Horror!

Today, so far:

7:00 AM Mama is moving around, preparing for Sunday school. I wake up and try, vainly, to go back to sleep

7:15-7:30 AM Mama and I talk and sip coffee. The big boys are all away and Deuce is sleep. I love quiet moments, even when it is MORNING.

7:31-7:45 AM I realize no sleep is forthcoming so I might as well get the day started. I take down meat to thaw for dinner, do some surface-level straightening up, and sort laundry.

7:46 AM As mentioned, the boys are not here. I have decided that my first load of laundry will be towels. I realize that I must bravely approach the area of their greatest science experiment: their bathroom. (Suspenseful music plays in the background. Largely in my head, but you get the drift).

7:47-7:54 AM I don my makeshift haz-mat suit which consists of a scarf to protect my hair from odors, a large towel to cover my mouth and nose, Mama’s reading glasses for my eyes, my black house shoes because they can be washed, a straightened wire hanger to lift anything that should not be touched by human hands, elbow-length gloves and the sense of steely determination that has gotten mothers through thousands of years of messy children. I take a deep breath—I dare not breathe once I venture beyond this innocuous looking door. I look back at my mother, a bit of fear slowing my steps. She nods encouragement, clasps her hands together and waits. I pull down my towel long enough to tell her I love her and I couldn’t have asked for a better mom. I want her to know that before I venture into the bowels of hell. Slowly I turn the knob.

7:54:32 AM As a good social scientist, I make quick observations to later record in this journal. The first was the scent for which neither my towel nor the artfully placed wallflower was any match. I am horrified to realize I didn’t even hold my breath 30 seconds. Note to social scientist self: work on stamina, girl. My eyes water beneath the glasses, but they still manage to take in carelessly tossed toothbrushes, four tubes of toothpaste, some purloined from my bathroom, the fiends! They squeeze them in the middle and then take more long before their tube has run out.

7:54:48 AM I ease past mounds of clothes toward the item which is the heart of their science experiment and the greatest source of my fear: their toilet. I look on in horror. I believe that, once, the linoleum surrounding it was the shame shade of white as that in my bathroom. It has taken on a strangely golden hue. I turn my head quickly, almost dive toward the tub and any towels.

7:55:01 AM The tub is strangely white compared to the rest of the once-white room. It’s almost as if… as if it is barely used! Imagine that!

7:55:05 AM I see towels. On the towel rack. On the side of the tub. Balled up into a corner that I dare not stretch to reach in case I slip and land on their almost-bronze floor. “Be brave!” I tell myself. I extend my hanger. After a few fruitless tries, I hook them. One by one, I fling them into the hallway.

7:56:15 AM I dash drunkenly from the bathroom, almost overcome… but… alas… I am safe! My mama sighs her relief--I hold up my hands as she approaches me. I dare not let her touch me. “Oh, daughter,” she says, tears shining in her eyes, “I have never been more proud of you than I am at this moment!” I know that is what she said, but muffled by the towel, it sounded a lot like, “Girl, pick them towels up and take them in the laundry room!”

8:00-8:05 AM I deposit the towels in the washer, add a bottle of detergent, a half-gallon of bleach, some baking soda and pine oil. I turn the water to hot. I run to my bathroom, carefully strip out of my protective gear, and put it in a plastic bag to de-contaminate later. I turn the shower on as hot as my skin can stand. I wash with Dial, with Nivea, with vinegar, then Dial again. Finally, I emerge, checking myself for any symptoms.

8:20 AM I direct Mama to watch me carefully for the next 24-hours for any signs that I have contracted a dread disease. She does not seem to understand the seriousness. She kisses me and leaves for Sunday school. I must now monitor myself… Hopefully, Journal, this will NOT be my last entry.

Stay tuned.

A Look into My Mind...

