Tuesday, June 20, 2006

excerpt from an instant message - PART 2: cute as a button?

E - fabulous
T - most fabulous
E - fab
E - crap
E - i messed that flow up
T - too cute
T - it's all good in the hood
E - gravy train
E - you're top notch
T - cute as a button
E - well, you're that too, i guess
T - allthough I must say I have never really found buttons to be that cute at all more functional if anything
E - isn't that so true
T - why not cute at a zipper
E - theyre mostly just pieces of round plastic with 4 awkard holes...imagine someone calling you that "you're as cute as a round piece of plastic with 4 holes"....loses its zing
E - or perhaps clasp?
T - soooo true
E - yeah
E - these are things my mind thinks of a lot
E - and i can see you, too, often contemplate such complexities
T - now if a friend said thanks for helping me out of that jam "you were a real piece of velcro" I would know what he ment
E - well duh
E - that one's easy to figure out
T - tru dat tru dat
E - some are just crystal clear, some aren't end. of. story.
T - did you like that that was my getto slang
E - e for effort
T - I thjought it was a valid effort to apeal to the younger hipper crowd
E - which you did (and we thank you)
T - I must say it's saddens me to have to end this wonderfully colorful covorsasion but I must go to my dojo and stdy my matial arts
E - wax on
E - go my brother, go
T - I am learning how to wax off and paint the fence right now actually
T - good speed and as they say in 5th grade
T - later aligator
E - yes and god speed as they said on the titanic that fateful day
E - peace out playa

Confrontation/noitatnorfnoC

Why is it so hard for me to confront people about issues that are bothering me? I view myself as a fairly strong individual, but sometimes I just feel weak.

I've been trying to talk to my boss at work about something for over 3 weeks (and I've had plenty opportunities to do so) and it's frustrating the poop out of me how tough it is for me to just walk in there and say "Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" Geez, what's so hard about that?

I once broke up with a boyfriend via email (an eloquent email, mind you) because I was afraid to talk to him face to face. Ok, "afraid" is the wrong word but what's a word that means "so totally freaked out about hearing his reaction and saying the wrong thing that I'm making myself sick in the way of frequent trips to the little ladies room." Is there a word for that? Most friends who called me "EMOSS" at the time of this virtual break-up started calling me "EMAIL" instead. I have to admit it was pretty embarrassing but it was totally true.

Do you ever have those moments where you totally had the power to stop something or change something and you just sat back with your mouth agape and watched it happen? That's how I feel every time I wuss out. I'm watching myself leave the office without saying anything and, at the same time, I'm screaming inside my own head "TALK TO HER YOU IDIOT. GROW SOME BALLS (well, not literally of course).

I'm having the hardest time figuring out why I can't confront people. Am I afraid to hurt their feelings? Yes. Am I afraid they will be "mad at me?" Yes. Am I afraid they won't like me anymore? Yes. I think I'm having a revelation as I'm typing this - I've unconsciously used the word "afraid" 3 consecutive times...I guess there's my answer. Why can't I confront people? I'm afraid to. (please refer to the paragraph above where I said "afraid" was the wrong word. you learn something new everyday...praise Jesus)

That's annoying. Fear is a powerful force. It can literally take someone who will gladly and voluntarily dress up in a unitard (flesh-colored) and dance to Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract" and turn her into someone who can't even string a sentence together in front of her boss. (I'm talking about myself in both instances here) (ps - I also do a rousing rendition of "Straight Up" whilst wearing spandex bikers and a crop top).

(sigh) I'm exhausted of not being able to speak my mind.

I'm not sure how to combat the issue but I'm sure Paula might...

Any tips you may have would be greatly appreciated and your "comment" will serve as an I OWE YOU for a free 80s inspired dance performance.

Monday, June 19, 2006

The Forkin' tha Road


If two roads diverge in a yellow wood and I, I take the one less traveled by, does that really make all the difference?

Oh Robert Frost, why hast thou created this all-too-familiar image of the "fork in the road" in my mind? I feel like I'm trapped inside the words of this classic American poem, always wondering if I'm traveling down that road not taken. As I think about Frost's words, I realize that at different times in my life, this poem has come to mean different things. It's quite simple really...

