were given a classic type forward backward swing; "Classic" meaning linear only movement. It worked wonders when nothing would calm our baby. 99% of the time he would fall asleep in it and we could then put him to bed. This was good for about his first six months. Then he became too heavy and it no longer would push him. He sinks into the chair like a stone to the bottom of the ocean. But my husband puts him in it and swings him himself. Well worth the money we didn't pay. Thanks Debbie!
See a theme here? Often you can get the same function accomplished between item A and item B, but the item you ultimately purchase may have more to do with style and how you view yourself as a parent than what the item actually does. You want to be a cool and stylish parent. Just because you have a kid doesn't mean you give up on who you are. The manufacturers of these products are depending on your image, perceived and real, to sell their products. "I'm a good parent, but I'm cool too..."
BABY GEAR
The only other item I feel is essential is a baby wearing/carrying device. These also come in many different styles, shapes and forms, and all a matter of personal preference. I got the Chimparoo as a gift. And after looking at the website, I was surprised by its price point. But it gets the job done. From itty bitty newborn to my hefty 9 month old. It has forward facing, back facing, and  hip-carrying positions, all I am able to use on my own without too much fuss. They keep your baby close to you, which should be the point of all this baby stuff and what often gets lost when shopping for and buying baby gear. Don't forget about the baby! That's what all this is for! Whatever helps you have more time, energy and support to care for your child is worth it.
But keep it like the stylish lines of the new travel systems and even updated glass baby bottles: minimalist. Don't worry about the nursing pillow, nursing bras, homemade baby food systems, baby wipe and bottle warmers and baby spas.
Another gem to pick up: Accept gifts from friends and family, seek out a deal, buy used if you feel comfortable doing so. Your baby closet will fill to overflowing! But most of all, take advantage of the most precious product that only you can provide: Love. Enjoy your baby!

Secret War

2016. Trump vs. Clinton. Afghanistan and Iraq. North Korea and Iran. The border...You may think you are a well informed citizen, up to date on current events. But there is a little known war going on in this country, the likes of which if you asked our veterans, few have ever seen before.
It goes by different names and descriptions: Butterfly, lash blast, Manga, Kitty Kat, Wonderlash, Perversion, Telescopic. On and on and on...That's right folks. There is a war of the eyelashes and what brand, and thus mood, we decide upon  that will magically transform our very existence. Critical.
I noticed this phenomenon some time ago while inncoently watching tv. One company would come up with a mascara with promises to curl unbelievably. Then another company would promise super, inhuman length. Then yet another would flash across the screen with the message of beautiful thickness.I mean it was a barrage. All wrapped in interesting 30 second storylines and unimaginable new angles that teams of marketing associates must work nonstop to present.
The commercials tell us to be coy and shy, then dramatic and bold. We can emulate our favorite pop singers just by painting a little dye on our eyelashes. Were you aware of the amazing ability these products have? We apparently can conquer the world by using these products. And no matter what attitude we inhabit, we are always sexy while doing it. No wonder there is such a fight for our allegiance to the right mascara. The fate and style of the world depends on it!
Interestingly, though all of the models in these commercials use lash inserts...hmm. My powers are fading...quickly.
Choose wisely. Who are you? I have chosen an "organic" mascara-whatever that means. Not for what it promises, but infact, because I have never seen a commercial advertising its miraculous benefits. And I have hippie roots, so "organic" draws me like a bee to honey. So maybe I trust it a little more...But mostly I bought it because the container is cute. It comes in a leafy shape. Wow. I'm impressed.
Maybe I am a simpleton. Hopefully one day I can graduate to soldier level in this secret war and be a butterfly or an anime figure or even a mascara rebel. But for now I am content to spread the word. Maybe I am a soldier after all (;

KISS MY A** Beyotch!

As I lay in bed, trying to get the strength to get up and prepare for another day of torture...uggh or what the majority of people call "work," I realize this: There's something I missed in grade school that is fundamental to survival in what we colloquially call, "the real world."

Being nice doesn't get it done.

This world is full of snakes, wolves, sharks and any other historically evil creature one can imagine. And one can succeed only as well as one is prepared to deal with these animals.

The reality is that I have had to change my expectations.

Life is not fair. Just because you treat people well, say "please" and "thank you," does not mean you will get the same in return. Being a good person does not mean that nothing bad will happen to you-God forbid. And as much as you may want everything to work out in life, I have seen many an elderly person die full of regrets and broken relationships.

People say things they don't mean. They have their own reasons, which are mostly egoistic and self motivated. Don't immediately assume people are honest. Do not take their word at face value if you have not established a level of trust. Know how to spot a lie and a liar.

Your boss doesn't care about you.
Your family may or may not.
Friends? Rarely
One would think this topic of conversation is depressing, but I have found it to be liberating actually.
Understanding these truths helps me to deal -and not just cope, but thrive.

