The Other Light of My Life Finale

When I bring him home, I realize that I need to come up with a name for him. I went through the usual “black” names. Joe, Blackie, Blackberry, Java, Coffee, Blackbeard, etc….but nada.

None of them seemed right and he wasn’t responding to any of them.

I then started saying any male names I could think of. Bill, Dan, Bob, Richard, etc…

The minute I said “Mike”, he turned his wee head, stared at me with those luminous green eyes and meowed.

Swear to God.

He meowed.

So, Mike it was.

Mike and J.D. got along great. They played with each other and kept each other company.

During all this time, I noticed that his eyes were getting bigger and bigger. It was almost to the point that his eyelids wouldn’t close completely over his eyes.

I also discovered that the nerves in his eyes must have been dead or not there at all. Mike and J.D. were chasing each other through the apartment and Mike turned and swiped J.D. in the face and ended up scratching one of his eyeballs. With blood dripping from his eye, J.D. continued to chase Mike around the house. He was not even aware that his eye was bleeding.

That was my wake up call to take him back to the vet to get him checked out again.

The eye situation bumfuzzled the vet and she didn’t know exactly what was wrong.

She told me I basically had two decisions to choose from.

I could get some eye drops and drop them in his eyes 7-8 times a day to keep them moist or I could have his eyes taken out.

I looked at the vet long and hard and asked her what she would do if this was HER cat.

She said that she would have them removed. It would be the only way he wouldn’t suffer.

So, $2000 later, we had the surgery. J.D. was no longer just a blind cat but he was now an eyeballess cat.

He looked like a lion. They had to shave part of his fur around his eyes and so the fur around the cheeks stood out making him look all majestic. They also ended up cutting a couple of whiskers.

Poor kitty. For a few weeks, he walked around in circles due to the clipped whiskers! It was kinda funny.

About 6 weeks or so after his surgery, I was over at my mom’s house with the cats and J.D. was sitting near my mom or on her, I can’t remember when. Anyway, she shushed me while I was in the middle of talking and said “listen”. I strained to hear what she was hearing. All I could hear was purring.

Wait….purring….from J.D……who had NEVER PURRED IN HIS TIME WITH ME!

He was PURRING!

It was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

About a month after that, he meowed for the first time. And cuddled and loved up on me and snuggled down.

When I went to the vet for a follow up a while later, I mentioned this to the vet and she said that his eyeballs were putting such pressure in his little noggin that he was probably in constant pain and didn’t feel like purring or being cuddly.

They did do a biopsy on his eyes and they were cancer free and glaucoma free. They were never sure exactly what was wrong. But, they gave him a clean bill of health which is all I cared about.

He truly is a miracle cat. It is so funny to watch him “watching” bugs that fly around (he can hear their little wings beating, that’s how he follows them). He is also very adaptable to his surroundings. I used to be afraid to move furniture or leave boxes and bags in his way, but, over the years, I’ve learned that it doesn’t bother him. He senses they’re there and will walk around them. The only times he bumps into things now is if he is running and not taking his time.

I found out in Christmas of 2007 that he has a heart problem. It’ll probably be what kills him. His heart is also throwing off clots to his back legs and for a while there, he wasn’t using his back legs AT ALL. He would drag himself around. It was to the point I was researching how to make a wheelchair contraption for him to get around in.

The vet gave me some meds and it’s pretty much under control now. However, I don’t anticipate having him much longer. I want to keep him forever, but I know that’s not the case.

So, I just enjoy every day that I have with my love.

That’s all I can do.

Thanks for reading.

Captain Dumbass…I’m done. You can come back now.

Later,

Mama Dawg

The Other Light of My Life part 2

Somehow or somewhere, I heard about a non-profit no-kill shelter that was constantly looking for volunteers. It was about 45 minutes away, but I started going there regularly on the weekends.

About a month into my volunteer services, I arrived on a Saturday morning and saw the new kitten that had been brought in the night before.

This little ball of dirty fur was in its own cage separated from all the other cats and kittens.

I went over to check out the new arrival and before I actually made it all the way over to the cage, I could see the fleas and smell this awful smell.

I dubbed the kitten Orphan Annie and proceeded with my volunteer duties. I would check on it periodically throughout the morning and before I left, I asked the front desk clerk what the story was behind the drop off. She said that some man came in Friday morning saying that he rescued it from some dogs that were about to attack it. He didn’t want to keep a cat so he dropped it off to them.

I went on with my day, running errands and whatnot. I went to bed that night thinking of that kitten.

On Sunday, I got up and went out to the shelter again. I check on Orphan Annie’s progress and noticed that it was even more lethargic than the day before. I tried to coax it into playing with me, but to no avail.

