Welcome to History

Thank you America! FOX news has even called it. Welcome to the future.

Dear Mr. President-Elect:
Thank you, you have made history. Please, please, realize how big a deal this and please don't let us down.

Thank you,

America

Worst.Night.EVER

I have just had the worst.night.ever. The fact that it was a holiday just adds to the character of an otherwise lousy week. It amazes me that a night meant as a fun night to goof off became so sucky.

The night went something like this:

We started the day with Kevin getting the house ready for trick-or-treaters, he loves halloween and was excited that we would finally have some. During his preparations he threw out his back. GREAT! so after a foray downtown to score him some muscle relaxers (from a doc, don't worry) we dosed him up and decided to go out to party anyway. So we get dressed, Kevin as a firefighter (including fake soot around his nose) and me as little red riding hood. After being stood up by our first plans we called and made secondary plans with another set of friends. Okay, cool no big deal. So the plan was to go down to Frenchman street. Which, for those of you out of towners, is near the french quarter but not in the quarter "proper" so the logic was that it would be less crowded (boy did that turn out to false logic). So we pack up and head out to meet our friends. We pick them up from their house, and drive down to frenchman. On the way we encounter ALL the traffic, apparently the cops thought it would be a good idea to close the quarter to vehicles, so after about a half an hour of creative driving on Kevin's part we get to frenchman. Where we find A PARKING SPACE!!! holy cow, ON Frenchman. Only problem is that there are 5 women standing in the parking space. After asking them nicely to move they told us to shove it up our asses that their husbands' are bringing the car around and are in fact 3 cars behind us and that they "aren't going anywhere and are prepared to stand there all night" We proceed to have a 15 minute stand-off (insert Kevin's spanish machismo) at which point the police get involved and make the women move because they are stopping traffic.
So at this point we are where we want to be with these friends. Turns out that they have pre-gamed it pretty hard. So they are pretty drunk already and I'm sure everyone reading this knows what it feels like to be the sober person in a group of drunk people, not too much fun. So after walking around for a while trying to find a bar that wasn't charging a $20 cover to go use their bathroom, we decided that we are going to go to the quarter proper because at least you can walk up to the bars and order from the street.
As we make the 10-15 block trek down to Burbon we get asked at least once a block by the drunks 1. if there is a place to stop and pee (there isn't legally) and 2. Where we were going.
Once we made it to Burbon, Kevin and I decided to peel off of the group and go get handgrenades which were approximately 2 blocks in the opposite direction from the desired destination of the other people in our party. We told them, "we'll meet you back at XYZ bar we're going to go get drinks".
We go and order our drinks and have approximately 5 whole minutes of calm fun. Then the shit really hit the fan.
When we got back to bar XYZ no one is anywhere to be found. Mind you while we were on frenchman i gave one of our friends my phone to hold in his pocket because i had exactly zero pockets in my outfit. So when we get back to the bar and our friend is no where to be found we call him to ask him where everyone is and he says "I'm done I'm going home." well while Kevin is trying to negotiate the release of my phone and the other hostages I spot this friend's girlfriend walking briskly from the bar CRYING. When i stop her to ask what is going on she says that her boyfriend got separated from the group, and as his side of the story goes "well i walked into the bar, looked around and no one was there so i went home." LEAVING HIS GIRLFRIEND ON BURBON STREET WITHOUT A RIDE HOME! After much screaming and nashing of teeth on my part we establish that he got frustrated and caught a ride home with some friendly strangers/ friends that he knew/ something of that nature. So now we are trying to calm his girlfriend down.
After finally chasing down (literally running down burbon in my heels) and convincing her that she needed to come with us, which took alot more time that it would normally have because talking to a drunk distraught woman is difficult. We decided to bring her home.
Another 15 block walk back to the car, and on the way my graceful ass takes a nosedive. I ripped both of the pairs of stockings i was wearing, not to mention the shit out of my knees, on our LOVELY CLEAN french quarter streets.
Once we got to the car another adventure began. We had to extracate our car from what had become a seething mass of people. Frechman street had become more crowded than Burbon, by far. After 20 minutes of inching down the streets with Kevin's fireman lights and airhorn blaring (with drunk idiots literally leaning on our car while it was rolling) we finally were released from the hell hole. But the night wasn't over just yet.
We decided to go to IHOP to have a cup of coffee and try to comfort our friend. So we go and spend probably a good 45 minutes toward the end of which our friend is crying because she is upset about the events of the night. At one point the people at the next table look over and ask to make sure she's okay and even suggest that she shouldn't put so much energy into a boy. We continue to talk and try to comfort her for another 5 minutes or so. At which point another member (a grown ass man, i might add) of the table next to us yells out "SHE DIDN'T GET ANY CANDY, THAT'S WHY SHE'S CRYING" and starts cackiling because he thinks he's clever. At which point i turn around and remark on how grown up and adult that comment was (hey it was 3 am what do you want?) At which point his girlfriend a rather large woman starts to tell me how i should shut my mouth and how she could beat me up etc etc etc. As Kevin begins to get really angry he looks at me and says "Man they are being such..." and I looked at this woman and said "You're right hunnie they are being assholes" and we began to pick up our belongings and walk toward the door. As we are walking past she remarks on how she should kick my ass for calling them assholes and looks at me and says "...and you are pretty big" at which point i looked at her and said "you mean kinda like you?" Which let me tell you went over really well!
Anyway, as much as i wish i could have actually come back with something creative and better than "i know you are but what am i" it was 3:30 in the morning and i'd had a fucked up night.
So it is now 5:45 in the morning and I have to be to work at 9:45am. Man, my life ROCKS. So here's to hoping tomorrow is a better day!

