Extreme Square Dancing

Summer 2005 - I went to family reunion for the Bishop side of the family a beautiful resort in New York (not the city) called Mohonk. Apparently one of my mom's uncle's has some money and he footed the bill for about 50 people - rooms, food, you name it. The place is absolutely beautiful and reminds me of one of those resorts they have in movies like Dirty Dancing (don't mock my choice of comparisons, please). There's a lake, hiking, horseback riding, etc. There was not a television nor a clock in any of the rooms, so it was definitely a remote few days, but well worth it.

Different nights resulted in different entertainment. One night there was a card tournament, one night a showing of "Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events," and one night square dancing. I hadn't had the "pleasure" of square dancing since 9th grade on a school trip to Eagle's Nest. Every trip from 5th grade through 9th grade included square dancing. Camp Greenville, the Barrier Island trip, Earthshine, Camp Chosatonga, and Brassville - all of them included a night of square dancing. I suppose I appreciated square dancing more this particular time, but it still wasn't high on my priority list of things to do. That being said, my dad insisted I square dance. I was the partner my dad swung and do-si-doed. I must admit it was fun, until we had to sashay . . .

The caller told us to form two lines: men on one side, women on the other. As I stood across from my dad, the first couple sashayed down the aisle. Down and up and around to the end. Next couple. Couple after couple sashay, finally my dad and I reach the front of the line. We sashay down aisle no problem. We begin our dance back up when my dad screams in agony. He starts yelling that someone kicked him in the back of the leg and hobbling on one foot. The dancing stops. People gather around. The doctor is called. Kate, not a doctor but close enough as far as my family is concerned, quietly assesses the situation. My dad has not, in fact, been kicked in the leg. He has torn his Achilles tendon. Needless to say, that ends the night. My dad is in extreme pain and nothing can be done. We are further in the middle of nowhere than I am in Mississippi. There's also two days left of our vacation. After being asked multiple times what has happened to his foot, my dad decides that the best response is extreme square dancing and explains that I threw him down the aisle. The day after my parents get back to Columbia, my dad has surgery.

Fast forward to March 2007 - I go to my cousin Jinny's wedding. My family is there. After my parents danced to a few songs (they can really cut a rug) my dad grabs me to dance. It's our first dance since the night of extreme square dancing. We dance, we twirl, and we sashay just for fun. My dad and I laugh at our little scene; my mom is not as amused. She shakes her finger at us to make us stop.

This is one of a lifetime of memories that I hold dear.

5 seconds before I threw him down the aisle.

Lent

Yesterday was Mardi Gras - woohoo! (It's the first time I haven't been to a Mardi Gras parade in seven years, but that's another blog.) For those heathens out there that read my blog on occasion, let me give you a little insight. Mardi Gras, a.k.a. Shrove Tuesday, is an important day in the Christian church. To make a long story short, it's the day that all Christians are supposed to get the fat out of their houses, hence Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday). The reason we get all the fat out of our homes and party it up like fools during Carnival and parades is because the day after Mardi Gras is Ash Wednesday. Without getting too churchy, just know that Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent (the 40 days and nights before Easter EXCLUDING Sundays). Yada, yada yada. Ok so, during Lent it is common practice to give something up that is a part of your regular life or to take something on that's not usually part of your regular life. While there is some dispute, I am of the group who say that you can give up your Lenten discipline on Sundays - it saves me.

In past years, I've given up meat. One year it was diet coke, which was extremely difficult as I am addicted to diet coke - thank God for Sundays. When I was younger, my parents attempted to make me and my sister give up television - that did not work, because they didn't want to give it up either. Anyways, now we're onto 2007. So for Lent this year, this kid is giving up alcohol. That's right, alcohol. No liquor, beer, malt beverages, or what-have-you, until Easter (except for Sundays and since I'm living with Blue laws again that'll be difficult to find).

So support this kid, i.e. me, on her endeavor. I'll need it.