I would normally analyze this poem with fervor, carefully noting each poetic device or convention with precision. But I'd like to take a look, here, at the ways in which this poem has been interpreted (on a more general level) and applied to issues that have been swimming around in my heart and my head.

There's a great quote that sums up the first interpretation quite well. I'm not sure who said it but I know that we painted it on the wall of one of the stairwells at my high school in 11th grade. It was the stairwell that smelled like pot. And the quote, in all its inspiration, read something like this: "Stand up for what's right even if you're standing alone." Pretty simple to grasp, but not exactly the easiest concept to put into action. I'm sure you've heard it before (or at least some variation on a theme). There's also a pretty good chance you know who said it, as I can only imagine it was probably quoted by some majorly famous individual like Bono or Jesus. Right now I can't recall, so forgive me. You can mock my intelligence later.

Frost's poem both calls us all to know what we believe and, with that knowledge, calls us to consciously do what is just, righteous, and fair. I ask myself today, just as I asked myself that day in the stairwell surrounded by a purple haze, if I have the courage to stand alone. Do I? As a believer, it seems like this concept of "doing what's right" is even more of a burden. Wow, did I just call doing what's right a burden? Ha, that's ironic. I guess I just mean that there's an added pressure that comes along with being a Christian that isn't necessarily there for people who have nothing to hold them accountable to some sort of moral standard. I'd like to think that when faced with a decision, no matter how big, I try and first assess the situation (aka "take note of the fork") and then consider the consequences of each choice (aka "analyze the two roads"). When I've taken an adequate pause, I take that step toward the cleaner of the two paths. Frost's poem has been a comfort to me in times when I've faced issues of integrity and honesty. I feel like the more I'm challenged by other people's lifestyle choices or beliefs, the more I reaffirm my own.

Which path do you normally take? Do you jump on the bandwagon and mosey on down the dusty road of the masses? Or, like me, do you set out on foot down a path that you know is a bit lonelier along the way but more rewarding in the end? Tough stuff. If I close my eyes right now and think about that point of decisiveness, I see a rather dilapidated tree with no leaves and far-reaching branches standing firmly at the apex of a point of intersection. To the right of the tree's base is one path and to the left is another. I stand there, turning my head back and forth, trying my very hardest to discern which of these paths is the safest choice. When I realize that the decision won't come to me on my own merit, I bow my head and ask Jesus to help me decide. All of a sudden the path to the left becomes illuminated, as if it's beckoning me to its end. Sure I'm willing to stand alone if it means standing up for "what's right," but, if that's true, that can only mean one thing: Jesus must either be on my back or have no legs cause I can promise you, He's there, too. I ain't just standin' alone!

Interpretation numero deux is a little different than answering the question of which path is right and which path is wrong. Here, the fork represents two nearly equal choices but just calls for a decision for the sake of only being able to go one way. To put it more simply, "Billy, you can either have a hotdog OR a hamburger, but not both. Now pick one." A hotdog isn't necessarily more "right" than a hamburger, just different. And there, my friends, is the other "Road Not Taken." If Billy chooses the hotdog, will it be as satisfying as if he would have chosen the hamburger? Is he so hungry that it really doesn't matter which one he chooses but just that he makes a choice? Will Billy choose the hotdog and always wonder what if he would have eaten that juicy burger? (In the above illustration, "hotdog" and "hamburger" are used as placeholders for major life decisions and "Billy" represents you and me). Sometimes I find that it's just as hard to pick between doing what's right and doing what's wrong as it is between doing what you think, at the time, will make you the happiest. Here, the road not taken isn't more deserted because less people are afraid to stand up for something. No, here, the road is less taken because we all have natural tendencies to form patterns in our decision making. It's just less traveled because we make it that way. For example, If I'm given the choice between going to see a movie and going outto da club, 99% of the time you can find me in a theater. That's just me. So how much of it becomes an acutal choice and how much of it is ingrained in who we are?