I am a strong person who can take care of herself, and nothing anyone does to me can keep me down.
With faith in God and confidence in myself, I can meet any and all challenges. If I made it through this job for a year and a half, I can do anything!

In my adult life, I have learned to say this, "KISS MY A**  BEYOTCHes!"

Play Fair

I definitely have seen way too many Disney movies in the course of my childhood. This thought occured to me sometime after my thirtieth year, although I can't pin it down any more than that.

I looked around me. I guess it's that type of self assessment one does at a landmark such as thirty, in preparation for the big mid life crisis. I was definitely gathering my evidence:
1. Middle-class wage in a job that takes a little piece of my soul in addition to the 40-60 hours a week.
 OR
1. Noncomittal, semi-fun job that barely allows me to scrape by

2. ok car that runs but has two doors from two different cars. Found searching all day in the sun at multiple junk yards
OR
2. Shiny, new car that comes with a five year note

3. A mostly bad marriage
OR
3. Single and lonely

4. No friends
OR
4. Friends who hurt me

Wow, that's getting depressing. Why don't I stop there?
The point is I didn't marry the dream guy, don't live in the dream house, not working a career that I love, driving a fabulous car. Not surrounded by fabulous people.
I don't have the happy ending I always thought my life would be. But reality never really measures up to what is in your mind's eye, so maybe that's the unfair advantage happiness holds.

My only question is this...Why are people sooo mean? How does this help anything? It feels like the world is a dangerous jungle and everyone has to look out for themselves. Why?

Is everyone so unhappy that they want to spread it around?
My coworkers, for example. Unecessarily hostile. Aren't we all working together towards the same goal. What the heck have I ever done to you? Geez. My life is hard enough without having to deal with so many jerks. But that's my idealistic, formerly naive, care bear side that thinks if people just understood each other, they would all get along.
The truth is everyone is looking out for themselves. they are proud, bossy, arrogant, butt kissing, unjust and unfair.
yet I cannot let go of the dreams in my heart. Even if they never come to pass, I always seem to return to the hope that I will find an awesome job, my marriage can improve. If I work hard enough, maybe I can buy that house and car. Maybe, maybe...I can make more friends.
And maybe, justice does indeed exist-and I can have mine
Hope does spring eternal.

KaraNOke

As you read this blog, keep in mind: public speaking ranks up there as one of people's top fears, even ahead of dying by two or three spots.
I sat in Applebee's, enjoying the untold pleasures of my triple chocolate meltdown. ALL BY MYSELF and wondering how this dessert was one of the best kept secrets in Phoenix, and in every suburb of these United States. Talk about "eatin' good in your neighborhood." I felt like hanging out on street corners telling passerbys, "Hey, have you tried that triple chocolate meltdown?" I wanted to convert people to its goodness and have them pledge allegiance to only enjoy its splendor for dessert when dining out. But I stray...I was jolted out of my reverie by this sound. This sound...How to describe it? It happens all of the time, I'm sure. In many a casual dining locale, or pizza and 25 cent wing nights where the servers take a little off the top of one's martini to make sure it's up to standard-in front of you, yet behind the bar. Noone can see servers once they step behind the bar, right? It even happens in dark country western bars in which the likes of me feels a little unwelcome and nervous for some reason. As goes for any other "stranger" who dares enter. This phenomenon often goes unregarded until it affects one personally, i.e. disrupting my dessert.
Sounds like:
A cat being bathed
Fingernails on the chalkboard of my soul
My brother talking about his sex life
Hearing I Owe 10,000 in taxes
The smallest, mousy voice amplified by modern technology and thus forced upon myself cloaked in bad phrasing, timing and rhythm, thus causing the song to lose all meaning and enjoyment. Of course from a genre I hate!
Karaoke-or as I like to call it when it goes bad: Karanoke.
Music when it's done well can be quite moving. It can transport one's soul to a magical place. It can soothe, inspire, energize and frankly, make for a good ol' fun time. And for this reason, music should not be left in just anyone's hands-or lungs.Whoever thought, "Hey, it would be so cool if I took a microphone, hooked it up to a jukebox and anyone who wants to become a singer can!" Well, he or she was probably the worst perpetrator of all. Probably singing directly in his friends' ears covering all the easy listening hits from the 70's-80's. I'm sure he personally recorded the lyrics to accompany the songs in his invention in one large volume while in the basement of his mother's house in which he has lived "forever." Literally.

