kayne was right

go to this link, but first, make sure your speakers are CRANKED!

http://katrina.cyberbottle.com/dubya_kanye.html

Op-Ed

ARGH! I just decided to submit my rants about a certain school in a certain hurricane-ravaged city to the New York Times! If I don't get published, which is highly likely, I will post it here. And if I do get published, oh dear, I am going to make some people angry. Don't care. Really don't care.

Yup, it's another exciting Saturday night. Tomorrow, it will be one week since we got the kitties!

Growlin' Madness

Emmett is a little bit of trouble. My goodness. This afternoon, after I ate a piece of awesome Cheese Board pizza, I crumpled up the foil and tossed it at the kitties to see what would happen. Madness ensued. Emmett picked it up with his teeth, ran into the living room, growling the entire time. His growls were fierce! I suddenly worried that perhaps he would try to eat the foil, and how was I going to explain the vet bill to Lady? I grabbed him and tried to yank the foil out of his mouth. He growled more! And his grip on the foil was super-cat strength! I tried to pry his little mouth open, and he started to scratch me, with the growls and the foil in his mouth... shitshit!

Of course, I ultimately won, since I weigh - well, let's just say a LOT more than him. Little Lucas just watched this episode of craziness. He's the gentle one. That Emmett kitty is a mess!

It's great having kittens. I love them so much! And in case you were wondering, yes, I am going to be that gay lady who talks about her "children" and drinks tea. But I will never wear comfortable shoes. Ever.

We got kitties!!

Yay! Two little baby boys, brothers, whose mom is a street-kitty. The agency said they needed to be fostered at the very least, but Lady and I are going to adopt them. Agencies cannot adopt out kitties until they are fixed, and since Emmett still has his package (Lucas doesn't), we can't go through the paperwork until the procedure is complete.

They are allegedly 7 or 8 weeks old, but Emmett got up on his brother with his machinery working. Gross. Nothing happened, but I'd be happier when his appetite is tamed by the chopping of his balls. Does anything even work at this age? Talk about babies having babies.

They are crazy kids. Lucas is a bit on the s-h-y side (don't want him to hear any negative talk) but when they two of them get going, it's chaos! I think he just may need some extra time to feel safe. Emmett, on the other hand, is our s-o-c-i-a-l one (don't want him to hear and then feel like he can't be s-h-y when he wants to). Parenting is hard freakin' work.

I'll never donate to Tulane

This school is an absolute nightmare. I have been having rather unhealthy email exchanges with one of the staff in my department at Tulane. I emailed a bunch of questions and concerns that I have about school, including the very important question of where the hell is my money? It's Oct. 23rd and Tulane faculty and staff have been getting their full salaires.. but students still haven't seen a penny of their financial aid. Since the school closed, we all scattered across the country as guests at other universities. We are expected to pay Tulane tuition, regardless of where we are. Fortunately for me, I am attending a superior institution. Some of my friends aren't so lucky - some couldn't even enroll in school and are working instead. Either way, at $750 a credit, Tulane is expensive, which I knew when I applied. My guest university is much cheaper than that. Ok, so I took out loans to pay for my tuition at Tulane even though I am getting nothing from Tulane. The school is taking our money and not providing anything, not even the loan money we took out for living expenses!

Well, ok, that's not completely true. N the staff is providing me with a headache. She is one of those pinchy-faced nasty people to begin with, who always has an attitude. Maybe it's because she doesn't have a master's and yet somehow oversees a master's level department. When I inquired as to why Tulane can pay faculty and staff salaries but can't give me an answer as to where my loans are, she said - and this is copied and pasted from her response: "I am not put off by your questions... The insinuation that we (faculty and staff) are not earning our salaries, I found insulting and unrealistic..." Not put off but insulted? Girl, you should really look up the words you are using in the dictionary before you send me an email.

I find it very interesting that Tulane is paying salaries to people who aren't providing anything. I don't have an advisor anymore, and no one has helped me plan the rest of my education. I don't have my 2 jobs I used to work, including the one I had at Tulane. (Student workers have not remained on the payroll, in case you were wondering.) I took out loans for living expenses, but I have yet to see the money. Ultimately, I am paying interest on money that I haven't received. Pinchy-faced N is getting paid her salary to send me nasty emails when I ask questions. Damn, I wish I had her job.

I am tired of having no advocate. Students have no representation. Tulane is making a killing on this fabulous idea that their students can attend another school yet still pay Tulane. If you are thinking about going to school, stay far away from Tulane. We still live with no financial aid, but the president puts out a message on the website asking us to donate money to the school for rebuilding. How about this? How about you worry first about your constituents? If it was financially sound for me to withdraw, I would. But I'd lose out. Schools only take 12 credits when you transfer, and I've completed 35. I can't spend the next year as a re-do year. I am stuck with a Tulane degree. I'm living in hand-me-downs and the rich keep getting richer. Oh america. So just.