I've been forced to take a look at Frost's words yet again, as I'm coming upon some major life decisions. They're never easy, that's for sure. So, I'll stand there at the base of that ole leafless tree and ask, as if it were the first time, "Which road should I take?" I can only hope that if I choose to eat the hamburger, I'll be full and happy and satisfied. That's all I can really ask for.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

reach out and touch somebody's hand - just make sure it's clean

I work behind a desk all day - at the end of a long hall, with no officemates, separate from my department, across from the men's restroom. Sounds glamorous, I know. Hey, how many people can say they've seen Ben Stiller go pee? Well, I technically didn't see the actual peeing but I watched him go in AND I watched him come out. So, there. I also had to direct him to the correct door, as he was originally heading into the ladies room. Silly, Ben.

I digress...Point is, it's lonely down here. Real lonely. The ONE thing that I have to keep me company (besides the agents, writers, etc who call me on the phone...actually only looking for my boss but boy do I appreciate it when they pretend they want to talk to me) is my computer. I have my computer. I know that while I stare blankly at my screen there are, at that very moment, a multitude of other restroom watchers and clock punchers who are doing the exact same thing. We all just want so badly to connect with people but have to resort to choppy IM convos or time lapse email exchanges to make that happen. Heck, even as I write this blog I'm envisioning hundreds of little cubicle elves bringing it up on their screens and reading (and laughing). I haven't even posted it yet and already I feel as though my writing this blog with fulfill this desire I have to interact with people while being chained to a crappy black rolly chair with one bad wheel.

These 9-5 existences (which are actually more like 8-8...come on, you know who you are) are literally draining those of us who thrive on social interaction. A voice on the other end of the line or a cute, witty one liner in an email is not enough to get me through. Sorry, Charlie, but I need the real deal. Don't get me wrong, I have totally been swallowed by the tech culture. And sometimes it actually is fun. Yeah, I blog. I have a couple email accounts, buy things online, use Netflix, stalk friends on thefacebook...but none of it is a substitute for meeting someone for coffee or going over to someone's house, kicking off your shoes, and chatting over a bowl of Ben-N-Jerry's. I know things are only going to get worse, not better. Society is making it harder and harder for those of us who simply like time to talk to someone face-to-face to get our fix. But I think, for me at least, I have to make a conscious effort to keep it old school. What do I plan to do? Well, for starters, I am starting to correspond with three of my best girlfriends through good ole handwritten letters. You heard me...snail mail. I think it's such a personal gesture, plus when we're old ladies we'll have these bundles of letters all tied up with, I'm imagining pink ribbon, that we can reread and reminisce. It's so Charles Dickens (think BLEAK HOUSE here).

So, for all of you out there who just watched an old dude with a thinning hairline go to the bathroom for the third time in 2 hours, just wait for him to come out and offer up a "hello." Maybe even a handshake...ok, that might be risky. But, you have to start somewhere.

love-opoly

win
lose
risk
play
cheat
bet
strategize
manipulate
give up

the game of love...

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

excerpt from an instant message - PART I: david silver

E - are you there? OMG please respond when you see this
S - what
E - guess who is in the hall
S - who? oh God, who?
E - Brian Austin Greene
S - NO EFFING WAY!!!!
E - yes
S - He is sooooo hot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tell me what he looks like what is he wearing?
E - and i walked past him and tried to say "hey how are you doing?" and it came out as ALL WHISPERS...yes, he is hot
S - hahahaha
E - jeans and a red shirt
S - does he look old? is his hair really short?
E - Seriously as if a ghost had stolen my voice
E - yes
S - did he respond?
E - short hair
E - yes he did "Hey how are you"
S - no way
E - yes
S - effffff shut up omg i am so jealous
E - this is hilarious...i wish i had spoken with noise
S - dang...is he tall? average?
E - not too tall...average
S - gah I am star struck FOR you
E - i want to keep walking by but it would be too obvious...i don't want to be "that girl"
S - dude, i would
E - he's def a C to B lister i love those
S - totally they're the best kinds
E - they are the best
S - i know...he was in Freddie did it get canceled? ooohhhh i really want to watch 90210...he has incredible comedic timing it really surprised me
E - so you've told me...i never saw it
S - it's really funny plus he's fun to look at
E - he has tatoos
S - i know HOT

It's as if we were a couple of thirteen year old girls who just saw Raven Symone...