Peanut Butter

Grrr . . . I had to throw out my peanut butter because mine was one of the jars recalled. Not that I eat lots of peanut butter, but now I really really want to. Kind of like when I couldn't eat spinach because of e. coli.

Man, I really want a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Mmm, peanut butter and banana too.

I'm switching to Jiff just to be safe.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Some of you may not remember this, but in the not so distant past there was no such thing as a cellular telephone. Amazing, I know, but true. Less than twenty years ago, cell phones as we know them today did not even exist. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, phones permanently installed in cars began cropping up. These new fangled gadgets, however, were few and far between and mostly used by the rich business class. As the technology advanced, car phones were replaced by cell phones and the price dropped dramatically. Today, it is hard to find someone without a cell phone. It is not "cool" to have a cell phone. One's cell phone status is now seen in the phone he or she owns and features employed, not simply the owning and using a cell phone. But I digress.

With the privilege of using a cell phone (note I did call it a privilege) comes the required use of cell phone etiquette. Most of it is common sense, but that does not mean that the majority of people actually follow it. Here are a few rules that you should learn to live by.

1. Cell phones are not clunky pieces of equipment anymore. Most are highly sophisticated miniature computers. That being said, you don't need to yell in them to have a conversation. You don't even need to talk loudly unless standing by a heard of elephants. I am sure your partner doesn't want me to know the intimate details of your sex life nor do you want me to know the test results from your latest doctor's visit, so please don't advertise them to me. I will judge you and tell all of your friends and mine.

2. While with a group of people, be they friends or foes, it is inappropriate to hold a conversation with another person via talking or texting. For example, when out to dinner with friends, do not text other friends. It shows that a) I waisted my time trying to be social with you, b) you obviously do not want to spend time with me, and c) you are rude. If you there is an emergency and you must answer your phone, please excuse yourself and return promptly or leave. If you do have a conversation with another while with me, I will call you out on it.

3. At public performances, cell phones are not to be used. Public performances include but are not limited to movies, concerts, theatrical performances, and even beauty pageants. Turn it off or to silent and leave it. If you stay away from someone for two or three hours, do not come and ruin my experience. It is inexcusable for one to answer a phone during a performance - do not do it or I will beat you. Texting even when your phone is silent is not allowed either. Most performances occur with the audience sitting in the dark. You will blind me as well as distract me if you open your phone to look at a text or send one. Even if you are an owl who can see in the dark and your cell phone doesn't light up some how, I will still hear the clicking of you punching buttons. If you sit near me, I will politely tell you to stop. If you do not stop, I will tell the usher or management. Do not ruin my experience, even if that experience is watching pageant girls with big hair strut across a stage.

4. Cell phone use is not allowed in the classroom. If I am running the class, I will take it away from you and give you a 0 for the day. If I am sitting next to you I will glare at you and loudly ask you to stop so that the instructor will hear. This also includes yoga and pilates classes where you are supposed to be calm. If your phone does ring, attend to it immediately.

5. Do not text while driving, and please limit your talking while driving. On a relatively recent episode of Mythbusters, they discovered that talking on a cell phone while driving is equivalent to driving while drunk. If you don't watch Mythbusters, you should.

6. Be wary of obnoxious ringtones. I am probably guilty of this with my ring, but I still am aware that I should answer it quickly and do not keep the ringer on in inappropriate situations except by accident (like when my sister called during orientation and the specific ring for her was "Girls Just Want to Have Fun").

I am sure there are millions of other tips, suggestions, and rules, but since I do not have the time nor the desire to discuss all things in my blog the aforementioned tips will suffice. Really, they're just common sense and manners like removing one's hat when in a building. Please be sure to follow them when around me or prepare for my wrath.

Underwhat?