As this one brave or foolish? soul belted out I forget what, I wondered to myself, "Why?" If we as people have so much fear of public speaking, how is it that we are able to sing,badly, for 3-4 minutes continuously? Listening to the taunting jeers of the audience, the only entertainment we were enjoying was some sick primal gladiator type in which we enjoyed watching an innocent person going down. Sitting in my seat, safe, I could only think, "Wow. Sorry for you, but you did it to yourself lady."
These people, Karanokes, are going for glory, just like Russell Crowe. One day slave, next King. That's admirable. But they haven't checked their actual abilities. They haven't asked themselves, "Do I look awesome shirtless?" or "Can I drop-kick a scary looking dude three times my size, cut his head off and feed it to a lion?" No. No such introspection in these cases.
Maybe just one shot-and one dare-too many.

Come to me love
Come to me life
I wait anxiously

through suffering and strife,

a chance to be heard,

a chance to fall down,
called an opportunity...sometimes pain all around.
What does it mean...to win or to lose?

To have much or have little

Do we really choose?

I've met love

I've met life

I've been up

I've been down

I've seen the sky

My face hit the ground

Let's Make A Deal is Real

I remember those lazy summers. Nothing to do and no cares in the world. The agenda included
1. Ramen noodles for lunch
2. Opening a fire hydrant, or for the "good kids" donning swimwear and catching each other with the garden hose
3. Revisiting Rawhide, the Jeffersons, Mel's Diner, TMNT, and of course, Let's Make A Deal as if I were to be tested on the content the first day of school. "Michaelangelo's weapon was the knumchucks for sure!"

Opening my own business surprisingly took me back to those days. I had always wanted to be one of the lucky people chosen to run down the aisle on "Let's make a deal." What made them get chosen out of a sea of faces anyway? Their crazy outfits? Their enthusiasm? Alll I knew was if I had the opportunity to play, I'd definitely win. It's common sense! The price of laundry detergent. Ha! A bedroom set. Come on! Watching the contestants flounder with self doubt on some of the simplest tasks could be comical. And the worst-those who chose the seen item versus taking a chance on door #2, which was always a better choice. "What a waste!" I would inevitably muse patronizingly as, "A brand new car!" is revealed from behind the curtain.
Who would have thought I'd live "Let's make a deal?" And end up eating my words. Yum...

I can't tell you how many times I've heard the same question since becoming a licensed massage therapist. "WHY?" Why did I choose to become an LMT? Why would anyone choose to struggle. To work so hard for so little? Especially since I am an RN. If I choose to, I could be making $50,000 plus a year. Instead I'm struggling, pinching pennies and betting it all on a massage therapy practice.
How much is happiness worth? Purpose? Fulfillment? For me, it has been years of failure, misdirection and starts and stops, and yes financial sacrifice. I've learned a whole lotta perserverence.I have hoped, despaired, been encouraged by small gains, devastated by losses, and hoped yet again. I will never stop.Who knows? I may be able to make twice or three times what I could as an RN. I can employ others. Though the risk is great the possibilities are endless. Even if I fail miserably, I will never stop dreaming and trying to realize those dreams.
I'm going for door #2! OR BUST

"Forget the Cherry on Top" or "Where's the Joy in Life Anymore?"

My sister and I had a rather strange experience the other day. It was one of those situations that makes you either laugh or cry, depending on your emotional fortitude.
One may say that we have just reached that age wherein we tend to look fondly on our days with nostalgia, and therefore criticize this new generation who obviously do not know what they're doing. Maybe I recall the days when our family ate together at the dinner table everyday and visited MawMaw and Papa every Sunday. My sister likes to talk about how, when we were in school, we knew how to sit in our seats and pay attention. ADHD did not exist, and if it did, it was just an excuse to misbehave. And don't even talk about corporal punishment. Everyone in the neighborhood over the age of eighteen had a right and duty to use it. I clearly remember the feeling of all eyes on me-maybe because there were. But even giving ourselves the slack of generational pride does not account for the absurdity of some things today...Like not being allowed to have a cherry on top of your Sundae.
Christine and I were bored one night and decided to engage in some emotional eating for old times' sake. We also went in honor of our birthplace, in which the unofficial mantra repeated outright as well as ingrained subconsciously by all family members and some close friends goes as follows: "Stuff your face or I don't believe you love me!" Close second is: "Eat everything on your plate! There are starving kids in China." This was later changed to the entire continent of Africa. Well I'm from New Orleans if you haven't guessed by now. Having been in the West I have been reformed somewhat by the lack of good food, but I have relapses, which brings us back to the ice cream shop where I found out the music has in fact died.
No matter any adult's age, I would bet on all the things I do not have-what a risk-that walking into an ice cream store conjours up sweet days of summer as a child. Of chasing the ice cream man, making Sundaes at home, or going to Baskin Robbins and sharing a banana split with your twin sister and hoping that more of the chocolate ice cream fell on your part. Well, poof be gone to such innocent happy memories! Who knew this day would come?
As Christine and I finally reached a consensus on flavors for our banana split, we discovered that there were no more peanuts bits to put on top...hmmm. Suspicious, but not earth shattering. Besides, Christine likes peanuts more than I do. Not a problem. Anyway, what kid isn't allergic to peanuts these days? We have to be careful. The employee proceeded with crushed almonds or some other safer nut. Then the fudge...Yes I remember the sequence. Finished off with some beautiful peaks of real whipped cream and for the piece de resistance! The cherry on top! But instead of placing said cherry, she hands us the confection as is-or was. When I reminded her of the missing item (I mean what kind of employee forgets a thing like that? In fact courtesy would have called for two, since we obviously were spliting the split. Emily Post would agree and have gone a step further to suggest a citizen's firing), she casually said, "Oh...There was an incident. We don't use cherries anymore." What? I had to laugh, as images of what type of incident might have occured to warrant such drastic action. I mean maraschino cherries have been used since the invention of ice cream! I'm sure someone has the original jar which they plan to auction on eBay. "Cherries still edible," would be a good selling point.
I feel sorry for the kids who won't know the joy of finishing off too much ice cream with that last sweet bite of a maraschino cherry. At least I can say I've had a real banana split. Why do you think we have that saying, "It's the cherry on top?"...At least there's still, "The icing on the cake." Hopefully that won't be taken away, too. We'll have to go underground if it gets to that point.
Obviously there was a legal issue as evidenced by the employee's sudden law speak, including vagueness, evasiveness, and immediate talk of the weather. Wow, corporate America sure does those employee geared legal trainings fast!
We live in such a litigious society now that many of the simple pleasures aren't so simple anymore. Maybe in twenty years we'll have to sign a waiver to eat ice cream. "It'll make you fat...But it's your risk to take, if you so choose. We highly advise against it, though." OK. I'll sign, but as a condition I'll write in that there has to be a cherry on top!