You wonder how the mind of someone with an attention deficit works? Let me tell you my last three hours:

read,
spontaneously decide to go for breakfast,
write, write, write,
daydream about a jazz song I used in my civil rights class,
go to Abbey Lincoln on youtube,
think about Elle Varner and switch to her,
stern admonishment to myself to focus,
write, write, write,
see a reference to the Great Dismal Swamp,
wonder what's the difference between a swamp and marsh,
realize I can't define either,
look both up,
began reading a dissertation about the melding of cultures in the Great Dismal Swamp,
intrigued by the existence of maroon colonies there,
began to search for more info on that,
FOCUS, elle!
write, write...
hey maybe I need a break,
read 10 pages, the heroine in the book roasted some tomatoes,
ooh that would be good!
let me go to foodnetwork.com and look up a good recipe...
hey, the Neelys baked tomatoes yesterday--let me see when that comes back on, is there a bug caught between my blinds and window?
why yes there is! somebody come kill it!
focus, girl.
write...
take time from what I am working on to jot down more words for the blog post I am writing out by hand about Trayvon Martin
I am now appropriately medicated, but that is going to make me soooo sleepy. But until then, write, write, write...
Uh-oh, my nephew just asked me to help him find baseball movies on Netflix...

I don't know how I get anything done.

What's Up?

Give me some news! Interesting links! Good gossip! Delicious recipes!Anything :-)


This is the beginning of the semester and I have 3 classes this time. I haven't been keeping up with the world!

Well...

Not a lot to say right now. But I sat down. And I wrote. And since I am off today, I hope to come up with something else. But count this as my obligatory post-every-weekday-until-you-get-back-into-the-habit post.

21 days to develop a habit, I heard.

I'm on my way!

You Already Know

The downfalls of going to a small, independently owned liquor store:

I have a weakness in which I indulge every weekend: Sour Apple Martinis. I like cosmos. I love margaritas. Malibu w/pineapple is my bar drink. And my girls are turning me into a flavored-Ciroc fan. But when it comes to what I am going to mix at home, it's all about that sour apple, for some reason!

Friday night, I walked into my friendly neighborhood store for my "weekend libation."

"I want something new this weekend," I proclaimed.

"Mm-hmm," said the clerk.

I walked all around, with this silent perusal: "Do I want rum? I don't feel like rum! Ugh, gin makes me sick! No vodka! I'm tired of weekend martinis!" Etc. Etc.

I walked to the counter and looked behind there.

"I really want something new."

"You say that every time," the clerk reminded me.

I stood, indecisive, while she asked me about my son. "13, right?" said the store's owner.

"And going on 23, tall as he is!" said the clerk.

I sighed. The clerk decided to make it easy on me. "I already know," she said. She grabbed the sour apple pucker and some vodka. "Go to the grocery store and get your juice. It's too expensive here!"

I couldn't do anything except laugh...

And pay for my stuff.

My Child, Son of a Sistorian

Yesterday, on our way to basketball practice, my son and I were treated to the delightful sound of Rihanna... umm... "singing" S & M.

"I hate this stupid ass song," I said.

"Mama," he countered, in that tone that lets me know a dig is probably about to be made about my age or total lack of coolness, "this is a good song!"

"Boy, please."

"It is! The only part that's bad is when she says 'chains and whips excite me.'"

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, half afraid to ask why he thought that particular line was bad. I just knew he was going to reveal some knowledge about bondage or sex that I wasn't ready for him to have, much less discuss with his fragile-flower mama. But, of course I asked, "Why that line?"

"Mama! Chains and whips excite me? How she gone say that? She needs to think about her history. I bet they didn't excite her ancestors!"

Happy Blogiversary, elle, (abd) (phd)

Five years ago today, I began this blog with these words:

A few minutes shy of November 29, 2005, I'm beginning a new blog. Let's see how this goes...

I think it has gone swimmingly :-) I don't post as much as I'd like, but the friends I've made, the thoughts I've worked out, the writing I've done, the realizations to which I have come all have made this one of the most important endeavors I've undertaken in my life.

I don't know what the next five years will hold. Will I have a year in which I actually post consistently? Will I finally call it quits as the tenure clock shifts my focus away from writing anything but THE BOOK (that's how I think of it--a terrifying, in-need-of-revision thing that stands between me and job security :-)? I really don't know.

But I am glad I did this!

Weekend Crises

I graded papers this weekend. That created the first crisis. Roughly 20% of the students in this small class plagiarized. Another 50% percent did their own work, had great ideas, but lacked the organization, details, and analysis to make their exams good.

This class has turned out to be a lot more difficult than I anticipated because quite a few of the students came in not ready to do the work required in upper division classes. Grr.

But here is the main crisis. Crisis One facilitated an emergency moscato-run. I returned home to find...

