Today we woke up and headed out to brunch at The Court of Two Sisters on Royal (that’s in the French Quarter for you non-natives).  Well hot damn, that was fantastic.  I had eggs benedict, duck l’orange, grits and grillades, jambalaya, cajun pasta salad, chickory coffee, mimosas, bread pudding, and bananas foster.  And I’m sure there was some other stuff but I don’t remember it all.  And I’m glad we parked so close because I was stuffed and slightly buzzed from the mimosas. 

So then we came home.  I wanted a nap, but I had to go out and get a brake tag.  So I did that and then ran by my old job to say hello.  It was so nice seeing everybody, especially VJ, who was always my favorite person there.  The only problem is that one of my old bosses loves to talk, so an hour later I realized that it was, you know, an hour later and that C was still sitting in the car.  When I got down to her, she was asleep in the passenger seat.  Oh well, at least she got a nap. 

Now I’m getting ready for B and her family to come over for dinner.  I can smell my Daddy’s roast beef from the kitchen and my god, it is nice being home. 

We left around noon.  Which is later than we intended, but whatever.  The drive was easy until we got past Lafayette and into Baton Rouge.  My father had called to say that East Baton Rouge parish was under a tornado warning and the most of Southeastern Louisiana was under a flash flood warning. 

Awesome.

So C was driving once we crossed into Louisiana.  The weather was so bad and the rain was so hard that we could barely see the lines on the interstate.  Which sucked something awful.  But we finally made it to my parents’ house.  And, upon arriving, we were fed corn and crawfish bisque, and jambalaya with chicken, sausage, and crawfish.  And some french bread.  And iced tea.  Now THAT is something to come home to.  Really, how many people are given that 10 minutes after walking in the door? 

C and I are leaving tomorrow to go home.  While there, we plan on:
1) drinking daquiris
2) eating crawfish
3) eating poboys
4) going to Court of Two Sisters
5) seeing friends and family
6) swimming

You’ll notice that food is at the top of the list.  That’s because we can’t interact with food on the phone like our friends and family.  I’m going to post TONS pf pictures of the food (especially from the crawfish boil) and those of you that know are going to be VERY JEALOUS of me and my crawfish.  So there.  Anyone who has a yen to see C or me while we’re in town, give us a call.

If you’re in the market for jam, that is. My friends Gina and Karl have started making the most AMAZING homemade jam. I went over tonight for a taste test and tried the following:

Two to Tango Strawberry Mango
Kissy Kissy Peach Strawberry
Witches Brew Berry Peach Champagne
Just Peachy
Hell Fire Hot Jelly Peach Jalepeno

They are completely awesome. Tonight I also helped make another flavor: Triple Berry with Chipotle and Lemon. And it tastes amazing. Currently, prices are $5 for an 8-ounce jar, and $9 for a 16-ounce jar. You can check them out on myspace until they get their website up and running: Jam It All

If you want a truly fantastic taste experience, get in touch with them and buy some jam. Aside from supporting local business, you get to have jam! In neat flavors! Made with love by Gina and Karl!

If anyone from the Slidell area suddenly WANTS some of this jam, let me know by tomorrow evening and I’ll bring some for you.  Pay me when I get there.  We’re leaving for Louisiana on Wednesday morning.

I’ve just gotten home.  It’s 7:00 a.m.   I’m gonna break this all down by time stamps:

1:20 am  C’s phone rings.  It’s the corporate office, saying that the alarms are going off at her store.  She has to go meet the cops.

1:22 am  Like an idiot, I say, “Sure baby!  I’ll take a ride with you!”

1:45 am  We arrive at the store.  There are 3 cops cars there.  A door has been busted out, someone has entered the store and stolen, as far as C can tell, some cigarettes.

2:30 am  C comes out to where I’m sitting in the car and tells me it’s going to be a while.  She tells me to drive over to the Walmart and pick up some water or something.  I go into the deserted Walmart tired and braless.  I feel very vulnerable and quickly buy two bottles of water and some gum.