Underwear - we all wear it. Well, most of us do. Even the lack of it is a choice. There's all different kinds - men's, women's, granny panties, tighty whities, thongs, and boxers. In 1992, a teenager even asked then presidential hopeful Bill Clinton if he preferred boxers or briefs. (He said he usually wears briefs.) A few years ago, Michael Jordan made boxer briefs a household item after his Hanes ad campaign. Britney Spears' lack of underwear made headlines a few months ago and her bare, er, bottom, spread across the internet.

While there are many, many choices of undergarment out there these days, many people are still guilty of walking around with a visible panty line. According to wikipedia, the first pop culture reference to the visible panty line (VPL) was in Woody Allen's film "Annie Hall." (And apparently the problem is very prominent in Asia.) People, that movie was made 30 years ago. It's time to get with the program and address the problem. You've got options.

While mostly a problem for women, it does affect some men too. To these men I say, go buy yourself a pair of boxers or boxer briefs.

For women, I suggest one of the following tactics:

First, opt to go sans underwear. Granted, if you're still guilty of walking around with a panty line, you're probably not going to opt to stop wearing underwear all together. I'm not saying it's the best solution, after all you might get caught like Britney, but it is the cheapest.

Second, those that find themselves guilty of sharing their panty line with the rest of us can also opt for boy shorts. There's more coverage, some guys think they're cute, and you're less likely to have a rigid line under paints or a skirt.

Finally, the thong. You know that article of clothing that Sisqo sang about back in the day. (I'm not advocating showing, by the way.) Thongs are the oldest form of underwear - just ask the primitive peoples of yore. They're the fastest selling form of women's underwear in the United States. Some people complain that they're uncomfortable - get over yourself. You must be trying on the most god awful underwear if you think that. Sure if it's the wrong size you're gonna be picking material out of your butt all day, but if you're old enough to know what a thong is you should be old enough to pick out the right size. There are even companies such as Hanky Panky that claim to have the most comfortable thongs ever made and have the celebrity clientèle to back them up.

So the next time you see a friend that looks as if she (or he) is going to cut off her butt circulation because of her underwear, let her know there is a solution. Throw out the bad underwear!

I turn to Chris Rose

Because I can't write it as eloquently or as well as he can, I turn to Chris Rose to give a sense of how I've been feeling lately. All of his columns can be found here on nola.com. When you have some free time, I really suggest reading some of the columns he wrote in the days and months immediately following Hurricane Katrina. You can still read them at nola.com, but they've even been compiled in a book called 1 Dead in Attic. Just make sure you have some tissues handy. By the way, I read this article on Friday and saw We are Marshall Saturday afternoon before the I watched the Saints game. That may or may not have something to do with why I cried all throughout the movie, and defiitely has some reason behind my excitement leading up to the game Saturday night. Anyways, I give you Chris Rose and really do urge you to go read his columns. And someone please buy me 1 Dead in Attic because I don't know if I can bring myself to actually buy it.

"Rage and Sympath in the city of Brotherly Love" (01/12/2007 about the Saints v. Eagles playoff game)

That said, the Katrina factor is definitely a part of the vibe of discussion in the buildup to the contest. In a story that stretched across the top of the front page of The Philadelphia Inquirer on Wednesday, sports columnist Phil Sheridan wrote:

"The happy, sappy tale of feisty Jeff Garcia leading the Eagles to the playoffs can't compete with the epic, back-from-catastrophe story of the New Orleans Saints. . . . The happy, sappy tale of the feisty Saints giving their devastated city something to believe in is irresistible for the national media. This is worth saying because the Eagles, through no fault of their own, find themselves in the role of villain in this fairy tale." . . .

I don't know who's got the better team. I don't even know who's got the better fans or better city; all in all (if you don't count the sports-talk callers) Philly was pretty nice, especially if you like cheese steaks, and I do.

But I do know that our storyline is better; there's never been a sports story quite like it.

And I pray to God there never is one again, anywhere.

Sleeping

Yesterday I wrote an entire blog about my parents and then myspace ate it! Grrrr . . . . Seeing as how there is no way I will be able to remember it or write it as well as yesterday, I'm throwing out that topic and moving on to this one: sleeping.