I asked the desk clerk what would happen to the kitten since it seemed so sick. She said that they had already made the decision to put it down the next day when the volunteer vet was making his rounds since it appeared to be fatally ill. They also didn’t want any of the other cats or kittens catching some sort of disease that Annie might have had.

Although this made sense to me, it still broke my heart a little. Even though it’s a no-kill shelter, they still had to take precautions as well as remain humane for the animals sake.

So, with a heavy heart, I said good-bye to Annie and left for the day.

I didn’t sleep a wink all night.

I got up the next morning, skipped classes (I was in my second year of community college) and went to the shelter, praying I was arriving in time.

I got to the shelter and ran to the front desk asking if the vet had made his rounds yet and they said that normally he would have been there and gone but that he was held up at his clinic and was running late.

It was FATE.

I don’t care if you believe in it or not. This is a real life case of FATE.

I went to the cat house, snatched up little Orphan Annie and ran out of there like I was on fire. All I had in the car to wrap it up in was an old flannel shirt. The whole hour drive back to my apartment, all I could do was pray and cry, cry and pray.

I arrived at the vet’s office and literally walked in with this kitten wrapped up in an old flannel shirt, crying and begging them to save it.

They took us immediately to a room and unwrapped the shirt. The vet came in, took one look and told me there was nothing they could do for it. That the humane thing was to put it to sleep.

I asked them to take a closer look and to make sure that nothing could be done.

They hesitated but went ahead. They cleaned it up, discovered what I thought was a she was actually a he (no real basis on why I thought he was a she, it just seemed fitting. I had never “peeked at the goods” so to speak) and re-evaluated.

He had ear mites, he had fleas, he had an infection, he was dehydrated, he was blind, he was OVER A YEAR OLD! They based this on the fact that all the teeth in his mouth were permanent ones.

Yet, he only weighed a little over 1 pound.

He was THAT malnourished.

They sent me home with a bathed and flea free cat. They told me that the infection would probably take him sometime during the night and to be prepared. They said if he survived the night, I was to bring him back in the next day for a follow up and a course of treatment.

I stayed up all night. Just holding and petting and giving him water and trying to encourage him to eat. He took a few small bites and drank a little bit of water.

He lived through the night.

I took him the next morning to the vet. They gave me vitamins, ear mite meds, antibiotics and feeding instructions.

Over the course of a month, he gained 4 pounds, shed the ear mites and fleas, got rid of the infection, learned how to use the litter box and learned the lay of the apartment. He rarely ran into anything.

After I had had him for a few months, I decided he needed a playmate since I was working full time and going to school part time.

At this time, I was also looking for a new apartment since the one I was in was getting too crowded and the lease was about up.

I found a complex across the street from the one I was in and fell in love with the apartments. When filling out the application, one of the questions was if you had a pet. I said yes and discovered that the apartment manager was a cat lover. She said that her boyfriend’s cat just had kittens and asked if I wanted another one. I thought about it for a second and asked if I could come see them.

She gave me their address and I went the next weekend. The kittens weren’t weaned yet, but they were at that really adorable stage. I fell in love with the tiniest one and they told me they would call me when I could come pick him up. They’d have all the initial shots done and then would pass him on to me.

A month or so goes by and I go and get my new kitty.

To be continued......(last entry tomorrow)

Later,

Mama Dawg

The Other Light of My Life

No, I don't have another kid.

This is about J.D. My cat.

I've gotten several e-mails and comments asking about J.D. and his lack of eyes, so I thought I'd do a series of posts on him.

For those of you that hate cats or hate reading stories about cats, you may want to come back another time.

If you look at my header up above, you see a cream colored cat “staring” right at you.

That's J.D. It stands for James Dean (although his vet swore it stood for Jack Daniels).

Yes, THAT James Dean.

I’m a HUGE James Dean fan. I think he was probably one of the most brilliantly talented actors to grace the silver screen and it absolutely sucks that he shined so bright yet so brief.

If you look closer at that picture, it looks like he has his eyes closed.

But….if you look even closer, you’ll see that that’s not the case.

He has no eyes.

Nope, not a single one in his furry little head.

Back in 1997, I was living in an apartment with my then best friend, Mimi (of the Mama Dawg was a Drug Mule story).

Wait…..

I need to give you some background info first.

I’m a HUGE animal lover.

When I was about 5 or 6, I caught a tiny minnow in the ditch behind our house. I took him home and put him in a small Tupperware bowl full of water and named him Squirmy.

We lost Squirmy later that night after I decided that he needed a bath since he smelled bad.

Yes, you guessed right. I went and got that little Tupperware bowl that housed the doomed Squirmy and dumped the entire contents, poopy water, fish and all, right into my bathtub that was full of soap, Barbies and me.

Did you know that soapy water will kill a minnow?

Yeah, I found out the hard way.