Dear Technical Support

Dear Technical Support Lackey-
When i called you to tell you that I had a virus on my office computer you were perfectly kind and understanding, thank you for that. However, when you told me that i needed to reimage the hard drive and that you were sending me the disks to do so, it was UNFAIR to send me three disks when only 2 of them were going to function. I have now BRICKED my office computer and my boss is SO happy, so thanks.

Kindly,
LongStory

Etyology

I have been thinking recently, about the phrase "bless you." The phrase originates from the idea that when a person sneezes their soul escapes through their nose (some say it is because your heart skips a beat.) So my question is, since we now know that your heart doesn't skip a beat and i believe that most people don't think your soul leaks out of your nose when you sneeze. With that said, why do we all still say "bless you"? Is it just some human compulsion to be 'nice' to other people, even strangers? Or is it just something we have been taught that has developed into a human-kind neurosis?

Wow

So here i go...Today i got my letter accepting me into Tulane University's Medical School for the class of 2013. Here's to the parabolic flight that is med school. Maybe it will make my blogging become more interesting. Maybe it will just make me crazy who knows. While it feels really good to know what's going to happen in the next 5 years or so but, boy, it kinda sucks that i have to wait until June to actually start. Thanks you guys, for believing in me!

Requiem

Ruthie the Duck Girl dies of cancer at 74
by John Pope, The Times-Picayune Friday September 12, 2008, 10:36 PM
Ruthie the Duck Girl, a French Quarter eccentric who zoomed from bar to bar on roller skates, often wearing a ratty fur coat and long skirt and trailed by a duck or two, died Sept. 6 at Our Lady of the Lake Hospital in Baton Rouge. She was 74.

Ruthie, whose real name was Ruth Grace Moulon, had been suffering from cancer of the mouth and lungs when the residents of her Uptown New Orleans nursing home were evacuated to Baton Rouge as Hurricane Gustav approached, said Carol Cunningham, a close friend who watched over her for nearly 40 years.

"I've always looked at Ruthie like a little bird with a broken wing, " Cunningham said. "She was always so dear to me."

Miss Moulon, a lifelong New Orleanian, became a French Quarter fixture, achieving legendary status in a city that treasures people who live outside the mainstream. Along the way, she acquired a coterie of people like Cunningham who found places for her to live, paid her bills and made sure she got home at night.

A tiny woman with a constant grin, she frequently sported a bridal gown and veil on her forays because, people said, she considered herself engaged to Gary Moody, whom she met in New Orleans in 1963 when he was a sailor.

Moody showed up at a 2001 birthday party for Miss Moulon at Mid-City Lanes Rock 'N Bowl, but the two never got to the altar. According to a Times-Picayune interview that year, Miss Moulon had a stock reply whenever anyone asked if there might be a wedding in her future: "I got engaged; that's enough!"

In 1999, Rick Delaup made her the subject of a documentary, "Ruthie the Duck Girl."

Miss Moulon's daily routine consisted of roaming from one watering hole to another, mooching drinks and cigarettes. She could be sweet one minute and unleash a torrent of profanity the next.

Although people deemed Miss Moulon's behavior unconventional even by French Quarter standards, no one ever diagnosed her mental condition because she refused to see a doctor, David Cuthbert wrote in The Times-Picayune in 2001.

"She's not out of touch with reality; she's just not interested, " photographer David Richmond told The Times-Picayune.

Miss Moulon's mother, who put her daughter's hair in sausage curls to make her look like Shirley Temple, came up with the idea that little Ruthie should be a duck girl, Cunningham said.

"She dressed her in evening dresses and bought her skates, and she skated through the Quarter with these little ducks following, " Cunningham said.

Miss Moulon's mother, who grew up in rural Louisiana, initially let the ducks live in the house, although the two women sometimes fought over them, according to eccentricneworleans.com.

On that Web site, Myrl D'Arcy, an artist, described a visit to the house: "The duck's living in the bathtub, and the mother wanted to take a bath. Ruthie didn't want the mother to take the duck out of the bathtub because it would upset the duck."

In the documentary, artist George Dureau recalled a conversation with Miss Moulon after the death of another French Quarter character, Eloise Lopez Arollo Samakintos, who always carried a cross through the Vieux Carre.

"There ain't a whole lot of us left, George, " she said.

A Mass will be said Monday at noon at Jacob Schoen & Son Funeral Home, 3827 Canal St. Visitation will start at 10 a.m.

Burial will be in Greenwood Cemetery.

Sabrage + Boys + Dull Knife - Skills = Mess