Stolen blog idea.

I took several delectable photos for blog entries I planned to write today. Just wait, you'll see how truly delicious these shots are. But, because I failed to download the photos onto my laptop b/f heading over to my g-friends to shack, this stolen idea is all i've got. The premise is 5 things you probably don't know about me, which started here...but may also be found here, here, here, and and here.

These are mine:

1. From ages 6-9, my nightly routine included a walk-through my home to make sure the doors had been locked and the appliances turned off. Then, once I'd ensured everything was taken care of, I'd check once again (and sometimes one more time).

2. I spent all of my 8th grade year in "isolation" because my teacher couldn't get me to shut up.

3. My favorite snack as a child was a mayo, mustard, and ketchup hotdog without the wiener.

4. Most of my friends will never believe this, but social situations freak me out. I'm pretty sure this phobia largely contributed to my unhealthy drinking habits of my early 20s.

5. I've eaten chicken fried steak for breakfast nearly every day this month. Today is day 3 without the gluttonous treat!!! I think I've finally broken the cycle.

Morose Monday

There are no plans to make this a weekly feature. But rather than fight my present melancholic mood, I've opted to wallow in it a bit.

Heavenly Creatures is one of my favorite movies. It's titillating, yet disturbing. And, I must confess, Kate Winslet kind of does it for me.

Not quite theraputic.

Stress ravages my body each semester. The only variable is the form in which it appears. This semester the muscles in my ass and legs completely knotted up. I couldn't sit for longer than 5 minutes without losing the feeling in my toes. I stretched. I ran. I cried. I took long, hot baths. Nothing worked. So the night before my first exam, I ignored the barely-three-digit figure in my bank account, and scheduled a massage at Bumble Lane (a new upscale spa, located near Whole Foods. ain't that fancy?). The massage was great. As an ex-collegiate athlete, I've probably experienced more massages than any other non-billionaire 28 year old. And Dwayne, the massage therapist, was hands down the best masseur or masseuse I've encountered.

After a week of exams and incessant bitching about my damn legs, my parents offered to pay for another massage. I was delighted and immediately called to see if Dwayne was available. He was. So after handing in my last exam, I sauntered over to Bumble Lane, ready to relax and unwind.

The first 40 or so minutes of my massage were delightful. But then, I began to sense something was amiss. Because I'm not a modest person when it comes to my body, I was startled by my sudden uneasiness. This feeling was warranted, however, because less than 5 minutes later Dwayne subtly but surely began touching me in an off-limits location. I, of course recoiled, still not quite grasping what occurred. He asked if I was okay. I hoped I'd misinterpreted the situation. A million different thoughts were racing through my mind. I said I was fine. Then, he asked, "Do you want me to go further?". WTF? My response was a stern, "No thank you."

So there I was, face down on a massage table, trying to absorb what just happened and trying to figure out the appropriate response. I have a spontaneous spirit, and that spontaneity has placed me in precarious positions too many times. Not suprisingly, one of my many goals in therapy was/is to become less reactive to people and to situations. A minute or two passed. If my thoughts were read aloud, bystanders would've heard phrases like,

"What made him think I'd allow him to touch me?"

"I can't f'in believe that just happened?",

"How dare he?",

"Handle the massage; I'm quite apt at pleasuring myself",

"WTF?",

"WTF?",

"WTF?".

But, the card I'd received in the mail earlier that week, a handwritten note of thanks from Dwayne for my previous massage, also entered my stream of consciousness. The MF had my home address. Crap! Anyone who knows me, knows I'm a big ol' chicken. Worse yet, I'm a set-in-my-ways chicken who refuses to share my living space with a lover, much less a roommate. I felt trapped. If I turned him in, a good night's sleep would be out of the question. I would be in constant fear. I was enraged.

The massage ended. Dwayne apologized again, and I gave him the best piece of shit stare I could muster. I felt violated. I was.

After a phone call and brief chat with my therapist that night, I decided to wait a week or so to report the SOB. I hoped the delay would disguise my identity. I didn't want the skeevy nutjob knocking on my door.

A week passed, and I reported Dwayne today. But, in the interim my thoughts and feelings about the situation were in constant conflict. I was livid about what occurred. But, part of me didn't want to make the phone call, part of me didn't want to think about it anymore. Although I grew up in an environment where adults imbibed to outrageous excesses and where physical altercations were as consistent as the nightly news, I am blessed because sexual abuse was absent from my home. Too many of my friends have first-hand experience with that hell. I can't and won't attempt to draw any parallels here. I know my experience was only a taste of the poision unwillingly injected into others. But nonetheless, it sucks and it hurts.