When I was seven, a tiny black kitten was dropped off in the street in front of my house. My mom found him and convinced my dad to let us have a cat. His name was Pirate and I loved him with all my heart. He was the tiniest little thing ever and I adored him…for all of 3 days. Then he just kind of faded into the background of my ever expanding life. I still loved him and took care of him, but my life didn’t revolve around his every need. He got sick and had to have an expensive operation which my mom paid for (mostly due to the waterworks I shed). My parents separated and my mom, Pirate and I moved to Florida. He lived until the ripe old age of 11. I was 18 when he disappeared from my life. All I can figure out is when I was taking out the trash one night, he slipped out the door behind me and either crawled off to die or got hit by a car or someone catknapped him. Whatever happened, he was out of my life. I was heartbroken. So heartbroken, I went to the shelter EVERY DAY for a month searching for him.

While at the shelter, I found a cat that I just felt had to be rescued. I took him home and called him Boots O’Malley.

I’ll make this one real short. We didn’t mesh. I put an ad in the paper and gave him away to a family that was able to incorporate him into their lives much easier than I did.

Also at this time, I was preparing to move out of my house and into an apartment with Mimi. We had a good friendship and were real tight and things were flowing smoothly. To make a long story short, life happened and the friendship got strained.

I got depressed.

To be continued:

Later,

Mama Dawg

Sacred

As most of you know, I got sucked into Facebook. I "befriended" lots of people. Most of them are from high school but a few are my new found bloggy friends.

I've enjoyed seeing what everyone from high school as grown into. And by that, I mean either their careers or their family life. And for some, their political parties. Those make me laugh the most.

However, I've really reconnected with two people that I considered to be my closest friends while living in Florida.

One of them is Jenny, who knew me in high school. We probably met in middle school, but didn't become friends til our Freshman year in high school. However, once we became friends, it was hard, fast and furious. Our friendship, I mean. We clicked and bonded and giggled and dreamed for 3 years.

We grew apart our senior year. She was heavily involved in Drama and by that time, I didn't give a crap anymore about school. I still had my activities, but by then, I was just going through the motions. There was no fight, no falling out. Just a gradual decline of the friendship. Very organic.

We briefly connected a few years ago but other than a couple of Christmas cards, nothing happened.

When I got on Facebook, we found each other again. And I swear, it's like no time has passed. We've both grown. In different directions, but we've both grown. I am enjoying getting to know her as an adult.

The other person that I've reconnected with and which has pleased me to no end is my friend Mimi. I've posted about her before. She's a trip.

Mimi and I met when I worked at Disney. I started working there when I was 17 and the day I turned 18, we were out in the clubs. Dancing our fool asses off and living it up like only an 18 and 19 year old can. We hit every club that we heard about. We danced and laughed and lived.

We became tight real fast. She was the first friend that I actually said "I love you" to. Before her, I knew that I loved my friends, but never said it. Because, well, we were in high school. She was the sister I always wanted and never had. I told her things I had never told anyone before. We had experiences that I had never had before. I took my first road trip with her.

We moved in together and life happened. We disconnected and moved our separate ways. Years later, through the magic that is the Internet, we found each other again. It was great but we only half heartedly stayed in touch. I was busy with an infant and still new to the whole Internet thing. She was busy going through life stuff and trying to raise 2 boys. We lost touch but amicably.

With FB in the picture, we found each other again. And it's different this time. This time, we have time for each other. We are not just doing the same old BS on Facebook. You know, the "how have you been" and "oh, such a sweet family" stuff. We are talking like we used to. Making each other laugh. Making plans to meet up this spring and maybe do a trip together in the late summer. We're really making an effort to re-connect.

I'm feeling all these warm fuzzies and my heart is happy.

I know you're probably wondering where all this is going, aren't you?

During all these conversations I've been having with these two friends, I have discovered how they viewed me during that time that we were younger.

When you're in high school, you really don't care what your friends think of you. You're friends. You don't need to know what they think of you. If you didn't like each other, you wouldn't be friends.

So, I never had any clue what their perceptions of me were back then.

A few comments here and there during some conversations have brought to light what they thought of me back then.

And it makes me want to weep.

For joy. And I love them for it. For seeing in me who I really am. For seeing in me the person I always wanted to be.

They saw confidence. They saw a free-spirit. And even back then, they saw someone who really didn't care what others thought of me. They saw that spark.

I was never a traditionally pretty girl. When you saw me, you didn't think "Wow, what a stunner". But, there was something always there. Some little spark.

I never saw this of course. I'm going by what others told me.

The other thing I've discovered is that I knew who I was all along. Even through high school and those early adult years.

I had this guy friend in high school. His name was Chris. He is a Native American.

He made me this lovely Indian medicine bag. He told me to put sacred items of mine inside. They would help to keep me calm and centered.




So, I did. When I was 16 or 17, these are the items that I put inside.