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

agent x

Most of us are dorks. Let's face it. Everyone has those little guilty pleasures that they want to keep secret for fear of someone finding out and forever deeming them "weird." Who wants the "weird" label? The truth is that most times when someone does uncover a dirty secret indulgence of ours it ends up not being that big of a deal. The other person, to our surprise (and relief), usually says something to the effect of "Oh, yeah...I know...I do that, too!"

Why am I telling you all of this? Because I want to tell you one of the many things that puts me on the "weird" list - a place that I'm honored to be. I make no attempt at hiding that fact that I am, in many ways, a real D-O-R-K. How do I know that? Well, I answered "yes" to more than 3 of the following 5 questions.

1. Would you rather shop for electronics equipment over clothes?
2. Have you ever gone to or wanted to go to a Sci Fi Convention?
3. Can you name the actress who plays Xena Warrior Princess?
4. Do you know the name of the spin-off series created from The X-Files?
5. Do you or did you ever like to study rather than "get wasted?"

There it is. The DLT - Dork Litmus Test. Needless to say I passed with flying colors.

I work in television so normally it's not a big deal seeing someone famous. It's always cool, but I'm not the kind of person who gets "star struck." I usually give it a little "wow...that's neat" moment in my head and move on. I also hate it when people want to take pictures with stars or get their autograph. Just leave them alone. I'd much rather just say hello and, if I am a fan of their work in some way, let them know it. BUT...there are a select few persons (the number of which I could probably count on one hand) that if I were to be around, could revert me into super dork mode. It's a very child-like feeling to be a fan of something so much that the thought of getting close to it makes you almost speechless. Well, my friends, It happened to me. Let me explain...

My favorite show of ALL time is, without a doubt, The X-Files. I never actually watched the show while it was on the air in the 90s but started watching the reruns when they started coming on late at night. At first they just scared the crap out of me, but then I started watching more diligently and the true brilliance of the show began to emerge. My good friend Larry was a fan of the show and had purchased a box set for his viewing pleasure (Season 4, I believe). He was determined to make me a true fan after I had told him that I was really enjoying the show. (PS - I still remember the very first episode I ever saw. I can't think of the name at the moment but it was the one that took place at a carnival with all these weird sideshow people...a puzzle man in particular. There was this one guy who had a deformed Siamese twin who would detach itself and go around killing people. Ah, what great stories). Anyway, so Larry invited me over to spend the night at his house and our goal was to watch as many episodes as we could. We tried to stay up the entire night but I think we crashed somewhere around 4:30 am. It was a valiant effort and, I can honestly say, made me the fan I am today.

If you haven't seen the show, I encourage you to get a season on DVD. When I started buying them, one season was 150 bucks. Now you can get 'em for 25 bucks a pop - a virtual STEAL. There are about 6-7 discs per season and each episode is roughly 44 min long. That's a lot of watching for 25 bucks. Not only is it a great buy economically, but the show itself will hook you simply by watching the pilot. Chris Carter is someone I would absolutely love to meet. Each episode is so carefully crafted that they are more like mini-movies than anything else. Some episodes are stand alones, just your good 'ole monster story or mystery. Others follow some sort of theme, whether it be the search for Mulder's sister, the alien conspiracy, Scully's abduction, or simply who to trust. It's television at its finest. (find the complete episode guide here)

I say all these things so that you can better understand how cool of a day Thursday June 8th was for me. I met one of the few celebrities that could cause me to become one of those people I hate. I didn't embarrass myself too bad but definitely found myself a little giddy. It was very bizarre. Who was this person, you might ask? Well, only Gillian Anderson - THE Special Agent Dana Scully from all 9 seasons of The X-Files. It was a day that I will tell the grandkids about.