Cameron Diaz & Kate Winslet Under A Table?

Making Letterman blush isn't an easy task. Go Kate.

Cabin fever.

Too much studying. Not enough caffeine.

Dwell or Print?

One of the many difficult questions Jinx ponders throughout a typical day.

Studying Sucks

I hate this time of the year. I want to be out at the local farmer's market today. I want to go over to my neighbor's house and help him decorate for the Christmas party he's throwing tonight. I want to "accidently" slip some of the delicious treats he's making into my mouth. Instead I'm stuck behind this desk wishing it were the Spring semester rather than the Fall. It's not so bad in the spring, this studying thing. Sure the weather is nicer and folks are outdoors soaking up every bit of the sun. But, winters in the South are are pleasant. Though there's still enough humidity to ruin a perfectly good hair day or to make your face glow in undesireable ways, I love this time of the year.

There's only 6 days left in this final exam period. Two exams stand between me and 5 weeks of freedom. Yesterday's battle with Income Tax was brutal. I'm not sure who won. Right now I'm too tired to care. So my wish today is for supernatural powers. Send some my way if you'd like.

Pictures.

Until the end of finals, that's all I've got.

Pink Ponies

What everyone expects to see in their neighborhood.

Poor Pups

Before



During





After

The men in my life.

Freedom - better quality

Gotta love George ------- Michael that is.

The Crapper

I often wonder what the f**k I'm doing at LSU Law School. It started first semester when I realized that to a large number of folks, I was an outsider they didn't care to meet because I dressed differently, didn't have long straight hair, and didn't wear pearl earrings. I'm sure my failure to join a sororiety didn't help matters either.

Then, during my second year, when I was serving as the secretary of the Black Law Students Association (BLSA), Jacob Gardner, our Student Body President (SBA), f'ed up and accidently cc'ed the BLSA Parlimentarian on an racially-offensive email entitled "Ghetto Spelling Bee." Gardner enjoyed the email, and must have assummed the intended/not accidental recipients, his compadres on the SBA board, would too, because he freely added two off-color comments to the message. First, he noted that his favorite word from the "Ghetto Spelling Bee" was #2, an ebonics rendering of the word dictate. According to the email, LeRoy remembers the word dictate by saying "my girlfriend says my dictate good." But, Gardner didn't stop there. Irritated because of a BLSA request that the SBA post the minutes of their meetings -- to both inform students, you know their constituents, of SBA's upcoming events, as well as to ensure that BLSA didn't schedule a conflicting program -- Gardner also suggested he should post the "Ghetto Spelling Bee" on the bulletin boards "BLSA keeps busting my ass about."

After we, the board of BLSA, expressed our feelings on the matter Gardner refused to apologize. The Chancellor wanted to amicably settle the ordeal, so he scheduled a meeting of all parties. BLSA hoped to work with Gardner and to seize this opportunity to begin much needed discourse on diversity around the Law Center. But rather than being conciliatory, Gardner launched personal attacks and defended his position as staunchly as he would if a billion dollar client were on the line. The best evidence offered as proof that his comments weren't intentionally offensive was none other than the old "my best friend is Indian" crock. The meeting was a disaster. Quickly it became clear to everyone in the room, except Gardner of course, that he was incapable of fairly representing a diverse student body.

At that night's SBA meeting, several non-BLSA students asked Gardner to apologize. He refused. After incessant badgering, Gardner relented some, and said he was sorry if BLSA's feelings were hurt. That's it.

Many students rallied around Mr. Gardner. They claimed BLSA was on a "witch hunt," and Ghetto Spelling Bee - a play on ebonics starring Leroy, an inner-city 20-year old 5th grader - wasn't about African American folks at all. Hard to believe huh? Check out Parochial Petition
for proof and other titilating comments.

So today, approximately a year after the "Ghetto Spelling Bee" incident, several students took offense, not to last year's incident, but to the poster (see pic above) I made for a Necessities Drive. The drive is sponsored by the Public Interest Law Society, and the goal is to collect toiletries for underprivileged folks. Toilet ----> toiletries. Get it? I know you do. Perhaps not as clever as I initially thought, but still, all you anal retentive freaks out there, well I think a trip to the crapper may help them loosen things up a bit.