Why can't I get a kitty?

Lady and I have been talking about starting a family. Upon hearing this, my sister freaked out and thought I was going to adopt a baby. Well.... sort of. A feline baby, that is. Or 2.

I found 2 gorgeous kittens online, rescued from New Orleans in the post-Katrina rescue that is probably still going on. I called my landlady, got her permission, then called about the kitties. They were already gone. Damn! Lady had already found a kitty online that we thought was cute, and she's gone too. And that adorable little feral cat who runs from the bar to the post office keeps avoiding capture by your's truly. Is this all some sort of message that we shouldn't get a lil' furball?

Hells no. We're thinking about being a foster family for kitties and then adopting them. Turns out agencies can't adopt out kittens until they are fixed, but in the meantime, they need to place the kittens as they grow large enough for the surgery to be done. Saturday, we get to meet and *hopefully* take home kitties!!! Yay! I already bought kitty treats. I figure that can't curse my luck anymore than giving baby gifts to an expecting mom can curse her luck.

Isn't that a nice way to think about it? Oh! I should throw myself a Kitty Shower! Free presents!

meh.

Today, the threat of rain keeps creeping into the sky and then disappearing. I just returned from class. There was a guest speaker and she mentioned Katrina, the looters and the distorted media surrounding that whole mess. I could barely contain my tears. Why am i such a cry baby? My roommate thinks I should talk to someone.

Just thinking about talking to someone professional is too much effort.

My apartment is sandwiched in between a bar and the post office. I didn't get much sleep last night, due to a number of factors. The bar was hosting heavy metal night. Guns'N'Roses at 1am, 4am garbage pickup, and 7am strange announcements from the post office loud speaker. "Joel, Joel, Joel, I haven't heard back from you yet.... Joooooeeeeelll. Answer me." Who is this Joel and why is that lady announcing it over a loudspeaker? Is he my mail delivery person? Is he a slacker? Where the hell has my mail been lately, anyhow? JOEL! Get crackin'!

The most aggravating part of this urban noise is that I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO HEARS IT. My lady has yet to be disturbed by a single garbage truck slamming the giant metal containers around. I don't know why, but I think I'd feel better about this if she was awoken as well. Oh! That's so meanpants of me! I should be pleased that at least one of us can sleep. Why do I want her to suffer with me?

I tell you what, if we have kids, I'm screwed. No way she'll hear a baby whimper if she can't hear the drunk guy violently ralphing outside our bedroom window. Never thought I'd long for the country, but damn, a girl can't get any sleep here!

ouchie!

In the spirit of all gifts painful, my best friend S gave me a Brazilian for my belated birthday gift. This was no ordinary wax job, though.. it's all gone except for a manic-panic dyed pink STAR! Oh yeah. And there's some added bling to decorate my box. Bejeweled and pink! Woo-hoo! http://www.flyingbeauticians.com/ (if you are interested..)

The morning bike ride was a bit ouchie, though. Where the hell did I put my Advil?

Test Subjects

I was part of a study today, all in the name of research... and the $20 I got out of it. It was kind of distressing, actually. They made me watch horror movies and continuously rate how I was feeling (happy on the X axis, scared on the Y). I gotta admit, I am a baby when it comes to horror movies. I was 100% scared the whole time. Wonder if that will throw off the data.

One. Gray. Hair.

It's official. This whole hurricane nonsense has turned me gray. Ok, ok, just one of my hairs has gone gray. And it's not really gray, more like a coppery color, but it's in the front of my head and it stands up to greet me in the mirror.

Eh. Guess this is just part of the aging process. Next the boobs will start to sag, along with the arse, and my arms will start that bothersome jiggle, you know, the one that keeps your arm waving long after you've stopped.

Oh well. Can't race time, can't beat it.

budget truck, storage unit, and a cosmo, please!

I am back in CA after one helluva birthday. I tell you, celebrating the first anniversary of your 30th birthday by flying into Houston, driving 6 hours into a hurricane and flood stricken region, putting all of your moldy stuff into a truck, and driving it 6 hours out to Houston, strategically moving it into a storage facility that is a *little* too small, and then driving 130 miles back to Lake Charles to drop off the truck, then 130 miles back again to Houston, all to find a glass of wine waiting for you... that is one perfect birthday indeed. I promise all of you that I will happily throw a similar party for your birthdays!