I'm not talking about just any kind of sleeping. For this blog, I mean a guy and a girl. Hanky panky does not apply to this topic - just sleeping. Ok, now that I've made that clear, here's my issue, my question, my conundrum - whatever you want to call it . . .

Do all guys take a class on how to sleep with a girl? Really, it's a question. Well, maybe not the taking a class part, but how is it that all guys sleep in the same position when there's a girl asleep next to them. If you think I'm crazy, I'll explain.

Somehow guys have the ability to lay on their backs with one arm stretched out basically to hold a girl's head (whether it be in the nook of his shoulder or further out, I don't really care). I learned from a friend that this position was designed so that girls can sleep and guys can still flip through the channels on the tv. I'm assuming it evolved from caveman needing to hold a club during the night to protect his loved ones.

Here's the thing - this position is not comfortable for us girls. A guy's arm does not compare to our favorite pillow. Not only that, but we worry that our heads are too heavy on your arm too - not in the "I'm feeling fat" way we worry, but in the "Did you know the human head weighs eight pounds" way.

Now I realize that everyone sleeps differently and that every couple sleeps differently together, but I really want to learn how all guys know how to sleep this way. While it may seem there's not much of a difference, and I know that my sleeping habits are odd compared to most, I want my arm under my head. Not only that, but I sleep with a stuffed dog every night held tight under my arm (don't judge me). Where does that leave me if there may be someone else there? Very fidgety.

Anyways - At least I have one reason as to why guys sleep that way: to still have the use of one hand for whatever he may want. Oh, and I also learned the reason guys wear hats: to check out cleavage without being noticed. Note to guys: we know we have cleavage and we know you're checking it out with or without a hat - just make eye contact every once in a while.

And then it was 2007

I haven't written a blog in a while, and I feel like it's time. Let me start by saying, I'm not entirely sure where this one is going so get ready for some rambling.

I finished my first semester of grad school in December. I wish I could say that I am older and wiser for taking two years off after I graduated from college and that I improved my study habits, but that would just be a lie. I procrastinate just as much now as I ever did. Fortunately I have not had five papers due in six days nor have I started any the night before they were due, but I did write seventy pages in one week. (I did write reading responses two hours before they were due, but those don't count.) Anyways - enough about 2006.

I went to Taylor Grocery and Graceland Too on Friday night. It was definitely an experience. Taylor Grocery is a litte hole in the wall place even further in the middle of nowhere than my current residence. Not only that, but it's in a dry county. Silly Mississippi. Don't you people know by now that having a dry county will not stop your residents from drinking. It won't even stop people from drinking in the county. Craziness. Anyways, I had catfish for the first time in my life. That might not be entirely true, but it's the first time I remember it. It was good and the company was even better. I still prefer sushi (over fried catfish, not my friends). After dinner, we headed to Holly Springs - still the middle of nowhere but closer to Memphis - to go to Graceland Too. I am one third of the way to becoming a life time member at Graceland Too. There are not words to describe Paul's (the owner) fanaticism. Let's just say he's a little crazy. He had a business proposition for Adam to make me or Becca marry his son and then get half of all his money. Yup folks, I may become a Mississippi bride afterall. The night ended at City Grocery back in the middle of nowhere followed by Chicken-on-a-Stick. I'd just like to point out that I have taken two people's Chicken-on-a-Stick virginity in the last week. That's right, both Becca and Adam have lived in the middle of nowhere for six months and neither had Chicken-on-a-Stick til last week.

Plans for 2007 - I've got two weddings planned thus far. Both brides have the same name just spelled differently. I do get to be a bridesmaid in one, and I'm just gonna tell you right now that I make one hot bridesmaid. I've seen the dress I get to wear, and I'll be irresistable. That being said, I've still started a wedding workout. I've treadmilled (yes, I did just make that word a verb) twice in the last three days. Go me. Pilates will start back up when I have money. 2007 will the year I go from hot to hottt. That's right, hottt. I've also realized that since moving to the middle of nowhere I have become very sedentary. Not only does this habit make me really bored, but it also is very unhealthy. I know it's cliche to say that I'm going to get healthy and lose weight so close to the new year, but this is more of a lifestyle change than a new year's resolution. You can give up a resolution, but you can't give up a lifestyle.