Red and Blue Families

My parents and I hold vastly different political beliefs. After enduring mass amounts of liberal-bashing emails, I requested that they remove me from their list of mass-email receiptients. Initially, the messages kept coming, and for a while I just deleted them from my inbox. But then, I became frustrated and requested once more to be taken off the list. For the most part this second request was heeded, and except for the sporatic fox news-esque email that was somehow directed my way, all was good. Enter yesterday. The last week of politics, especially the Kerry non-incident incident, left me rather livid. So when the message "A Marine Responds back to John Kerry" appeared in my inbox, this was my response:

"I don't think anyone, especially a war veteran like John Kerry, believes our troops are stupid. He botched a joke, that although in bad taste, aimed to poke fun at the President's intelligence and the situation he's gotten us into in Iraq, not the troops serving abroad. If anyone wants to criticize Kerry, do it b/c he is spineless. How does one allow the Republican party --- led by Dick Cheney (dodged Vietnam 5 times), Karl Rove (escaped serving in Vietnam for 3 years b/c of student deferments), and the President (well we all know that story) --- to question one's integrity on an issue like serving our nation, when you (not them) wore the uniform and served our country. It's simply amazing.

Criticize him all you want, in the mean time, I'll just pray that the Democrats find someone with a backbone to assume leadership in 2008. I want someone who will stand up and challenge the Republicans as they should. Enough with the hypocrites; start the search now my fellow Democrats."

To her credit, my mother responded saying she was happy I had a mind of my own. Truthfully, I've often wondered if the converse was true, so today I'm smiling.

Who flew?

My decision to attend law school involved a much-dreaded move from Atlanta to Baton Rouge. I loved my Midtown neighbors in the ATL and my apartment, especially the porch. I'd even grown accustomed to walking home alongside transvestite hookers --- but only after I realized I didn't have anything they were looking for --- following my shifts at Blake's, the neighborhood bar across the street from my abode. So, when faced with the move, I knew only of one neighborhood in Baton Rouge that could possibly rival the excitement of Midtown, the historic Spanishtown area.

Spanishtown in the 1980s and early 90s, much like Midtown, was a place where both crack addicts and gay men searching for sex easily scored. Eventually, the neighborhood went through a regentification of sorts. But luckily, a decent number of long-time residents remained. Thus, the present-day hood retains a lot of its flavor. The residents are a very eclectic group of folks. But what sets it apart from any other cool hood is its fascination/obsession with pink flamingos. Flamingos are everywhere. There are big flamingos, small flamingos, flamingos on houses, in plants, and even on t-shirts. So when the Baton Rouge Advocate broke the news via a front page editorial, my neighborhood was in a frenzy. What news am I talking about? The decision by Union Products to quit producing its patented pink flamingo. As the Advocate reported:

"Spanish Town residents will not mourn the death of the iconic, yet kitschy pink plastic flamingo, which has come to define the bohemian neighborhood.

With tongue firmly planted in cheek, Historic Spanish Town Civic Association chairman Bill Good said the long-legged lawn art is like the phoenix. 'It will be back'."

Baton Rouge may not offer the racy excitement of Midtown Atlanta. But hey, like the flamingo, one day I'll return to my old beloved neighborhood. Until then, I'll pay proper homage to the bird.


For full story: Spanish Town Fools

Some early fun.

After shooting a few inanimate objects.....







a very unwilling pup....





and others whose life circumstances have them in the direct line of fire........



finally, a breakthrough.

All for a body.

After no less than 30 hours of pure obsession, I decided to purchase a Nikon D50 (body only). The decision involved weighing the pros and cons of the D50 vs. D70, D50 vs. Canon Rebel XT, D50 vs. D80, D50 vs. Canon Rebel XTi, D50 vs. Canon 30 EOS, and many other camera combinations too numerous to mention. Upswing? I can now find something new to obsess over. I see lenses looming in my future.

Jesse Jackson reads Dr. Suess

Love it. Every time.

What could make me blog again?

I'd pretty much given up on the blog-o-sphere, or at least the aspect where I actively participated rather than passively perused. The gods of blog, however, had other plans. The land of blog, they reasoned, was in danger of entering an unruly state. Something had to be done. Someone had to act. Thus, I'm breaking my silence today to say: WHEN COMMUNICATING ELECTRONICALLY, IT IS EXTREMELY RUDE AND OBNOXIOUS TO USE ALL CAPS.

There are several reasons one should avoid any temptation to write in all caps. First, it's rude; using all caps is the equivalent of yelling at someone in a face-to-face conversation. Unless you have antisocial personality disorder, just don't do it. Secondly, employing all caps is an asthetic nightmare. In my book it ranks right up there with 14 pt. Times New Roman font. Unless your audience is the bridge club at the local retirement home, don't do it. Which leads to my last point, using all caps is unnecessary. There's a tried and true way to emphasize a word or group of words, italics. One small caveat for you Mac users out there. If you've opted to purchase a Mac, presumably you are design conscious, or at least pretending to be, so you must grasp the importance of using italics. Luckily, it's easy. Download Camino, the free web browser that arguably trumps Safari anyway. Camino allows you to edit the content of your blog in Html mode. Voila! Italics appear. No excuses, just do it.

