Monday, June 30, 2008


I'm going to pick up the moving truck with Max in a few minutes, and then begins the three day drive north, so I probably won't be posting for a little while. Send good driving thoughts, because I'm a little scared of the size of our truck.

Friday, June 27, 2008

The simulated Multistate Bar Exam has temporarily kicked my ass. So much so that I'm convinced that the Bar doesn't exist so much to test your readiness for lawyering, but merely to ensure that any self-esteem left over from law school will be beaten out of you.

It's Called a Turn Signal, Asshole

Everyone who has ever driven in New Orleans knows full well that we have some of the worst drivers EVER. Mostly, I've learned to deal with it. I know, for instance, that a turn signal often means nothing at all, and I should stop asking myself "Maybe he's lost? Is he going to turn here?" I've learned that speed limits are suggestions only, not to be taken seriously. I've learned that going anywhere near Metairie means at least an extra half hour stuck in the traffic. But one thing that continuously irks me is when people don't use their turn signals at all. For instance, in the last two days, this habit has been at least a contributing factor in two very near misses for myself and my darling car. It's like I have a fucking bulls eye painted on it. For instance, let's look at what happened yesterday on the way to the grocery store. I'm driving along on Gentilly Blvd., on my way to the Winn-Dixie. There aren't that many cars out, and I'm in the far right lane, minding my own business. Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a big ass SUV decides that he would also like to be in the right lane. In fact, it seems he wants to be on top of my car, because without any sort of turn signally warning, he just moves on over. I lay on the horn, but the asshole apparently had bad reaction time, because it took him a second to move back over, causing me to have to scrape the curb and then jump it to avoid certain death. I scraped the shit out of my rim (not that they're nice, but still), but was otherwise unharmed. What pisses me off the most is that if he had used his damn turn signal, I would've known what he was doing and could have slowed down to let me in. Actually what pisses me off the most is that his whole apology was a goofy little wave that wasn't even really a wave but more of a gesture suggesting that he didn't realize how close I'd come to DYING. Idiot.

Fast forward to today. I'm having a bad day. I didn't do well on my bar practice test, and the gym was filled with children armed with megaphones (quick aside: Ripples day campers currently taking over the Reily Center - I HATE YOU). So I left, because I couldn't even hear my iPod, let alone relax and work off some stress. I'm driving home, and I'm stopped at the neutral ground intersection, waiting to cross the street, when a United Cab Of Death decides to make an illegal U-turn, without a turn signal, and with no lights (it was pouring down rain). He runs smack into the front of my car, after I had politely honked the horn to let him know that, hello? there's a car here. Does he get out to see if my car and I are okay? No. Does he respond to my signals to pull into the parking space right across the street? No. He makes me get out in the monsoon to check my own car. I am normally mild-mannered, but this pissed me off. So rather than a quick check of the damage (of which there was none), I felt the need to lecture him. So I did. I left him have him it a little bit about a turn signal, and turning your damn lights on, and how you're not allowed to make a U-turn here anyway, and "Seriously!!!! How did you not see me?!" It made me feel better, but not as good as when I reported him to his employer. Idiot.

Monday, June 23, 2008

At a Loss for Words

My boyfriend likes to go on these adventures through the Quarter. He sets out, gets a beer or two, and wanders around, taking pictures and talking to people. Sometimes he'll be gone for hours, and I have no idea how he amuses himself, but he's the king of small talk, so he tends to find other wandering souls to chat with. Lately I've been going with him, although mostly we talk to each other, and we're not gone nearly as long. It's a nice way to remember the neighborhood as we're about to leave.

So, the other night, about a week ago, we took a couple of friends with us, E & P. We got our beers, we wandered around, taking in the people that populate the Quarter on a random Sunday night. We actually did have a destination in mind, for once, and on the way back we stopped a little bar on Royal so that P could use the facilities. We're standing at the bar waiting, nary a bartender to be found, but these two rather tipsy almost middle-aged guy took a liking to my friend E, as they so often do, because she's cute and seems approachable. People like her. And because she's nice, she indulged them with a little conversation, which quickly veered into the slightly inappropriate since, as I mentioned, the men at the bar were slightly drunk and she's pretty and approachable. And apparently I was supposed to help save her, but I didn't, and as we're walking away, I remarked on how guys at bars never talk to me, and I sort of like it because I never get sucked into conversations that inevitably end up in slightly awkward territory. And apparently, according to boyfriend, this is because I'm kind of bitchy. Not that he said that of course; as a matter of fact, I did. What he actually said was that I give people such as these tipsy bar patrons a look that blatantly says "I'm so not interested, so don't even bother." I'm unapproachable, shall we say. To which I responded that being a bitch had worked for me for 26 years, because I rarely have to talk to people that I don't want to. I'm not mean to everyone. I just have no desire to talk to you if you're a horny middle aged dude who thinks it's fun to hit on girls who are too young for you. Anyway, the conversation continued, and eventually, sick of being the snobby one, I blurted out that it was really an utter lack of social skills, not snobbery, and that I just didn't do small talk well and thus avoided it. Which is really more true. I'm not actually a bitch. I just don't know what to say to people. I never mastered the flirty but not really available thing that some girls seem to do so well. It's really a valuable skill, probably called charm, as a matter of fact. Anyway, I just wanted to put that out there. If I've ever met you in a bar and looked at you as though I'd rather tongue the paint off of my walls, it's nothing personal. I just don't know what to say.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Waving Goodbye

In the past three years, I've probably complained about a lot of things about New Orleans. There is weirdly bad traffic, and the scariest bugs I've ever seen, and screwy government, and the heat is oppressive. But it's also the most charming city that I've ever lived in, and it's felt like home since my first visit back in March of '05, when I decided to stay. And I'm going to miss it like crazy, because I'm leaving in 11 days to move to Pittsburgh in the hope that it will be easier to find a job to fit my overpriced education. My house is barely packed, but a couple days ago I finally packed a couple of boxes and it hit me that the last three years are over and I have to start again, in a new-ish city (I lived there for four years) without my friends, who have absolutely been my family since only a few days after school started. So I'll miss New Orleans, but I'll miss them more. Even though 90210 was a ridiculous show, I'm really wishing that my life was more like a sitcom. We could all go to high school together, and then it would seem like we'd actually have to say goodbye but really we'd stay in the same city, which would miraculously have a great college, and then we'd all get jobs in the same city and no one would have to say goodbye ever. And although our early years in 80's-colored spandex would be caught on national TV, it would be awesome.

I'm doing really badly at this, aren't I? I think I might be better at bitching about the bugs. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I miss you already, and you mean the world to me, and I'll see you soon.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Drunken Brits Unite!

Because I am procrastinating for studying for the bar, and I think that you should be too, let me just say that the Daily Show last night was f-ing fantastic. Even if you're not studying for the final of all law school finals, I trust that you'll enjoy:

Clip 1:

This just makes me wish that I were British. I believe that is has special relevance since I am moving, in less than a month, from a city where drinking in public is the norm, to a city in which I will need to go to a different store for my groceries, my beer, and my wine and liquor. I predict that there will be at least one occasion where I wander out of my house, drink in hand, before remembering that Pennsylvania is a wee bit more puritanical than New Orleans. Just a little.

Clip 2:

I love this guy. I'm so glad that they hired him. I hope to see him more regularly in the weeks to come.

Clip 3:

Who travels to Hiroshima, Japan just for the purpose of quitting smoking? David Sedaris, apparently. Wonder if that would help me? Since I don't have $23,000 to spend on a personal anti-smoking campaign, I'll just have to stick with my Nicorette for now.

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