I'm also going to start reading the books I'm supposed to for class. That may seem like a given considering I'm in grad school, but procrastination often gets the best of me. The worst part is that it's procrastination doing nothing.

Hmm - enough rambling for now.

wait, what . . . a second time

For the past forever in the United States there have been whites and blacks. (I'm excluding native Americans here because they're always forgotten about in history, so really, why must they be included in my blog?) Almost as long as the past forever, there has been a mixing of the races in the country. Some relationships occurred on their own, because, well, a person is a person. Other relationships were the result of pressure and not because it was what both parties wanted. Anyways, my point with this little rant is that when people think of mixed race, it's black and white. They do this because our country has a history of doing so. (Back to those pesky Indians - nobody really cares that John Smith and Pocahontas got together.)

Fast forward to 2006. We've still got blacks and whites. We've also got some other races and ethnicities mixed in as well. Here's what I didn't know until recently: if you're Arab or of Arab descent, you're not white. Now this may come as a shock to some, so I'll pause for just a second to let people sit down . . . . . . ok, pause is done, Apparently I'm not white. Crazy, I know. Apparently, proximity to Caucasus (you know, where the word Caucasian comes from) does not matter. Even the people who live in the part of Iran that is included in the Caucasus and are therefore Caucasian are not white.

Now here's a little Sarah family history. My mom's family is about as WASPy as they come. I've got relatives who were here before the Revolutionary War. Anyways, this little white girl fell in love with my dad. My dad's side of the family is from Syria. Well, technically they immigrated to the US before Syria was even a country. (Syria was not a country until the British and French decided to divide some land in the Middle East after World War 1 making Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, and Palestine - learn your history people.) Anyways, my dad is 100% of Arab descent minus the Crusader blood that I'm sure got mixed in their at some point. So if you put my mom and dad together, you get me and my sister who would then be a mix of European mutt and Arab ethnicities. This is not news to me. I just never knew that if you're Arab, you're not white. We always joke that my mom is a white girl, but it was just a joke. Who knew it was true? Apparently, everyone except me. I feel like Dave Chappelle when he was a blind black KKK member. Anyways, for all of you white supremists out there who want to be my friend, beware. I'm a mixed race southerner and proud of it.

Peter and Isa - my heart

I interviewed a man today about the Katrina Relief Center that he ran in Oxford. He showed me some pictures of an old Walmart that was used as the base, and there were many pictures of kids. It reminded me of a story I'd forgotten of Peter and Isabella and made me cry. I hope the guy didn't notice. The story follows.

The Audubon Zoo was not open when I first returned to New Orleans. While not part of my daily life any more, there was a point when I worked at the zoo and then later when I took Peter and Isabella frequently. Now, because I couldn't, I wanted to take Peter and Isabella more than ever.

The zoo finally reopened around Thanksgiving, and I took Peter and Isa one Saturday at the beginning of December. Just past the ticket counter was a table with Americorps volunteers. On the tables were backpacks with toys, books, pens, etc. for all of the children at the zoo that day. School children from Wisconsin (or some state in that area) had collected things for the children of New Orleans. Peter and Isabella were each given a bag. When I handed Peter his bag, he said, "What's this for?"

"Some kids in Wisconsin collected toys for the children of New Orleans because of the hurricane," I replied.

"But I didn't get any damage. There were just some broken windows. Nothing happened to me," he said.

"Well, they wanted all the kids affected by Hurricane Katrina to have something," I tried to explain.

"We need to give this to the kids that lost their houses, the ones that got damage. I should give it to them."