As my lady and I drove from Houston, we saw the damage that Hurricane Rita left Beaumont, TX to face. It was really intense and it severely limited our eating options. Everything is still closed, trees are down and the land looks like it just survived, uh, a hurricane. But it was the tents that got to me. For as far as the eye can see (and my lady's eyes can see further now, thanks to the Red Cross giving her some glasses), tents dot the landscape. Never a big fan of camping, I still cannot fathom what it must be like to wake up everyday inside a tent. Weeks later and you have to roll up your sleeping bag every morning? Think about it for a moment. These "camps" don't have lakes nearby with powerboats to rent. No water-skiing at this type of camp. I find it very hard to believe that this is a viable solution for a month. For a few days, perhaps; a week, that's pushing it. But still, today? Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

Then we crossed the TX/LA state line. Now, to be perfectly fair, LA always kind of had a particular scent to it. Kind of swampy, kind of dirty, very earthy mixed with a healthy dollop of eau de industry. Now? Yikes. It is a slap in the face. We didn't know if we should even breathe it in, but since we left the oxygen tanks at home, we had no choice. Lake Ponchatrain, never an idyllic lake, has lost any charm it once had. That lake is red, a red-brown color that isn't remotely natural. It wasn't long before we came across the devastation. Right by the airport, on I-10 in Kenner, buildings are torn up. The first thing I saw was a storage facility with the side wall missing. People's belongings were falling out of the side of the building, couches and clothes and boxes of personal belongings now turned to trash. My landlord's Metarie office building, once a mirrored high rise, had most of the windows blown out (oh, how I hope HIS office is destroyed! Is that evil? Do I even care if you think I'm evil?) We made our way into New Orleans through River Road and there was far less damage there. Carrollton was wrecked and St. Charles Ave is clear enough to drive down only because all of the downed trees and branches are on the neutral ground. No street cars are running, no surprise there.

My house was fine enough, save the moldy smell that made our eyes sting and itch and the fridge with the maggotty bugs crawling out of it. Landlord scum told me "Don't open it until it's outside," to which I said "I can't move it outside, so I'll leave it alone then." Truth be told, I had already opened it for a peek. All I could see was black, even though the lightbulb is functioning just fine. The whole fridge is covered in blackness. Not sure if it is alive-like-mold black or alive-like-creepy-crawlies black. Rather nasty. My lady almost got sick a few times, but stepping outside to get a fresh air helped a little bit. Once we emptied my place, we head over to her's. Thankfully (?), her place had a brick go through a window, so there has been fresh air coming in and no moldy smell. We packed up the truck until we literally ran out of calories, so we went out in search of food.

You may be thinking that I should have taken heed to the many warnings about lack of food in the city. Well, you are right. I should have. We tried the few open places, and they either just ran out of food or they just closed. One dude told me "We open at noon tomorrow! Please come back!" I restrained the urge to bite off his head and eat it for dinner. Magazine Street seemed to be a good bet, and when we saw the lights on at Slim Goodies Diner, my tummy got all excited. All for nothing, because when we walked in, a woman said "Come on in! Help yourself! It's a party! Woo! Drinks, red beans and rice, beer - whatever you want, grab it!" Woooo-hoooo whatever. Damn red beans and rice is never vegetarian. My lady is so sweet, she poured us each a cranberry juice and led me out of the place. She could have eaten that food, but she didn't. That is some true love, folks.

After getting pretty disgusted with the reality that people are out getting drunk at a time like this, we finally happened upon the Italian Eatery, right next to Whole Foods (which is completely empty). Oh, darn, they *just* ran out of pizza, but the appetizers are still available! Dinner of a shared Abita beer, mozz sticks and fried ravioli reminded me of what I hate about New Orleans food. Never a fresh vegetable in sight.

We went back to her place and slept for a few hours. It was creepy - ever sleep in an empty city? There was a piece of metal hanging off of a shed that kept slamming around in the wind all night. I was too tired to be scared. We woke up and finished packing up the truck. I took a cold shower (still no gas at her place). We were almost done when Kate stopped by! What a lovely surprise! It felt strange to see her, only because it should be normal but it was extraodinary that she happened to drive by and see us outside. I don't know when I'll see her again. I don't know when I'll see any of my New Orleans friends again, or if I will.

And the rest of the story is recapped in the first paragraph. My birthday was spent on the road. I had many calls and many a song sung to me, and Michael was kind enough to leave just the right amount of wine in the bottle for me to enjoy some with him. My lady promises that next weekend, we'll celebrate. Getting my mom's gift before I left certainly made it better. She mailed me a smiling lamp, "because you always sound so sad!" And yes, Ma, it makes me smile - it worked! :)

Oh, and as far as the landlord issue goes, the end of the story is that he let us sublet. I have not enough energy to recap the conversations with him, or to channel the anger that still pulses in my blood. He was mean, he was nasty, and karma is heading his way. I will fight for our security deposit, but that fight will not happen for a little while, so I can gather up my strength in the meantime!