A+ Student Fails Real Life

I keep looking for someone to tell me the way to go...Sometimes the best students make for the most ill prepared in life. I excelled in controlled environments where I new what was expected. "Read these pages. Spell these words. Add these numbers." My cohorts grimaced in frustration and annoyance at these words, but I would laugh inside and visibly smirk. Of course, I tried to appear humble. But I and everyone else knew I loved school and was one of the best at it. School was a joy for me. And it was only the beginning. I looked forward to a successful life and career, which would be determined well before College.
Now as I look at my resume in the midst of yet another job search, I am tired frustrated, and disappointed. The resume reflects a person looking for her way in the world. Nursing, massage, nursing, server...It just goes on and on. And I haven't included all of my jobs. That would consume ten pages! I can't even remember all of them. Jobs as meaningless as they are plentiful. Many of the jobs I've seen require experience. I realize that's something I have not been building all these years of job hopping. I've disqualified myself. Instead of slowly building a career, I've crashed and burned several. Where am I? Who am I?
Still I have hope. Hope is not determined by fact, but a deep inner force. I don't consider my circumstances. I only say to myself, "I will fulfill my potential, somehow. There is a God. There must be a way." Didn't Thomas Edison fail hundreds of times before inventing the light bulb? This may be my hundreth time, but I'm getting up once again...It can only get better!
No one else is going to stand up for me-or make my choices for me. This is life-My life-and as such, I must live it.

People Watching

One of the benefits to being a waitress most definitely is the vantage point by which I am able to view the world:through my customers' eyes. I can tell you that nearly everyone in this country has something in common-no matter the race, ethnicity, language or socioeconomic status. It's the American way! Congratulations, you're the proud owner of, yes...a sense of entitlement.

What makes people think that because they are paying for a meal, they also are paying for the privilege of "owning" their server for the duration thereof? Attention getters of the past, including whistles, claps of the hand, and snapping may be long gone, but the spirit of such attitudes lives on. (By the way, adressing a twenty-something young lady with "M'am" is the worst way to get her attention. I almost never recognize the guest is speaking to me. The person usually has to simultaneously tap dance and do jumping jacks to make me notice. I may be a few things, but "m'am" isn't one of them).

A little gratitude will go a long way towards a more enjoyable meal for everyone involved. Speaking of, I am amazed at the penny pinchers who resent tipping for the service they receive. I've heard, "We should be like Europe. They don't tip in Europe! I hate worrying about how much to leave at the end of a meal." Hello!" It's not rocket science. The standard rate is 15% if you're cheap and 20% plus if you happen to be generous. And this is not Europe. This is the great US of A! We take our chances here. Victims or winners by the decisions we make at the hands of capitalism.
Many people rationalize their miserly ways by telling themselves servers have chosen to work in such a precarious profession. They are not responsible for the hard work we have to do and the oftentimes little we see in return. Obviously these people have never worked for tips before. In my experience, the guests who make you work the hardest are the ones more likely to stiff you. They don't understand. You may determine how much I go home with...YOU! Come on, like Obama says-Spread the Wealth! Or if you want to heed Biden, "Be patriotic." Give servers a bail out. We're counting on you!This is why servers tip their servers really well, even with less than excellent service. I'm not saying people who dine out should not expect to be waited on in a timely, courteous and accurate manner. I'm only saying recognize good service verbally and monetarily. It is expected and appreciated. Account for the tip as part of the price of the meal. If you cannot afford to tip, please go somewhere else to eat!
It is remarkable that my most pleasant guests have been the most forgiving of mistakes and the most generous tippers. Which is so refreshing! My most miserable people have been the stingy ones.
Do you want to be happy in life? Then be a good tipper. You'll leave the table satisfied that you are a good person. Try it.
The preceding has been an educational public service column provided by SERVERSUNITE at charlyfoy.blogspot.com