Here's the recap of the day I met Gillian:

So, I was at work when my boss got an invite to see a special Emmy screening of the BBC mini-series BLEAK HOUSE followed by a Q & A with some cast and crew. By this point, I had already seen the Emmy screener we got in the mail of BLEAK HOUSE because Gillian Anderson plays one of the leads so - my interest was piqued. BLEAK HOUSE is absolutely phenomenal if you haven't seen it. Of course, Gillian is brilliant, but that's not why I liked it. It's beautifully acted, beautifully written, and visually stunning. It's a must. I knew that my boss wouldn't want to go to the event but knew that this may be my one and only chance to see her in person, as Gillian Anderson now lives in London. I called around and ended up getting to attend the event on my own merit AND was allowed to bring a guest with me. Who to bring? Hmmmm..... The choice was simple: my roommate and recently converted X-Files fanatic Sydney (you're welcome). When I told her over IM she started freaking out. It was great. We joked about the Q & A and how it would probably go something like this:

Sydney: "Scully...:"
Gillian: "It's Gillian, actually..."
Sydney: "Right, so Scully....what was it like being abducted by aliens and/or kissing David Duchovny?"

We laughed.

So June 8th rolls around and all day long I just kept hoping that everything would work out. My biggest fear would be that we would get there and my name wouldn't be on the list. Ugh, that would suck. I made sure to leave work at 5:30 pm on the nose in order to make it over to Sunset Blvd to The Directors Guild Theater which is where the event was held. I met Syd outside and she and I headed on in (we were getting really jazzed by this point). It was such an eclectic crowd, a crazy mix of young and old. There was a reception going on when we got there but we decided it would be best to just stand by the theatre door so that we would be the first ones in. We couldn't risk getting a crappy seat - not for this. They opened the doors at 10 til and we made a beeline for the front row. It was reserved so we settled for the second. We were sitting there realizing what losers we were and watching the rest of the crowd file in. Even though this was a BLEAK HOUSE event, we could TOTALLY spot who in the crowd were avid X-Filers. There was this one guy who sat behind us who had all the classic signs: sandals with socks, mismatched clothes, glasses, and a long grey ponytail. Gotta love 'em. The theatre filled up quickly and the lights went out. Apparently they were screening everything first and then bringing the actors to the stage to chat. When the lights were completely off, the panelists were ushered into the theatre and directed to sit on the front row. At that moment, I heard someone say "Gillian, you can sit here." And there she was, sitting right in front of me. I grabbed Sydney's hand and looked at her with one of those "I can't believe this is really happening" looks and she gave me the "This could not get any better" look back. Good times.

After the screening, there was the Q & A session with Gillian, writer Andrew Davis, and actor Charles Dance. The moderator was some gal who was the editor of VARIETY and, I'm just being honest here, she didn't do a good job. Anyway, you could tell that Gillian was a little annoyed by her but she still managed to answer all her questions with eloquence. You could tell she's smart just by the words she chose. Love that. I kept looking at Sydney and whispering "She's tired" as if I knew Gillian personally and she had told me how sleepy she was on the car ride over. I have no idea why I kept saying that. I don't know her at all! I just felt like she was tired, that's all. Sydney and I laugh about that now, too. She'll just randomly look over at me, touch my arm, and whisper "She's tired." I'm such a loser.

So, the juicy part. The Q & A is over and everyone is leaving the theatre. Gillian and crew come off the stage and sort of hang around to meet and greet. Sydney and I stood there wondering if we should go over and say hi and, if we did, what would we say? We didn't want to be uncool, but we did want to meet her. Plus, this was a BLEAK HOUSE event and I didn't want to make this about The X-Files when she was there promoting her new piece of work. We wanted to represent that cool sector of X-Files fans - the ones who have an active social life and fashion sense but who just REALLY love the stories and performances. As we were pondering all of this, I was fumbling with my camera just in case. In a moment of extreme nerd-dom, I said "We have to do this. It's now or never. This is one of the ONLY things I'll allow myself to get weird about." With that brilliant utterance we decided to go get a pic. As we made our way to her, she was being ushered away from us and we could tell that our opportunity was slowly slipping away. She put her coat on and started heading up the aisle and that's when I knew that was it - we had missed the boat. Just then, through some kind of alien miracle, she turned back around to leave out the back door instead. As we watched her come back down the aisle, I knew that if I didn't say something she would just slip by. Sydney was no help, as she had turned into some sort of wide-eyed mute by this point. In that moment, I did it - I reached out and grabbed Gillian's arm to get her attention. She looked at me and I kinda froze. I had her attention, now what? I fumbled for what seemed like forever and then I asked her if it would be "terribly inappropriate to ask if she could take a picture with us." She said "No, not at all." YAHTZEE!!! I passed off the camera to an older lady and Syd and I gathered around Gillian, of course remembering to put our arms around her back as the photo was being snapped. The whole time I kept thinking that this lady was going to take the pic, Gillian would walk away, then we'd go to look at it and the picture would be of a chair or something. After the flash went off, we thanked Gillian and I apologized for snagging her on her way out. She didn't mind :) We reviewed the pic on my camera as she walked away and, I'm happy to report, it did indeed turn out ok. Phew.