3:15 am  C talks to the main office and they say that a guy will be coming out to fix the glass.  She has to stay and wait for him.  The last cop takes off, which leaves us on an abandoned corner in front of a store with a broken door that can’t close.  I feel really, really safe at this point.  Also, I am still braless and feeling weird about that.

3:30 - 4:30 am  Every truck that turns left at the light by the store is potentially the glass man.  None of them are.  We therefore scream obscenities at every pickup truck that passes.  I am furiously chewing the spearmint gum I bought earlier.

4:40 am  A truck pulls into the parking lot and C screams “Hallelujah!”  We are both very excited for the glass to be fixed so we can leave.  It turns out that it’s just a guy delivering newspapers.  My soul is crushed, crushed like a beer can on a frat boy’s forehead.  I slump further over the steering wheel and whimper.

5:15 am  The glass man appears and I honk the horn for C to come outside.  He begins pushing the rest of the glass out, sweeping it up, and then cutting a board for the door.  A board . . . for the door.  This takes forever.

6:07 am  C and I are finally free to leave.  As we drive away I turn and say to her “Yall should just keep boards and tools in the back.  The two of us could have done that shit in 20 minutes flat and had it done WAY earlier.”  C agrees—”We did it every time a storm came, we’re naturally gifted at boarding a door/window.”  We decide that all people everywhere are stupid and we are more awesome than a fluffernutter sandwich with our untapped abilities.

6:40 am  C and I get home.  She heads upstairs for a shower because, get this, SHE IS GOING BACK TO WORK NOW.  I tell her she’s stupid and far too good for those people and I hate them all forever.  I decide to head to McDonald’s because at least I can make the most of this whole thing and eat a damn hashbrown.

7:03 am  I start writing this sad little blog and teasing the cat with my hashbrown.  The cat really really REALLY wants the hashbrown.  Really.

7:20 am  C leaves and I threaten her with death if she works her full 8 hour shift.  She’s not even SCHEDULED until 10 but she has some sense of duty or something.  Whatever.  Blah.  Duty-smooty.  My girl needs sleep.  And I guess so do I.  I have a jam tasting to attend this evening (you heard me right) and I must rest.

Goodnight everybody!!!

I remember seeing Peter Callesen’s work a little while ago, and I ran across it again today.  It intrigues me—it is so intricate and delicate.  How anyone has the patience to work with paper that way is beyond me.  Go check it out, I guarantee you’ll be enthralled for about an hour.

Yesterday I entered the 7th circle of my own personal hell. It is called . . . The Domain.

Technically, The Domain is “a five-star shopping center with a superior location and exceptional amenities …[that] caters to Austin’s affluent population.”

I went there with M to pick up her laptop from the Apple store. It was so creepy.

Everyone there was completely moneyed up and yet still trying to convey that they were part of a counterculture. The streets are faux stone, the walls are stucco, and everything is painted in “edgy” colors. The worst part? Bad, watered-down jazz is piped through the speakers located on every corner. It permeates the atmosphere and makes you want to get mildly groovy. The feeling of smugness was palpable and stifling. God help me. The worst part is that there is no indication of what city you’re in (as M quite rightly pointed out). It could be any town–which is hard to pull off in a city like Austin. It’s especially nauseating for me, because I’m used to distinctive cities. You can’t be in New Orleans and pretend you’re somewhere else. Same thing with Austin.

Once we were done at the Apple Store (a separate nightmare of its own) we started walking back to the truck. I had been slightly tempted, at first passing, to stop for coffee. But I suddenly wanted nothing more than to please leave NOW NOW NOW get me out of here oh my god I’m going to smack someone. And so we left, thank god, and got coffee elsewhere and witnessed a lightning bolt of biblical proportions that was so close and loud that it raised the hair on my arms and I could smell the ozone. It was fantastic.

This isn’t just an out, I’m actually about to call my mother once I’m sure she’s home.  But I thought I’d give a little tribute to the lady of the day.