It's Raining Men-Hallelujah!

From yet another book on singleness, I've read that there are two kinds of dating problems: not having any eligible men to date or having too many options. I am happy to report that I've recently changed categories from the barren drought of no-man-land to...ta da! Options! Yes, folks, I've crossed over to the other side. The flood gates have broken. I am dating.
Happy birthday to me...

Anyone from N.O. can appreciate this...

To my New Orleans people enjoy!

Pass down memory lane.
Old Heads may not get some and Young Old Heads
will not get most.
But enjoy anyhow.

*You knew Cash Money before they became famous and
were living in the East.
*You know who UNLV is and what the letters mean.
*You went to Man-Chu's for Wings.
*You understand that Red Pepper is different than
Cayenne.
*You remember Manuel's Hot Tamales.
*You were never crazy enough to eat a Lucky Dog
from the cart in the French Quarter.
*You know about Hank's, St. Roch Seafood, Deanie's
and Jaeger's.
*You know which sno-ball stands have the soft ice.
*You know that Creole tomatoes taste different
than the regular ones.
*You know how to pronounce some of our crazy
names: Dejoie, Robicheaux, Hilaire, Villere, etc...
*You know what people are talking about when they
say "across the river".
*You know that damn near everyone from N.O. is
Creole.
*You remember the furniture commercial "...come
see the special man, let her have it"!
*You had to get a new ESPRIT bag from Krauss or
Maison Blanche every school year.
*You either had a Medallion Chain, Ring, or
Bracelet. Was N.O. the only city that had JESUS or
CHRIST head rings?
*You remember the pie man...
*You remember the old lady on Canal Street singing
old gospel hymns in front of Krauss with her karaoke
machine...
*And how about ya boy on the corner of Canal and
Carondelet trying to get everybody at the bus stop
to be saved, with his bible in his hand...
*For those Greater St. Stephen members, remember
the lady that sold cakes and pies outside church
after service. God bless her soul.
*The ultimate best - Easter Sunday on the lake -
everybody was there and you couldn't hardly drive
your car down the street because everybody was
showing off.
*When they mention the B.W. Cooper on the news,
you're confused 'cause you know all the projects by
their old names... Magnolia, Calliope, Desire,
Florida, Iberville, St. Bernard, etc...
*Someone has told you that you look like you from
the 7th Ward...
*You still sing " Rosenberg 's,
Rosenberg's...1825...Tu-lane!"
*You remember the " Seafood City " commercials...
*You went to Bachemin's Meat Market on St. Bernard
or Patton's on Delery for hot sausage.
*You can't get pickled tips anywhere but New
Orleans and surrounding cities...
*You know what "snap beans" are...
*You don't eat everybody's gumbo or potato salad
(definitely)
*Once you met your girlfriend's (or boyfriend's)
mother or grandmother they asked, "Who's your
family?" or "Is your family from the 7th Ward?"
*If you or someone you know is related to a
Broussard, Boutte, Pichon, Doucette or Mercadel they
or you are from the 7th Ward...
*You know where the "Point" is on the Lake ....
*Your mama used to whip yo tail with Daniel Green
slippers...
*You remember Pontchartrain Beach ... How about The
Bottom Line, Discovery, Whispers, Crash Landing and
Nexus
*You still want to sing or scream " Hey Pocky Way "
*You know "It Ain't My Fault", "They All Axed for
You" , "Who shot the LaLa", and "Mr. Big Stuff"
*You only ate Chinese food at Chinese Kitchen or
Five Happiness...
*You remember that manager (with the Jheri Curl)
at Circle Food Store...
*No matter what part of the Eastbank you are from,
you will drive to Haynes to get seafood from
Castnet's...
*You remember when Harrah's Casino was at the
Municipal Auditorium (calling out all casino
visitors:)
*You went to a St. Mary's and 35's Talent Show (to
go to any school's talent show was a big deal!)
*You thought McMain, the birthday cake school was
for the nerds.
*You remember Maison Blanche, McKenzie's, Tastee
Donuts, D H Holmes, Times Savers, and KB.
*You lived in Michoud and people didn't want to
visit because you lived too far...
*You knew what the 3rd floor at Charity was all
about!
*Someone asks you where you are from and you reply
9th ward, Uptown, the East, Gentilly, Downtown or
the Westbank (you never give your street name).....
*You know that THE GAME at Tad Gormley was 35 vs.
St. Aug, and that was a major social event, even if
you didn't go to either school...
*You refer to the French Quarter as "the quarters"
and really don't go to the Quarters like talkin'
about it, just when you have family from out of town
that want to go there...
*You refer to St. Bernard Parish as "The
Parish"...
*You know how to pronounce Tchoupitoulas...
*You know that Mardi Gras really goes down on
Claiborne under the bridge and not on Bourbon...
You knew if somebody important or ghetto died,
there would be a 2nd Line....
*Dressing up to go "uptown" or "downtown" (depend
where you lived) aka Canal Street .
*Going to Woolworth's to eat at the lunch counter.
*You bought po-boys from the corner store.
*You bought frozen cups from the lady down the
street or yo' mama was the lady down the street who
sold them...
*Eating those good donuts at Woolworth (and they
were greasy!!)....
*You know what huckle bucks are...
*You used to shop at Krauss...
*You always got a new outfit for Easter off Canal
Street....
*Someone at your job used to sell "suppers"...
*You know where Lincoln Beach or Little Woods
is...
*You remember "Buck Jump Time"
*You know who Harry Lee is - so you don't hang in
Jefferson Parish!
*You take the Huey P. Long Bridge to get from The
Westbank to the
*Eastbank, 'cause you don't want to pay that
dollar on the Crescent City Connection...
*You end each sentence with "yeah" or (now the
youngens say) "ya heard me? Example: "It's hot out
here yeah" or "Holla at cho' boy, ya heard me?"
*Your maw-maw "made groceries" at Economical on
Gentilly and Elysian Fields or Venus Garden on
Dryades St..
*Your maw-maw referred to mayonnaise as "my-naise"
*You drank "earange juice" and got your "earl"
changed in your car on the "cordner"
You went to the "Lafitte" or Orleans & Claiborne
to watch the Zulu Parade...
*You remember the "Gondola" and the "84 World's
Fair"
*You piled in a car with cousins to drive pass Al
Copeland's house to see the Christmas lights and
then spent the drive home talking about how he stole
the recipe from an old black man...
*You USED to refer to Betsy as New Orleans ' worst
storm (not anymore)
*You were looking for YOUR house on TV during the
CNN coverage of Hurricane Katrina...
*You got tears in your eyes after reading
this...(I certainly did - tears from laughter!)