So, that's the story of how I met Scully. It was a victory for dorks everywhere.


Here's the pic. Notice her restrictive coat. She totally wanted to put her arms around us, too, but she couldn't considering the fabric and the cut.

what the bible has to say about worry

Matthew 6:25-34

The Cure for Anxiety

25"This is why I tell you: Don't worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Isn't life more than food and the body more than clothing? 26Look at the birds of the sky: they don't sow or reap or gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren't you worth more than they? 27Can any of you add a single cubit to his height by worrying? 28And why do you worry about clothes? Learn how the wildflowers of the field grow: they don't labor or spin thread. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these! 30If that's how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and thrown into the furnace tomorrow, won't He do much more for you—you of little faith? 31So don't worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear?' 32For the idolaters eagerly seek all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you. 34Therefore don't worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."


This was sent to me by a close friend today. Don't really need to "blog" about it - just thought that it could be helpful to those of you out there who might be worrying about something...

the eye of the storm - rita and katrina


The South. The Bayou. The Gulf Coast. God's Country. Sportsman's Paradise. A place like no other - LOUISIANA. I wouldn't want to be from anywhere else. I've known it all my life but it just now seems like our little boot-shaped heaven is being introduced to the rest of the world thanks to the visit of two very lovely ladies early last fall. What's weird is that it seems like Hurricane Katriana and Rita just happened and it's already hurricane season once again. Everyone back home is "nerveene" (my mom's word for "nervous").

I had just moved out to Los Angeles two weeks before the big one hit New Orleans. Now, I'm not from New Orleans but anyone from the great state of Louisiana holds that city close to their heart. New Orleans boasts some of the best music, food, and art in the entire world and it has an energy like noplace else on Earth. Heck, still to this day people assume that when I say I'm from "Louisiana" I automatically mean "New Orleans." News flash - there are other cities in the state. Regardless, when I found out that Katrina had devestated this rich and beautiful place my heart fell heavy. As I sat at my desk trying my best to schedule meetings, read scripts, and answer phones, all I could do was think about the French Quarter and surrounding areas being under water. Luckily, most of that area of town was spared massive water damage but the 9th Ward was completely wiped out, as were cities in Mississippi. I had a lot of family who lost their homes in Katrina, along with their summer waterfront home in Bay St. Louis. They, like most everyone there, were forced to evacuate and many of them came over to Lake Charles (my hometown) to stay with my grandparents. They were safe there for about 2 weeks and then...Rita hit.

The approach and eventual strike of Hurricane Rita on my hometown of Lake Charles, LA was documented on my computer as I worked in Los Angeles. Like I said, I had just moved out to LA to work in television and had no way of getting in touch with anyone back home. I, myself, still had a Louisiana cell phone number so no one could call me either. It was a mess. Below I have included what I experienced being here in LA when the storm hit:


September 23, 2005 (Friday)

