Benjamin Button

The other day a friend of mine posted about the general annoyance that accompanies the filming of a movie in one's neighborhood. I read the post and thought to myself "But Asenath, it's Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt." Well, I got home today, and there was a little notice in my door saying that they would be filming in my neighborhood and that I would be unable to park on my street for three days, starting tomorrow. Anyone who's read my previous post about parking knows that I hate it when I can't park at my house. Plus, people get shot near my neighborhood. Not a lot, but it's been known to happen, especially lately. So, all I gotta say is that I better not get mugged, or heads are gonna roll. As preemptive measure, I propose that Brad himself should walk me home to protect me. That, I am sure, would erase all annoyance caused by lack of parking. You know, it's just a suggestion.

Isn't it ironic*

It would seem that everytime I think that something is never going to happen, I'm going to be wrong. Last semester, when I thought that I aced my Income Tax exam, I ended up getting a completely average grade on it. I thought that I failed my EU final, and it ended up being my highest grade. Yesterday, I made the executive decision to give up on the job search, accept the fact that no one was going to hire me, and go to Siena for the summer to learn about International Art Law. When I got home to check my email, I found that I'd been selected for one of the spring interviews. This is both annoying, because I was really into the idea of going to Italy, and comforting, because maybe I'll get the job and I can stop worrying that I'm going to unemployed and in debt forever. So, I'm going to test my theory and stop wishing that I were filthy rich. Hopefully, if I'm right, I'll win the lottery.

*I never use this word, because despite having looked up the definition any number of times, I can never tell if I'm using it in the right way or not. So, anyway, if I'm wrong, please don't tell me.

The day after Mardi Gras

Ever have "just one of those days"? Yeah, me too. A chronicle of events:

5:00 Wake up when Max's alarm goes off. Toss and turn.
7:00 Wake up when my alarm goes off. Want nothing more than to go back to sleep. Hit snooze button three times.
8:30 Realize there is nothing to eat in the whole house. Leave the house early so that I can pick up McDonald's on the way to school.
8:45 Drop hashbrown bits on my shirt, which instantly create grease stain. Put handy sweatshirt on.
8:47 Have somehow managed to get grease on sweatshirt arm too.
8:50 Realize that I have worn the jeans that, just the other day, developed a hole in a rather sensitive area. Think to myself "not to worry, you have the sweatshirt. Just tie it around your waist." Realize that sweatshirt is hiding stain on t-shirt. Resolve to sit all day with my legs crossed.
9:00 Park five blocks from school to avoid getting a ticket for being parked over two hours. Splash through the rain to law building. Jeans now soaked halfway up my calves.
9:05 Arrive at school to finish homework that I didn't do the night before. Turn on computer to find assignment, and realize I have left my power cord at home. Debate which class to skip so that I can go home and get it. Realize that I could have parked closer if only staying for one class.
10-11:15 Sit in class, bored out of my mind. Realize that I should have skipped this class.
11:15 Leave building to go get power cord. Breathe sigh of relief that morning is almost over.

Seriously, what the f***

I don't how many guys read this blog, probably none, but if there any of you out there, maybe you can answer me a question: what is it, exactly, that makes certain members of the male gender feel that yelling rude things at a girl is somehow effective, or even marginally okay? It's incomprehensible to me. I was walking back through the Quarter to my car about a half hour ago and this pack of six or so guys decided that now would be a good time to pick on the girl walking by herself. I'm not going to repeat what they said, but it definitely started with "Shake it" and got progressively cruder. For some reason, the fact that I felt the need to actually cross the street didn't seem to get the message across. Trust me, gentleman, if a girl takes affirmative steps to get the hell away from you, she doesn't want to talk to you. She wants you to shut the fuck up and go away. Really, has it ever worked? Because I doubt seriously that a girl has ever stopped, turned around and said "Take me home with you right now." I mean, I'm sure that any guy that feels the need to demoralize me in the middle of the street would be a really terrific lay, and probably incredibly generous in bed. I don't really know why this particular group pissed me off so much, probably because they were so obnoxiously persistent, going so far as to cross the street with me. I actually drove home sort of half hoping that I'd see them on the side of the street, so that I could jump the curb and break their legs, because any damage to my car and resulting jail time would probably be worth it. I just don't understand, because that sort of behavior doesn't make you look attractive, or cool, and anything else you might have been hoping to achieve, but instead just makes you look like a mysogenistic fucktard.

Judgy McJudgerson

It's come to my attention that lately, I may have been just a little bit judgmental. Normally, I consider myself pretty open-minded, whatever you want to do is totally okay with me, but sometimes I hear about something and my two cents just comes right on out. Take yesterday, for example. On our way to the parades, some friends and I were discussing some of the Girls Gone Wild girls who, after seeing their images from Spring Break plastered onto late night television, decided to sue the creators. Apparently, one of their arguments was that the creators had assured them that their images wouldn't be broadcast. The following conversation ensued:
Me: Whatever, I can't believe that they actually believed that. I mean, seriously, how dumb can you get?
Tara: Liza! You're supposed to be a feminist. Side with the ladies.
Me: Feminism my ass. If you even have a faint idea what Girls Gone Wild is, you wouldn't believe that.
Ann: Imagine that you're from a small town and you're 18 and on Spring Break, and a little wasted...
Me: I am from a small town, I'm just not an idiot, so therefore I can't imagine it.
Chorus: Compassion Liza! You're supposed to empathize!
Me: Humph. Judge, judge, judge, judge, judge (said while wagging my head back and forth on each "judge," because I feeling mature.)
Pink Pirate: So you side with the Girls Gone Wild guy, the sleazy, sober, old man convincing these young girls to do things?
Me: No, I don't like him either. I'm neutral, like Switzerland. I'm a judgmental Switzerland.