MY CORKSCREW WAS NOT WORKING.

And so I was reduced to this chisel-and-shove game involving a paring knife, a steak knife, and, as my need and desperation grew, a small hammer.

You know how sometimes you say f*ck it and just push the cork down into the bottle and swill down cork with your deliciously sweet wine? Well, yeah, no. This one wouldn't budge. I swear we worked on it for an hour.

Finally, the bottle just cracked and off popped a smooth piece of glass. My niece looked at me, ready to toss it.

"Girl, get my glass," I told her.

At This Rate...

...we're never going to finish. I finally finished typing up the labels for all the people mama wanted to invite to the anniversary party.

165 labels, y'all. I was planning for 150-200. Most of these labels have couples or "and family" on them. This is going to be fun and possibly my biggest challenge to date. I know everyone won't show and a few of them are to cousins and classmates waaaaay out of town. Can't wait until the RSVPs start rolling in (hint, hint).

Anyway, we have almost 6 pages of labels. I did three pages of addresses and mama is supposed to be doing three. But every time she calls one of her classmates for hir address, an hour long conversation ensues. She's probably gotten three addresses today and she's been at it for hours.

We're never going to finish by my tomorrow deadline (so I can get the invitations out exactly two months before).

But she's having fun catching up. :-))

A Day in The Life...

Ok, more than a day. This is an opportunity for me to say, "Look how tired but happy I am!" and a real diary-like entry for the future.

Friday, I left Texas, en route to Louisiana for Spring Break. My sister and her crew had come to visit for their Spring Break, so we traveled as a mini caravan.

At least, until I was pulled over by the most talkative (but friendly) cop in Texas. I thought the speed limit was 70 because it was daytime. He claimed it dropped to 60 at some point and I was going 74 (yes, speeding either way, I know, I know).

I told him I hadn't seen it drop (I really hadn't) but that I fully acknowledged I was going 74. I don't argue with cops or try to talk my way out of anything. It's a matter of pride for me, even though I cannot afford a ticket. He asked me where I was going.

"Louisiana."

"Long ride," he said. (Yeah, that's why I was going 74). He then launched into a story of how he had been stationed at Ft. Polk and how far was my hometown from there and the lack of big cities, etc. etc.

I mostly nodded and smiled then drove away happily with my warning. I would only go 72 in a 70 mph zone, I decided. That's a compromise, right?

After two stops and about nine hours, we made it home. Bed, you think?

Wrong! I had a Lemon-and-Lime anniversary party on Saturday for which I needed to decorate. I'd thought the party was the 20th which would give me time to get home to prepare. I was wrong and we were on the clock. It was a relatively casual party, but still!

Coti deserted me, my sister promised she'd come cook the next day, mrs. o was exhausted from her own too busy week. So, Janna, T'niya, Tren, Mama and I went to work in the main room while Dee (one of the honorees) cleaned the kitchen and unpacked groceries.

We made all sorts of lovely discoveries. The last renters of the place hadn't cleaned. It was filthy. We planned to use three tables for a buffet style meal and set up eight for guests. We only set up six, because so many were broken. Below you can see our efforts-in-progress.





I made it back to my parents' at 2 AM and couldn't sleep. I decided to read. Around 4 AM, I dropped that book in my damned eye and realized, it was time.

Of course, I woke up at 5, fell back to sleep, and woke up for good at 8. I was excited about the day and had so much to doooooooooooo.

Coti, in makeup mode, agreed to play chauffeur. I went to every store in town, I swear (which amounts to fewer than ten, but still) for last minute items like pans. And, I changed my mind again and decided I wanted to do a small candy buffet. I had jars; I just needed yellow and green candies. I bought every bag of lemonheads and Andes mints at Dollar General, then bought the little green and white mints from another store. My sister brought green jolly ranchers, lemon drops, and green and white candy rings from a neighboring town. Coti and Tren filled a center vase with lemons and limes, and voila!





But food. I'd decided we'd have sandwiches and salads. Plus, the hubby involved wanted wings. So, our menu (sandwich wise) was mini burgers, mini pulled pork sandwiches, these hot deli sandwiches I make on rolls with a spinach and cream cheese based spread, and chicken salad sandwiches. Salads were chef's salad, potato salad, coleslaw, a fruit salad, and pasta salad. And we were going to have barbecue wings and Italian wings.