*Pass it on to other N.O. folks to have a good
laugh!

Date or Appointment? The Meaning of Chemistry

If you're a faithful reader of Twenty Plus+ and were asked to describe the author's worst date ever you would undoubtedly refer the questioner to the blog concerning Mr.Suave. And rightfully so, because that was the worst date I had ever been on. At least that I can remember.

Yet, in my never ending quest to one-up myself, albeit by reaching greater levels of hopelessness rather than improvement, a new suitor has risen to take that infamous title from Mr. Suave. This one successfully flipped the script on me, in that he didn't come with even greater mishaps than kidnapping, rudeness, and self absorption. What would that possibly entail, I wonder? No, instead he ruined the date with the subtlety of a fox, if not the wit of one. (That would be too interesting).

As a part of this program I'm supposed to be following, I strive to be open to almost anyone, so as not to rule out future hubby. God forbid! I am experiencing new people, places, and situations. I am open. So when Mr. Blah came into my restaurant the first time I saw an opportunity. Interest and curiosity sparked both our eyes. And when he didn't ask for my number after a brief but pleasant conversation, instead saying his goodbyes, I thought that was cute. After all, he knew where I worked and could show up again. Exciting, no?

"Ah, the chase mon ami," as Hercule Poirot would instruct Hastings. The run almost became a marathon as Mr. Blah would come in to "eat"-translation see me-for two more weeks before asking me out. His method went from cute to stalker-ish/Is he looking for an affair and this is a neutral place? He did mention his ex-wife, but who knows with all this baby-mama-drama in the world today? Maybe they have an arrangement.


Before the first date I also learned he was from Detroit, hates Phoenix like me, has a little girl, and is working on starting his own business selling knock-offs of designer labels. Everybody has a dream. All of the facts I've gathered so far are just that-facts. Underneath the thrill of being pursued lies nothing. I have no interest in this man, what he's doing, or where he's going. I chasten myself for being so cold and close-minded. All I think is what I've read in the dating how-to book, "Give it at least one date, maybe two." So when he asks me what I like to do in my spare time I innocently rattle off my interests, not anticipating the inevitable, "Why don't we do one of those things together?" play. Thus, being totally blindsided by this smooth move, I must admit, I automatically respond yes.