Hurricane Rita is all over the news. As she swiftly approaches the coast, it seems more and more like Lake Charles is going to be the target. I’m sitting at my desk at work and I feel helpless. I can’t get in touch with my family and I can’t follow what’s going on because I don’t have a TV in my office. My friend Jordan is watching Fox News in her office and giving me updates over instant messenger. I keep running down to her office anytime she says that they mention Lake Charles. I’m glad that they city evacuated in time but it still worries me to think of the possibility of losing my house. My family is dispersed all over the south - South Carolina, Arkansas, Northern Louisiana, Baton Rouge. Cell phone towers are down and my sister doesn’t have a landline. I hate not being able to talk to my family. It’s the worst feeling. In the back of my mind I know that they are OK and they will be OK after the storm passes but you never can say “I love you” too many times. I think that Lynn senses that I am a little preoccupied. She keeps asking if I have talked to my parents. “No,” I say. At the end of the day she made a very kind gesture. She invited me to come home with her and spend time with her and her family. She knew that I needed to be around a family in a time like this, even if it wasn’t my own. So, I gladly took her up on her offer. I left my car at Fox in the parking garage and went over to her apartment. Her husband and kids greeted us at the door and my mind was instantly taken off of the hurricane for the first time all day. We talked, played a board game, ate pizza, and watched TV. It was perfect. I love hanging out with kids. It always puts me in a better mood. I went to bed at about midnight. The Lord only knows what will have happened overnight…

September 24, 2005 (Saturday)

Well, good news and bad news. The good news is that the storm came onto land weaker than expected. The bad new is that it pretty much came right over Lake Charles. I had to wake-up early because Echo, Lynn’s daughter, had to go to a soccer game at 8:00 am. So, like the little dysfunctional family that we were, we all piled into Ricardo’s Saturn and headed to the field. The game was fun even though they didn’t win. It’s always neat seeing people with their families. You get to know whole different side of them. A good side… I still hadn’t heard from my family yet. So frustrating. After the soccer game we grabbed some greasy but delicious Tommy’s Hamburgers and headed back to the apartment. Lynn and Ricardo both said that I could stay as long as I wanted. I sat and watched news footage of the aftermath of Hurricane Rita. Suddenly, there they were – images of my city on the national news. Live reports being beamed through a satellite and through the rain right to the TV in front of me in California. It was the strangest feeling to see places that I know and love being shown in shambles. I felt very helpless. I could tell, though, that the flooding was confined to most of the historic downtown/waterfront area, which was a good thing. My house wasn’t that close. The only thing that really worried me was my grandparents’ house on the lake. I could just picture there beautiful home submerged beneath that cloudy, muddy water. I prayed hard. I left Lynn’s house later in the afternoon, making sure to hug her and tell her how much it meant that she offered up her family for my benefit. I went home to a dark and empty apartment and fell asleep. I woke up to my cell phone ringing by my ear. Was it mom? Was it dad? No. Still no word from my family. It was my friend, Jessi, on the phone calling about our evening plans. She, Haely, and I had decided to go to dinner and then head over to the Bungalow Club on Melrose to wish my co-worker, Jordan, a happy 24th birthday. This would be good for me and once again take my mind off what was going on in Louisiana. I showered, got dressed, and hopped in the car: destination Burbank. On my way there, I was singing very loudly to Sytx’s “Come Sail Away” when my cell phone buzzed. A text message. I expected it to be from Jessi or Haely inquiring about my whereabouts because I was running a few minutes late. To my surprise, it was a text message from my Uncle Bill. “MOM AND DAD ARE OK. HOUSE IS OK. LOVE YOU.” I didn’t have his number programmed in my phone so I had no idea, at first, who had sent me this message. It was weird. Finally, a few minutes later I got a call from my dad. Relief. It was so great to hear his voice. He had been to Lake Charles to check on our house and overall everything was fine. We got pretty lucky. Our fence was gone, trees were uprooted, and some of the roof was messed up but that’s it. My dad tried to go over to Mimi’s house to check on it but he couldn’t make it by car. There were too many trees. He hopped on this 4-wheeler and trudged through the wreckage to get to her place on the lake. The house was fine. No broken windows, which in that house is a miracle. One whole side of the house is a window. Because the house was up on a hill it was spared by the floodwaters. The water level was so high that it reached the roof of the boat dock at the end of the warf. My dad attempted to go and check my other grandmother’s house next but wasn’t successful. The road was completely filled with fallen trees and power lines making the only entrance to her house obsolete. He headed back to Baton Rouge to my mom and sister to report the damage. Other family and friends had also gone into town to check on their homes and properties. Some people weren’t as lucky as we were. Not only were structures crushed by the hurricane, but so were many memories. A tree fell through Miller Flynt’s house AND the roof was torn completely off of his dad’s elegant restaurant, CafĂ© Margeaux. It doesn’t make sense that some people get struck so hard by the effects of the storm and others, like us, walk away nearly scott-free.