It broke my heart to hear Peter, six years old at the time, tell me this. I finally told him that I would hold onto the bag, so he could have it later if he wanted.

In November 2005, Isabella and I were on the swings at the park. On the side of the street there were some tree limbs and other debris that had been cleared from someone's yard. "That's damage," she told me. Isabella had turned four the week before.
Isabella and Peter - my heart.

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today I went back. Less than a year later I moved away. I shouldn't, but I feel guilty, like I should still be there. I know that had it not happened I would not be there now. I would have moved away guilt free. But, alas, this is not the case.

I had quasi plans to be there this weekend too which might be part of the reason I really wish I could be back. Not that I expected the plan to come to fruition, but I still hoped. It would have been fun: the Grove with a person I have fun with, a drive to the city, me partying it up for Halloween and him indulging my fun, a football game, a drive back to the middle of nowhere. I realize now that it was my 2nd homecoming of sorts: going back one year later, seeing the progress, noticing the people.

I still remember the day I first saw a homeless person in the city again. I know that sounds terrible, but it was a sign of sorts.

Now I'm in the world of cocktail dresses with uggs. Not that I've seen any, but it wouldn't surprise me.

Attention People of Oxford

Attention People of Oxford:

If you see me standing on the side of the road, patiently waiting for you to drive by, please do not stop for me to cross the street. I understand that I have the right of way, and I do appreciate your southern manners, but stop being polite.

If I walk out in front of you, then by all means, pause, hit your breaks, and yell at me through your window. If at this point, you hit me, I'll sue you. Don't doubt that I won't do it too.

Just please don't stop for me when I'm standing there not ready to cross the street. There could be many reasons I don't want to cross yet. Fear of you actually not stopping and hitting me instead. Need to readjust clothing and don't want you to see. Want to flash someone, and it's not you. It could be anything.

So people of Oxford, or Oxonians if you prefer, don't wait for me if I'm standing on the side of the street. This girl from Cola and Nola walked the streets without people stopping to let her cross and obviously survived to tell about it. I'll cross when I'm ready. Keep driving. Mostly because, I won't stop for you.

And yes, for those not living in the middle of nowhere, people from Oxford are called Oxonians.

Social Liberal

You are a Social Liberal (73% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (15% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

A Tangled Web

So this past weekend was the second time in my life I visited New Orleans. The first time was when I went to Tulane Days - yes, I was one of those. I then lived in New Orleans for six years, a quarter of my life. This past weekend was my first time back after moving away.

I like to torture myself, to hold on too long, to play the "what if" game in my head.

Driving back in to the city calmed me. I was home. Yes, I said it, home. For people who know me well, you know that my last year in New Orleans was anything but easy. By the end of it, I was definitely ready to leave. And while it was the right decision to go, now I just wish I was back.

I am wondering this though, does the city still look like a terrible mess? I honestly can't say. I'm not talking about the flattened areas of town, but on just a normal drive through the city - does the city look normal to visitors or can you see lots of damage? (Sidenote - I hate that there are national guardsmen in hummers patrolling the city again. There's a differece between a heavily armed guard in say NY and one in NOLA. In New York they're protecting the city from terrorism. In New Orleans, they're protecting the city from itself.)

On a lighter note. . . I saw Tulane play football. They lost worse than I hoped but as bad as I expected. I saw friends that I haven't seen in months and friends that I feel like I haven't seen in months. I saw my kids whom I love. I ate gumbo, which I hadn't eaten nearly recently enough. I did not see the Saints, but I did see the Superdome with all its cool lights. (I watched the game, and it was awesome, and now I really want to see them in person.) I learned that I will die of the plague or get exposed to it and then tell someone I love them - or not.

Um, I think that's it.

A Day in the Grove

- Girls in dresses and three inch heels.

- Guys in red and blue checked pants and red polos.

- Pop up tents with chandeliers and fine china.

- The band playing "Dixie" and students cheering "the South will rise again!"

- Shouts of "Go Rebels!" in the stadium.