My mother is outright crazy.  Not in a way that the DSM can categorize, but in a way that makes her more fun that almost anyone I know.  She resolutely views the world in her own way and damn anyone else who tells her differently.

As her friend B- once astutely pointed out, my mother will follow the rules until she decides they’re stupid or pointless.  And after that, she’ll just make up new ones as she goes.  And honestly?  Her rules will be better than the old ones, guaranteed.

My mother doesn’t give out affection freely–you have to earn her love and loyalty.  But once you get it, she will love you hard and fierce and unendingly.  This is a trait I seem to have picked up along the way.

My mother took care of all my friends when I was growing up, and gave them the sex talks they weren’t getting at home.  More of my friends should have been pregnant in high school, and they weren’t.

My mother was awesome enough to blare The Offspring from her minivan and drive my friends and me to the French Quarter on a whim.  She stuck with us, and we never got in trouble, but we had a good time.  There was nothing better than my mother parking in the JAX parking lot, lifting the tailgate of the van, and blaring the Zephyr and punk rock.  She would do the same thing and just drive us around town, blaring music, when we were bored.  Everyone thought it was funny how much she turned up her bass in that van, because “Mom vans shouldn’t have bump.”  But hers did and I thought it was great.

My mother taught me to love words and language and music.  I remember her playing the piano almost every day from the green Readers Digest piano book and I still know all these old songs because of her.  I even remember how the book started and her favorite order of songs . . . Ain’t She Sweet; Bye Bye Blackbird; Tea for Two; The Man I Love . . . When I started learning piano, the first thing I did was try to tackle that book.  And the syncopation in “Jalousie” still gives me trouble (half-note triplets with one hand, quarter-note beats with the other).

My mother adores my girlfriend and took her in when she didn’t have anywhere to go.  She helped her get out of a horrible situation and for that C is eternally grateful.

I’ve been getting a little weird at night–laughing more and giggling for no reason.  Apparently I am genetically destined for my own version of C-time . . . stop!  Sharon Time!! But I’m okay with that.  If I have to develop some bizarre personality traits, these are pretty good ones to have.  I will always be considered entertaining.

I love you, Mom.  You are amazing and awesome and weird and quirky and crafty (in both senses of the word) and completely yourself.  You have taught me how to be gracious and STILL not take any shit from anybody.  I’m able to thrive in any situation because you taught me how.  Thanks.

I just submitted my last paper of the semester to my professor and I’m VERY happy and tired.  M gave me a good reward, she said that if I was done by tomorrow we could go out drinking.  Well, that worked!  I flounced my butt into the office upstairs and worked on this damn thing and now it’s done.  Apparently all I  need is to hear that a mango margarita is in my future and I can accomplish anything.

Now I have no excuses left for not cleaning the kitchen.  Damn.  That’s a shame because it’s pretty gross.  Between C leaving her cereal to clump into gross bits and the left side of the sink still being filled with water from the last time SHE did dishes (I do not leave water to stagnate and turn unholy) . . . well, I don’t wanna mess with that kitchen.  Oh well.  C’s birthday is on Tuesday and even though I’m already getting her a present (Sirius radio for her car) I guess it can’t hurt to clean the kitchen along with it.

It’s your call . . . my father has started a new blog (yay!) which means you might get even better recipes than I’m currently providing.  I’m telling you, he has a tortilla soup that will make you believe in Heaven.  If Heaven is covered in cream and spices with peppers and stuff.  I’m inclined to believe that parts of it may be.  The other bits are made of chocolate and hot buttered popcorn, a fact I convinced C of way back when during the land of “Hey, maybe we should date or something.”  And that is why, to this day, she thinks I’m brilliant.

I’m getting off topic.  I’ve inspired my father to start a new blog.  Or maybe he inspired me to start my blog (weird childhood and cooking, yall–it’ll get you every time) and that in turn inspired him . . . Oh I don’t know.  Or maybe it’s a genetic condition to spout off about your own life and stuff, and rant about the weird stuff in your own head.  In which case I got that from BOTH parents, most definitely.  Regardless!  Check out my dad.