He calls before we go out. He asks me what I want to do and where I want to go. He takes me to a nice place. We talk. He pays. He's a perfect gentleman.
And perfectly boring.
I can't conjure up chemistry even with a drink in my hand.
That's when I know: Sometimes your first instinct is right. You're not being close-minded. You just really don't like this person and never will. It'll never happen.

And it makes me wonder about this thing called chemistry. Like love, it's hard to define but easy to recognize. Either you have it together, or you don't. And I think about my ex-Mr. Wrong Right Now and the chemistry we had. It was amazing, like one of the natural wonders of the world. Why was everything else in that relationship so wrong?

PDA-please don't advocate!

I have recently been the victim of an insidious crime against singleness. And a crime perpetrated by one of my own, no less. Rather, a friend formerly known as single. As in, doesn't she know better?!

I'm talking about public displays of affection people. Does love blind its subjects to the point of complete disregard for anyone else in a 20 foot radius? Apparently it can and does. That's why lovers are all starry-eyed! I must admit, I've been on the other side; Puckering up in restaurants and parking lots and God knows where else. Somehow, it was more pleasant that way. But as I sat across the table from my friend and her beau kissing and holding hands-for whom I am happy-I see the pitfalls love can bring. For those not in it!

My new mantra for the rest of the year is...drumroll...Celebrate Singleness! Ta-da! What a concept, huh? (Sounds like someone's been to therapy).

So I say to my lovebird friends, "C'est la vie and congratulations."

Goals for my last "twenty something" year

Turning twenty nine in a couple of months has made me a little more introspective lately. I've decided to celebrate being single and free. But also get serious about a career. Because doesn't everybody settle down in their thirties? That's in the rule book, right?
My goals for my last twenty-something year:

Travel

Still get a tattoo

Go to some concerts/get into music like a normal person

Make more friends and be a friend

Love more, get angry less

Make blogs of note, some way some how

Buy a car

Work with young people

School Nurse Countdown

One week left!
5 days
Ok...I pushed the deadline up a bit. I just couldn't make it to October.

School Nurse

Hey guys (my two readers)! Sorry I've been incognito...Started a new job a month ago.
Wow! It's amazing how much I hate it. I didn't know it was possible to despise a job so much. Or for work to completely ruin your life. I gave notice two weeks ago, but my boss made me promise to stay until they find a replacement and/or the end of October. I'm sure October will roll around before they find another school nurse. It took all summer and then some to find me. And another school is still without a nurse. But I'm trying to be positive...The kids are funny. There. And I get paid. If you know anyone who would like to be a school nurse-holla!
I apologize for the lusterless blog entry. Just a reflection of what I've become since working at "Sunset of my Soul" school-only focused on how I hate my job/life. There is nothing else right now.

Official Countdown:42 days

Texting Ettiquite

I love to see that little envelope on my phone! What a treat to get a virtual note in your locker so to speak.

But there definitely are pitfalls to texting...

As in... How does one know the person on the receiving end actually got the text?

When is it too late to respond to a text? After 24 hours should the text-er move on? And if so, does one pretend like the text never happened? What if the information in the message was pertinent to the text-er/text-ee relationship?
Maybe the answer is in the silence.

SSR/Montessori Book Corner

Since spending so much time in the nonfiction book world, I developed a healthy craving for a good old-fashioned story.

After much harrassment for a good book, one of my friends lent me What a Girl Wants-I'm sure just to shut me up. It falls into "christian chik-lit."
(There's a place for everything. That's one of the things I love about books).
It gave me what I was looking for: An easy read with a good story by someone who obviously knows what it's like dating in this day and age! Who doesn't like validation?

It's Elementary

Anyone out There?

One plus one equals two. So why is it so hard for one man and one woman to equal loving committed and good relationship?


Allow me to answer my own rhetorical question. A blog entry hangs in the balance! We are human. And when people get involved in things, no matter what it is, we bring along hang- ups, baggage, prejudices, expectations, selfish ambition...You get the idea. Even good relationships are works in progress; Ever growing, yet never complete, organic projects of nature.



And I do mean "good."Because as a member of the human family, the problem does not necessarily exist in finding someone. Or, rather, anyone. Men and women are everywhere. As a friend says, "8 to 80, blind, cripple, and crazy."
And I've seen it all.
For example, Mr. Suave. Mr. Suave is a 30-something ex NFL player who noticed me on one of my many treks across Phoenix's desert. Seriously. I don't hike for fun, but my legs provide my main mode of transportation. At first I shrugged him off as a potential stalker. Not a necessarily attractive quality. But, after he pulled over for the third time in two weeks to offer me a ride, he handed me a card and properly introduced himself. The card serves a twofold purpose of letting me know he has a viable business and evaporating the fog of suspicion that he might be a loony. Honestly, how many crazies hold down 9-5's? Not many, unless you consider the post office. Then this line of reasoning breaks down. But I digress...