No way could I do that, all alone in, a day, in a kitchen with one really small stove. I had so much help. Coti cut up meat and cheese for the deli sandwiches, ran to the store, and stopped at everyone's house to pick up miscellany. Tren made chicken salad, she and Mama made sandwiches, and assembled deli sandwiches. My sister made the green salad, patted out some of the hamburgers and she and Tren fixed up the punch. Tesha made half the coleslaw, seasoned the chicken, made potato salad, cut up lemons and limes. Mama cut up the honeydew (we wanted green and yellow fruits for the fruit salad with a few strawberries to make it "pop" but we didn't know how to approach that honeydew :-). Mrs. O peeled potatoes and sliced rolls. I seasoned the hamburgers and patted out most of them, made coleslaw, cut up strawberries, made a pasta salad, made limeade and lemonade, made the spread for the deli sandwiches, prepared the roasts for the pulled pork, and made barbecue sauce. I also made pitchers of way too strong margaritas, mojitos, and lemon drop martinis (I was serious about the yellow and green, y'all). That stuff was so strong, I didn't touch it. I don't like to taste alcohol in my alcoholic drinks. Initially, I planned to mix and pour as the night proceeded, but my cousins said no, we were not going to run and serve the whole night. So we set up cups and set the pitchers and ice out. I also had two punchbowls, one with a limeade based punch and the other with a lemonade based punch.





I was on my feet for nine hours, on four hours of sleep. And the night before, I'd gotten about five hours then taught and drove all day. You know where this story is going, right?

My back! My ankles! I couldn't bend over by the time the party actually started. The hot shower didn't help as I hoped it would. I kept my cute little open toe heels on for all of ten minutes before I retreated to the kitchen and my house shoes. It was lovely and we were all in good moods, but Dee and Mike like blues music and I can't get down with it.

I made it until midnight. I had to come home and have mama rub my back with Bengay. Muscle aches beat my cute black dress and shoes! I'm getting old, y'all, for real.

I was supposed to go to Family and Friends' Day at my cousins' church. Church started at 11. I rolled over at 10:52, thought about making it, realized my clock was an hour behind and flopped back over.

I finally stumbled up, my eyes full of sawdust (I didn't drink the stuff I made. I did, however, have Malibu coconut rum and pineapple juice), and my body aching. I ate a plate of collard greens so I could have something on my stomach to take three ibuprofen for my poor body. A few hours, a coke, and this long story later, I feel better.

I could go again! But I think I will just climb in bed with this book I found.

No use in overdoing it :-p

It Occurs to Me...

For all my dreams of taking pastry-making classes (after I finish culinary arts school after I get tenure and on and on--my life is all about "afters"), I'm never going to be much of a baker because I hate getting flour on my hands and counters because it usually ends up on my clothes and floor.

And I HATE sifting.

But I still want a shiny red, top-of-the-line standing mixer with a dough hook attachment.

And I'm still probably going to make my nephew a cake today, even if I cuss while doing it.

Love,

elle, the kitchen gadget lover

Music Lessons

I'm researching 60s music for my parents' anniversary. My child, who thinks he is a music connoisseur, has been helping me. We got into a discussion of records (actual vinyl LPs) my parents owned. I asked him if he knew what I meant by records.

"Uh-huh," he said.

"Describe them."

He sighed and said, "Records, Mama! They're the CDs that DJs use!"

M-elle-odramatic

A seemingly impenetrable wall of papers and meetings stands between me and my beloved Friday evenings. I have a headache :-(

I Fully Recognize that Women Are Neither Men's Nor Our Children's Property...

But this still makes me laugh because recent discussions have revealed that my son is against the thought-of-mama-dating:




Though, I think Doritos might owe Ronnie Jordan a little change or credit or something:



"I ain't got no candies for you... no cookies for you..."

Who Dat?

Geaux Saints!

Now that I've talked to everyone in my immediate family and screamed the roof off, I'm ready to focus on the Super Bowl. ;-p

Turns Out, My Shrill, Humorless Feminist Voice IS Needed

Just saw this on the teevee:

Flirty Girl Fitness

And look, now you, too, can learn to pole and chair dance while keeping the booty beat, from the comfort of your own home! What? You don't have the pole installed in your garage like I???