September 27, 2005 (Tuesday)

I just talked to my dad. He’s in Baton Rouge staying with my sister. I haven’t talked to him since Saturday night. Today’s Tuesday. It’s been hurricane central in Baton Rouge and surrounding Louisiana cities as hurricane evacuees from both Katrina and Rita take refuge with family and friends. My mom said that Lake Charles looks like a war zone. Huge trees have been uprooted exposing massive root systems to the air. Roads are impassable thanks to fallen debris and roughage. Police are guarding all of the entrances into Lake Charles so my parents had to take back roads to find their way into the city yesterday. On many streets there was no way through so they had to stop on the side of the road and walk to their destination. I asked my dad why he wasn’t documenting it; why he wasn’t taking pictures. He told me there’s just no time. “You just have to do what you need to do and get out,” he said. Some of my dad’s friends were helping Mr. Mickey clean up all of the trees that had fallen in his yard and on his house. There was one huge tree that fell right through the roof. Some of the guys were taking chainsaws to the branches on top of the house, trying to clear some sort of pathway. My dad was delivering ice to them in his truck and accidentally backed up over Mr. Mickey’s dog. My dad said it was the last thing he wanted to do – yell up to a man who was removing a huge tree from the middle of his second story and tell him that he had just run over his sixteen-year-old dog. But he had to do it. “It was a hell of a day in Lake Charles,” he said. And that I don’t doubt.

September 29, 2005 (Thursday)

I talked to my mom this morning. It was so great to hear from her. The first words out of her mouth, following her usual “Hey Emmy” were “It’s not good over here.” The phone started breaking up but the signal finally regained strength. My dad is going to Lake Charles today with Uncle Bill and Samuel. He bought a little air-conditioning unit for the window so that they can stay at the house and start working on the damage. My mom told me that the Baton Rouge papers said that it could be as long as a month before residents are allowed to go back to Lake Charles. That’s a long time… I spoke with my sister and she is getting frustrated with my parents staying at her apartment, which is totally understandable. My mom is thinking about coming here to California to visit while my dad works on the house. My sister wants to come here too but not with my mom. Who know…it seems as though someone will end up here at some point. I’d better get out the air mattress. I envy my sister in a way. I wish I could spend some quality time with my family right now. I really miss them. People continue to send me emails telling me that they are thinking and praying for my family. The outpouring of support in times of tragedy is really amazing to me. It gives me a good feeling about humanity.

myspace in mourning

Well, I finally did it. I killed emo.

She's that "23 yr old female from Valley Village, CA" that I was known as on my MySpace page whose "About Me" section merely read "scrumtrulescent." I was apparently a friend to over 200 people, according to my friend requests, so I hope at least a few of them are sad to see me go. For those of you who are perhaps a bit scared that I began my first blog with a murder, relax. All that fancy talk above simply means that I finally cancelled my account on MySpace and made the switch over to something a bit more cerebral. To be honest, I was tired of the constant pressure to "update my profile" and "upload/change my photos." I know some people who change their MySpace pages about 4 times a day and I just couldn't compete with that.

I was inspired by my friend and fellow intellectual, Anton Seim, to get in on this blog thing after reading a few of his ramblings (aka brilliantly penned entries). It was like looking through a secret window into his head, sort of like that little door in Being John Malkovich. (Great movie, BTW) Anywho, I thought that instead of trying to scribble journal entries into my Moleskine notebooks I could do this instead. I guess I'll treat it like a my own portal of sorts. Maybe now other people can get into my head the way that John Cusack did to 'ole JM.

So, bloggers, here I am. I'm a first-timer so be gentle. This should be fun.