Card becomes phone call. Phone call becomes first date. It's been so long since D-A-T-E that I turn a blind eye to some of the red flags screaming, "Run girl! If it takes a year hike through the desert yourself. A ride isn't worth that much!" Of course I don't listen to inner voice, because it's a date after all. (And dating is fun-or so conventional wisdom makes us believe. There's a reason Sex in the City was a hit. Hello! real life is sooo not like that. That's the way we wish we looked, acted and dated through life. But that's another story). Yes, he laughed incessantly at his own jokes, which I didn't get. Okay, maybe he's nervous, I think. Yes, he barely listens to a word I say, but the connection on my phone is bad. He does ask where I want to eat and obliges to my request for P.F. Chang's. And Lord knows I'm a sucker for a good meal, especially a free one.

The date ensues. Do I remember? He picks me up, of course, in his nice car. Awaiting me is a single yellow rose. I think," How sweet?" But in sharp contrast to the beauty of the delicate flower, a funk invades my senses. The car stinks. Not an acute smell, but a subtle evasive stink. I conclude that it's the dreaded BO. Not just BO, but an attempt to mask it with cologne. Did this guy even shower? I mean, I know he hits the gym pretty hard, but no time to wash up? Maybe he just hit the highlights and figured that I wouldn't notice. Oh well, I have a strong stomach. Anyway, there's no turning back. We're well on our way-meaning the I-10. Note to self-buy own car! I don't know cars, but I know this is luxury. It has GPS, but somehow we still manage to get lost. It also has satellite radio. Okay, not exactly my style. I'm just as content channel hopping and asking for directions, but I'm an open-minded person. But it strikes me that he thinks he needs to have the luxury car with all the amenities because that's what successful people do in life: Get expensive stuff and lord it over those around you. And there's always better and more expensive stuff to get.

Then the conversation. There is no lack of it, which is my most dreaded date fear, but it all revolves around him. This affords me a slight advantage, though, because I learn a few things about Mr. Suave.
1. He has some money. "I bought my mom a house out here. I love my mom."

2. He has a kid et. al. "I moved my son out here with his mom. She was complaining..." Silent scream here. A baby, ok. It's hard finding guys my age who don't have babies. But baby's mama is still in the picture? As Faith Hill sang, "Baby, hello. On no! Goodbye!"

3.Drinks like fish? After asking if I drank, and myself responding that I have a glass of wine occasionally, but most times I just get a glass of iced tea, he declares, "I'd make that a Long Island iced tea!" Upon which, after arriving at the restaurant he proceeds to order.

Then comes dinner. Ah, the bright spot to the whole affair! Yet, even for my yum-yum loving tummy, I begin to doubt if the date is actually costing me more than I'm getting. Hmm...More of the same. We discuss his glory days in the NFL, his subsequent injury and conversion experience, and again, his love for his mom. Does he think I'm finding this attractive? I'm thinking he's not even pausing to consider, he's so busy impressing me. Then I learn the last tidbit to complete my impression of Mr. Suave.

"I get PMS like a woman."
"What?!"
"I'm moody. Just like a woman."
Great. That's all I need in a man. I can track both of our periods. We can bum it on the sofa eating chocolate and watching Titanic during that "special time." Wait. I have girlfriends. What do I need you for? I already discuss the best tampon brands, woman exams, tender breasts, and embarrassing female mishaps with them!
Okay, I'm open-minded, not crazy. And not desperate. That statement sealed the deal, or the un-deal, as it were. But like previously stated, I was stuck. Repeat mental note here, emphatically! Explicative. So we finished dinner, got a doggy bag, and headed out. Mr. Suave was hoping the party had just begun and suggested we go clubbing. I was freezing and longed only for the warmth of his hi class ride. In which he proceeded to run errands. Suddenly,I couldn't recognize where we were going and vocalized this, feeling uneasy, thinking, "This is how people disappear." He answered, "Well, since we're in the area." Thank God we only went to the video store and his office. Although, he did spend 10 minutes in said store while I waited in the car refusing to expose myself to the elements again, so technically,
I was abducted. I should've run into the video store and sought refuge with one of the video clerks. It might have been more fun. And possibly have brought things to a quicker end.
Mr. Suave pulls in to the apartment complex. I silently thank the Lord. With my hand on the door pulley thing, I turn and thank him for the date, which I mean. He says he had a great time. I lie and say the same thing. Did we just go on the same date? I take my rose and head for the door. At least he doesn't know which apartment I live in. All I can think is that there's a reason some of us are single.

Meeting a person, as GI Joe says, is only half the battle.

I soldier on.