My sorta raison d'etre (feminist critique of popular culture) has just been affirmed.

Cumpleanos y Mas

Happy Birthday to me!

Reactions have been mixed. My friend Coti and my dad act as if they are in awe:

Coti: "Damn, girl, you almost 40?

Daddy: "You 35?!?!?!" (He's reflecting on what it means that he has a 35-year-old child. Yes, Pops, you're a senior citizen. :-)

I've received numerous birthday wishes, including a rousing version of "Feliz Cumpleanos." You have to be grateful for Dora's alleviation of young Americans' un-sophisticated monolingualism. You also have to be grateful to have wonderful friends and family and gentle reminders from FB.

I have my 3-year-old goddaughter. This is a talking, squealing, bossy little mama. She finally noticed my dad's leg. Unlike some of the smaller kids in the family who have been hesitant to approach him or even been fearful (which I hate for him), she had to conduct a minute inspection:

"Paw-Paw, you broke your leg off?"

"Nah, baby they cut off."

"You did that? You cut your leg?"

"No, the doctor?"

"With a knife? Why they do that?"

So, he debated explaining it, then went with, "It was bad."

Then, she said, "Paw-Paw, let me see," at which point, a careful examination complete with soft murmurs and sympathetic pats to his leg ensued.

It took forever to get her settled and Ms.Thing was back up before 8 AM. To say I am not used to that is an understatement.

Surprisingly, I have no plans for today. Went with friends and family for a birthday dinner Saturday. Having a party this weekend. Forgot to plan to do something on my actual birthday! I might spend it grading. That would be a wonderful gift to myself--to go back to work with a clean slate :-p

I will take down the twist-set C-Payne did on my hair so I can be wavy and cute as I bleed red ink all over essay exams.

I think it will be okay. :-)

Saturday Cuteness

So, my son, his best friend (our neighbor), and I just got home. While in the car, I noticed a Bed, Bath, & Beyond Coupon on the seat and said, "Oh, good. I need a grill!"

My sour little kid said, "Why? We don't have enough friends to grill for."

To which I said, "Ummm... I have friends. You might not be invited out, but I am."

His reply was, "But y'all go to happy hours. I can't go, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"We do like the cartoons, and I get on top and [the neighbor kid] is on bottom under a trenchcoat so we look tall."

So, I saw the best friend look at him in the mirror. Then, the best friend said, "Dude that would NOT work."

I thought he was going to say because my son's face would still look young or it would be so obvious what was going on.

Instead, he said, "How you gone explain Mexican legs with a black person on top?"

They fell out laughing, then my son tried to think up explanations. "I could say I'm biracial."

And the best friend nixed that one, "You wouldn't be half-and-half like that!"

More laughter.

"They did it on Scooby-Doo all the time!"

"They were all the same color!"

"No, it'd be Scooby on the bottom."

"They only fooled ghosts and monsters."

"Ghosts and monsters could see!"

"You need to think before you talk, dude. Scooby-Doo is ridiculous and so are you."

At that point, they were laughing so hard they couldn't sit up. I was wondering what was so funny, but smiling.

I cannot figure out what makes these kids tick! :-p

I Don't Think that Word Means What You Think It Means...

Yesterday, my son asked me, "Mama, what would you say if I told you I was going Gothic?"

Me: "I'd ask you what does Gothic mean."

The Kid: "It's when you dress all in black and sit under trees and read big books. I mean, bigger than the Harry Potter books! And you frown so nobody bothers you."

Me: "Well, as long as you know what's required..."

Is This What They Call Middle-Aged?

Packing for my archive visit and double-checking to make sure I have:
-My three prescriptions
-My vitamins
-A book
-Benadryl (tablets and cream)
-Panty girdle (not good, I know, but my mom and my grandmother spent years drumming into us the absolute necessity)
-Slippers
-Three similarly colored outfits to cut down on pairs of shoes needed, and ensure interchangeability in the event of an accident
-Comfortable underwear

Realizing fifteen years ago, I would've been making sure I had:
-Cute panties (you know, in case someone saw them :-)
-Six outfits and twelve pairs of shoes for a two-day stay (because you need to be able to change your mind)
-Lip gloss--lots and lots of lip gloss