Exam Preparation Procrastination

Fun Facts to Know and Love.
TAG, you're it...if you read this, you must cut and paste it with YOUR answers into your blog.

1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:00 AM
2. Diamonds or pearls? Pearls (black though)
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? My Summer of Love
4. What is your favorite TV show? Sports Night
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Corn Pops and coffee
6. What is your favorite cuisine? Italian
7. What is your middle name? Ann
8. What food do you dislike? Anchoives
9. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Franz Ferdinand and Imogen Heap
11. Favorite sandwich? Muffulatta.
12. What characteristic do you despise? Arrogance.
13. Favorite item of clothing? Really soft tees and tanks.
14 If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Italy.
15. What color is your bathroom? beige. not my choosing either.
16. Favorite brand of clothing? Lux.
18. What was your most memorable birthday? 21
19. Favorite sport to watch? Football.
20. When is your birthday? Oct.11
21. Are you a morning person or a night person? Morning
22. What is your shoe size? 7.5
23. Pets? Jinx, Jezebel, Jackson (the cats) & Jacques and Suzie (the pups).
24. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I went to the doctor for a second opinion and he thinks my kidney disease is possibly more benign than the other doctor did.
25. What did you want to be when you were little? Famous.
26. How are you today? Tense.
27. What is your favorite candy/chocolate? Twix.
28. What is your favorite flower? Angel Trumpets
29. What is a date on the calendar you are looking forward to? May 5.
30. Do you enjoy your job? Yes.
31. Coke or Pepsi? Coke
32. Where were you born? Opelousas, Louisiana.
33. What is your favorite chip flavor? salt n vinegar or any Zapp's brand.
34. What fabric detergent do you use? Usually Tide
35. Favorite Color? blue

The Icebox a/k/a Refridgerator

A friend of mine started this trend on her blog. The theory, as she suggests, involves contents of a person's fridge possibly correlating to aspects of their personality.

Although I'm not yet convinced, the idea seemed kind of fun.

Correlate the following items: beer (a pre-kidney disease diagnosis treat. I'm currently looking for willing individuals to deplete my supply, thereby, removing the taunting I hear upon every opening of the refridgerator door), orange juice, mushrooms (the legal kind), potato salad (my grandmother's recipe), spinach (popeye has nothing on this anemic chick), filtered water (a Trisha staple), hummus, eggs, papaya, mango, grapes and a multitude of other hearty veggies that are good for the soul and that the body finds splendidly delightful.

Talented genius

For your viewing pleasure, my first attempt at cutting hair.

Talented? Surely.

Let me preface, however, full disclosure of my pertinent experience was explicitly stated prior to the commencement of the cutting festivities. The subject, Jan, nonetheless submitted his cheveaux for my creative edification. Several techniques were executed: the chop (some flesh included), the abstraction (received more warmly with canvas as a medium; human hair not recommended) and the scraper (involving dollar store clippers and a rapid forward motion over the head. Result: ripping tufts of hair from the subjects scalp).


So, don't let the smile fool you. As my "subject" Jan commented on his own blog, "there was a massacre on my head, and I was Custer."

Kid-knees

I've never been one to fantisize about having children. Perhaps it's the whining or the screaming that turned me off. I suppose cleaning up scraped knees and changing dirty diapers seemed unappealing too. But, the likely reason for my apathetic stance on birthing babies, was the belief that because I identified as "lesbian" (more on how I loathe labels later......I'm sure), having children seemed to me, an utter impossibility.

Much has changed since the first time the inner-dyke in me roared: Ellen came out, Anne Heche flipped out, Rosie and Kelly had a baby, Tom and Nicole split, and I realized boys had more to offer than the sometimes putrid smell they leave behind upon exiting a room. It's not some life-altering newly-found enlightenment, however, that prompted me to share with you today. The idea of allowing total strangers to peruse my inner-most thoughts has always seemed, well, rather creepy to me. But, armed with an acute sense of "me" I've started blogging. To thrive personally, I've come to believe, I must force myself into the unknown, into the uncomfortable, and perhaps even into the areas that creep me out.

Last week I was told I likely have kidney disease. Unfortunately, this disease is the same one that attempted to ravish the youth and liveliness from my father 10 years ago. I've seen this beast in action, watched it thrive, and witnessed it nearly take my father's life. But, I've also witnessed its defeat, its submission. Thus, the kinetic energy of my sadness is presently focused on the disease rather than my woes. I'll whip it, and if I don't? Well, at least I started blogging.