- Colonel Reb watching the game in the student section.

- God saying it's only ok to buy alcohol on Sunday if it's an Ole Miss football gameday.

It was lots of fun, definitely a new experience. Seriously though, I feel like I stepped into some parallel universe. Anyways - here's to having fun, meeting new people, and embracing traditions I never expected.

The Open Road

And then I went . . .

No one in front of me; no one behind me. Just the road, the open road. My mind empty for the first time in days. Windows down, wind blowing on my face, cd player blasting, and I went. Through twists, turns, curves, and straightaways. I went until I was almost lost but not quite. And then I turned around.

And then I went . . .

I found a new road and did the same thing. I went until I was almost lost but not quite. Still, my mind empty, the windows were down, the wind was blowing in my face, and the cd player was blasting. And I was almost cold but not quite. And my phone rang.

And then I went . . .

I met up with friends at a local bar. I listened to the band. I got a few drinks. I looked around wondering who all these new people were, knowing they're all the same. Even the people who think they're not the same as everyone else are the same. And I know I am too, but I need to find some character, someone to make me break away, someone who will show me who I really am. I started thinking. About everything. About nothing. About how no one understands, about how others understand, about guilt. Then it was time to go.

And I left. No one in front of me; no one behind me. Just me and the open road.

New Orleans Crime and the National Media

Ok, so I've been meaning to vent about this for a while now. I cannot stand how New Orleans is portrayed in the national media. Television, newspaper, what have you. Every time there is a murder in the city it is reported it is nationwide news.

This is the problem. New Orleans has always been a violent city. It has always been poor. There have always been murders. Do your research people - New Orleans was one of the national leaders in homicide before Hurricane Katrina. Instead of the local news showing a map with car wrecks, there is a map with murders.

While I don't condone these murders, it is something I came to accept while living in New Orleans. It's just the way it is. Homicide in New Orleans was never national newsworthy prior to Hurricane Katrina, so why is it now. Get over it people. New Orleans will remain corrupt. It will remain poor. It will remain homicide ridden. There was a slight hope that the city would change after the hurricane, but I must admit that I was slightly excited when I saw a homeless person the first time after I got back. Granted, it wasn't until December, and I got back to NOLA at Halloween. But it proved to me the city was coming back.

So - if you've never lived in New Orleans, stop freaking out about the crime in the city. If you've lived in New Orleans, you know what I'm talking about.

Missin' Nola like whoa

It's official; I'm living in Oxford. Notice I did not say Mississippi. Just like when I lived in New Orleans, I did not say I lived in Louisiana.

It's definitely weird moving to a brand new place. I still feel like I'm visiting. Very slowly I am unpacking. It's as if I don't unpack I can still leave. If I unpack, then I am here to stay. Don't get me wrong - I am excited to start school back. I am excited to meet new people. I am excited to start new things, but I am scared as well. Scared that I'm making the wrong decision. Scared that I came to the wrong place. Scared that I'm doing the wrong thing. Scared that I won't meet new people.

I know that's all impossible. I know that it was time to leave New Orleans. I know that I've only been here for three days and that obviously it will take longer to feel more comfortable. I know it all. It doesn't mean that I don't have irrational fears though.

I miss home. I miss normalcy. I miss my job where I did everything was underappreciated and underpaid. Whine, whine, whine. Ok, enough of that. I'm done whining - at least online. I do want a hug though.

Mississippi

What do Louisiana and Missippi have in common? Mississippi makes Louisiana look good. What do Arkansas and Mississippi have in common? Mississippi makes Arkansas look good. I'm moving to Mississippi!!!!!! What's up with that?!

I'm nervous. I'm second guessing things. That's about it - I'll write something about m cross country trek soon.

Wuuaa

There's something that lives outside my house now that goes wuuaaah wuuuaah wuuaah. I don't know what it is, but it's annoyingly loud and my house is annoyingly uninsulated. If only I knew what it was - then i could go outside and smack it.