So, yes, I was feeling a little judgmental. In my defense, if I actually knew these girls I probably wouldn't feel the same way, because while I might be a little judgy, I'm also loyal. I tend to side with my friends no matter what. Like, if one of them robbed a bank, I'd probably find a way to post bail and then ask her if she was in trouble and needed to borrow some money. And I usually regret being all judgy as soon as I actually take the time to learn all of the facts, and am then forced to eat my words and admit that I may have been wrong, maybe. So, see, I'm a nice person. A sweet, loyal, judgmental Switzerland.

The gods of weather

It would seem that the weather gods kind of hate the fair city of New Orleans. See, first there was that big hurricane that everyone talks about all the time (not that there's anything wrong with that), then, shortly after the start of the year in 2006 there was another big storm. Just a winter storm, really, but apparently in the south they come with tornadoes*. Lots of tornadoes, that just happen to like to hang out in New Orleans East. Remember, that place where all those people lost everything they had? Yeah, they like it there. So, things are quiet this hurricane season and I'm guessing the weather gods got to thinking to themselves "I wonder how New Orleans is doing? They must be rebuilding there or something. We can't let them get too complacent, surely. Let's give them a little taste of what they missed this summer." So they sent another winter storm our way, and there were tornadoes, and they decided that New Orleans East and Gentilly would be a great place to touch down. So they came through and ripped a roof off of a motel holding a bunch of evacuees and tore up the upper floors, and then another one came over to Uptown and hit an electric substation. Fun stuff, really. And yet, when people ask me what I like about New Orleans, the answer always seem to include "Well, the weather's much better here than up North." Go figure.

*Strangely, I am much more terrified of tornadoes than hurricanes. They're way more sudden, and none of the homes here in New Orleans include basements that one might be able to hide out in. So I spent much of the very early morning, looking at the strobe light-ish lightning, cowering and wondering if the study would make a good tornado shelter. Probably not, for what it lacks in windows it makes up for in a big, rickety wooden door.

Lost

New Orleans isn’t always the easiest city to get around. Normal directions don’t make as much sense, since it’s shaped like a crescent, so we tend to rely on directions like “Uptown, downtown, lake, and river” instead. Once you get used to it, it’s not so bad, but occasionally, a little confusion may linger, as evidenced by this encounter with a friend last week:

I call a friend (let’s call her PPN) on my cell phone while driving home, knowing she’s close to my house: Hey, what’s up?
PPN: Hey! I’m about two minutes away from your house right now.
Me: Me too, I’ll see you there.

Several minutes later my phone rings again...
PPN: Hey, umm, did you happen to see my car when you were driving home? I can’t find it. And I’m freezing.
Me: No…where are you?
PPN: Pauger and Dauphine?
Me: I don’t think I know where that is. I mean, I know where it is, but I can’t picture it.
PPN: Okay, how about Dauphine and Royal?
Me: I thought they ran parallel to each other.
…After a couple more tries, I ask if she wants me to come get her and help her find her car, which she does. One wrong turn later, I find PPN and we start driving around, slowly, looking for her car...

PPN: I think I’m across Esplanade. I don’t get it; it only took me a minute to get to the restaurant.
Me: These streets are confusing. They all mesh together and it’s like parking in the Bermuda Triangle (it’s actually the Marigny triangle, but seriously, just as confusing).
…We drive across Esplanade and are now in the Quarter, which I seem to remember as a grid…

Me: Wait a second, where did our street go? Seriously, it was supposed to be right here.
PPN: I think I parked on the next one up.
Me: You parked on Bourbon?
PPN: I don’t know, I think they started merging at some point.
Me: Wait, the streets don’t merge over here, they merge over on that side.
PPN (pointing): Isn’t Uptown that way?
Me (also pointing): No, it’s that way. (Both of us start laughing, since we’ve just spent ten minutes driving around trying to find a car in the wrong neighborhood.)

We finally find the car, after driving down a few more streets, with my friend hanging her arm out of the window repeatedly hitting her alarm button. It's a little embarassing, really, since I actually live all of one minute away from the spot where we eventually found her car. Seriously though, can I help it if the street I'm looking for keeps disappearing?

My bad

So, sorry I haven't been posting much lately. Part of it is probably that I'm lazy, but part of it is that I'm just so damn sick of law school that I haven't really felt all that snarky/funny lately. Like, I love my school in general and my friends, but all the little stuff that actually goes into law school has been a big ol' drag. Anyway, I promise to start posting more, so that my ladies trapped in said law school have a little more to read.