And if you go to New Orleans to gather your things, be sure to wash your clothes before wearing them. I made the mistake of wearing a shirt that seemed fine, and now I have a lovely rash on my belly. Yeah, the city is safe enough to live in. Sure. Thanks, Tulane, you sure have students' best interests in mind, don't you? It's not your bank account you are thinking of, is it? Nah, that's crazy talk! You care about STUDENTS, not money!

Right?

landlord scum

ggrrrrrrrr! I hate landlords. I especially hate landlords that are lawyers. OK, that's pretty harsh - I have a nice landlady now. Well, I have 2. One bad and one good. The good landlady is in CA, my new home post-hurricane. My bad landlord is in New Orleans, and he's a LA lawyer to boot, which should have been a big enough warning sign for me to know to stay away from him to begin with.

Today I am flying back to New Orleans to assess damage and collect my things. I have to miss school, pay tons of money, and fight with my landlord lawyer scum. AND it's my birthday this weekend.

Here's the situation: when Katrina hit, we all left the city with *maybe* 4 or 5 days of clothes. I haven't been back since, and for good reason - the city has been closed. It was closed for over 30 days. Now that the mayor has opened up my zip code, my landlord is looking for us to pay him rent. My lease is up Nov 30th. He wants rent for September, October and November.

In the 30+ days of being essentially homeless, I had to find another place to live. You would too, right? I mean, how long can one live in a hotel or on a friend's floor? Really. At what point does a lease become void - after 30 days of the place being uninhabitable? 60? 180? When is it, exactly? And what of September? NO ONE could live in the city. How he thinks we'd owe rent for that is beyond me. Completely beyond me.

Now, I know many a corrupt landlord in New Orleans has been evicting tenants and throwing their stuff out on the front lawn. The Governor has issued a halt on any evicitions until Oct 25th. So the rat bastard can't evict us - but nothing has been said about those who need to get out of their leases. What is fair? Who will the Governor protect, given my problem? Remember, this is Louisiana. Napoleanic law. Crazy backwards.

I lost my jobs. My grad school closed. I had to move. Yet no one, not Tulane (thanks for nothing President Cowen, but it's good to hear that you're enjoying Tulane football games and feeling inspired), not the gov't has said a word to protect renters. My landlord scum thinks I am supposed to give him my FEMA money. For real.

Scum: "What have you done with your FEMA money?"

Me: "What have you done with YOUR'S?"

Scum: "That money is for you to pay to me, to cover your rent."

Me: "FEMA left me a message on my voicemail saying 'This money is to be used to find a new place to live.' You want to hear that message?"

Scum: silence

The kick of it all is that this jerk could cut our lease (we would all agree to that) and rent the frickin' place at triple the cost, like the rest of the corrupt landlords in New Orleans. One of my roomies thinks he wants to live there, but he wants to get us to pay for it - how would we even know if he moves in? We are 2 in CA and one in the Republic of Georgia. (If you don't know where that is, you know it is damn far away.)

I have a not-so-secret hope that the place is ruined (no one has been inside yet), crawling with mold and smelling to high hell. That way it's a wash. No one can argue with that kind of condition. Plus, I've all pretty much forgotten about all of my shit by now anyhow. I'm used to having 2 pairs of shoes to pick from. The hand-me downs aren't that bad. Who cares if I don't have a week's worth of underwear? Really, we all have too many things to begin with. Ok, so I wear the same outfit every Monday. It's like having a uniform. It's not so bad.

waaaaahhhhhh!

the luckiest refugees

tonight, we were treated to a shopping trip at target and dinner by two strangers. well, they are strangers no more. when we were living in the dorms, we met a student (E) who told our story to her aunt/godmother and said aunt's partner. these two were so moved by our story that they asked E for our contact information. they called and we scheduled a date for tonight. we were told to "make a shopping wish list and be ready at 5pm to be picked up."

how do you make a wishlist when strangers are taking you shopping? it feels so greedy.

they took us to target and bought us all that we need for our kitchen. i mean ALL that we need. pots and pans, knives, glasses, spatula, salt'n'pepper shaker, a toaster - the list goes on and on. then, they took us out for a dinner that beat the hell out of the dining hall food. we were told "whatever you want, you order. anything. ok?" i had a delicious portobello mushroom entree, my lady had some chicken entree, the roomie got salmon. we had salads to start and dessert to finish. and though they all mocked my bread pudding choice for dessert, almost everyone tried it and liked it! heh. i showed them!

i just cannot get over the amazing evening we just had! my tummy is full (and it isn't full of gas-inducing dining hall food) and my kitchen is stocked. who are these people and why did they choose us? i mean, other people displaced from new orleans are still living in shelters and we three are eating at fine dining establishments. we are so lucky.

so very lucky indeed.