I had forgotten about this little bag, but when I was reliving some memories last night, I remembered it. I pulled it out and opened it up.

Inside were the following items:

The ring you see on the left is a ring that an ex-boyfriend gave to me. He was the only guy in high school that I dated for more than 2 weeks. We actually dated for 2 months. We met while on the track team and I fell head over heels for the guy. He was on a club soccer team and they went to England. While in England, he bought me some presents. These were actually the first AND last gifts I got from a boyfriend. He got me a teddy bear, but he also got me this lovely ring that has an Irish saying on it. Don't ask me again what it says. It's in Gaelic. I wore it until we broke up. After Chris made me this medicine bag, I had healed from the break up enough to recognize that I would appreciate this when I got older. So, in the bag it went.

The next item is a Canadian penny. I can not, for the life of me, remember why this is significant. But, at one time in my life, it was.

The next item is an alexandrite and gold ring from my childhood. It was my first piece of real jewelry and was given to my by my mother.

The next item is an alexandrite and gold earring. The mate is missing. They were one of the first pairs of real gemstone and gold earrings I got when I got my ears pierced. Again, they were a present from my mom.

The next item is a shell. No clue on the back story to that one. But, it must have meant something at one time.

The last item is what brings this bag and the reconnection to my old friends together.

It's a folded up piece of paper. When I opened it up, this is what I found:

At age 16, I knew enough to believe in myself. To write it down.

To make it sacred.

Later,

Mama Dawg

Slow Kisses Against A Car Door

I’ve been kissing boys since I was 11. I got my first kiss from Chipper McMahon. Like Charlie Brown with his elusive little red-haired girl, Chipper was my little red-haired boy.

I crushed on him so hard from first grade til even after I moved away to Florida.

A couple of weeks before I moved, Chipper, my friend Jennifer Anderson, Michael Reulet and I all went to Sykes Park to have a final farewell get together. I was right at the precipice of teen-age-hood but not quite there yet.

We all kinda sorta liked each other. I still had a massive crush on Chipper, but Michael and I had “gone together” earlier that year and there were still some residual feelings. Jennifer, I think, liked Chipper and maybe was a little interested in Michael, but it was clear from the time we got there that there was going to be some competition between Chipper and Michael for my affections that night.

There was a playground there that had a slide. It was one of those that had the plastic tube around it but it went straight, it didn’t curve. I remember that we decided that we would all sit behind one another (spooning, for a visual, if you need it, except sitting up, not laying down) and then lay down to go down the slide. I can still clearly feel the thrill of having Michael’s head in my lap and having my head in Chipper’s but not really understanding why I was feeling that way. It was innocent fun, nothing remotely sexual, but that was the first time I can remember having “those” feelings.

Later, when it got dark, we decided to sit down and play spin the bottle. We were pretty much the only ones at the park at that time.

We found a bottle laying around and that’s when I got my first kiss. It was one of those real quick-blink-and-you-miss-it situations. I know that the more we played, the bolder we got. Michael and Chipper kept egging each other to “slip ‘em the tongue”. I can remember getting flushed but not really understanding what would happen if they did that. I was alternately repulsed but at the same time, intrigued.

I do remember Jennifer out-right refusing to do that and even though I verbally agreed, inside I can remember kinda hoping it would happen just to see what it was like.

I then moved to Florida and received my first French kiss from Pat Petito. I was 12 and I can remember being sooooo nervous. I also remember what a shit he was about it.

He had been teasing me for days about giving me my first French kiss and in between bouts of wanting to puke my guts out, I was anxious.

Like I said, he was a total shit about it. I lived near enough to the school to walk and it was a frequent hang out spot for kids after the teachers and students had left for the day. I was there with a friend and he was there with a friend. They had ridden their bikes up to the school but Heather and I had walked.

He had me pressed up against the brick wall outside of the seventh grade classrooms. I had my arms pressed against the wall and was so anxious. He leaned in close, put his lips to mine and SQUIRTED WATER in my mouth. I was totally humiliated. I slapped him and ran all the way home with Heather chasing me all the way there. I could hear him laughing while I was running.

For whatever reason, I forgave him and he finally fulfilled his promise by going full throttle with the kiss.

Yeah, I should have waited for someone else. It was slobbery and awkward and just gross. I can remember thinking “I waited for THIS?”

However, after I got rid of him and moved on to better boys, the kissing got much better.

I still had a few duds along the way but for the most part, they were pleasant and dreamy and wonderful.

I liked kissing. I liked the feelings of having my eyes closed while we did things with our lips and tongues that some of my girlfriends hadn’t experienced.

As much as I enjoyed kissing, I was not prepared for Brandon Delledonne.

In high school, I was a wrestlerette. This was kind of a wrestling cheerleader but we went beyond cheering for the wrestlers. We set up the gym, got our chosen guys bags filled with their favorite kinds of candy or snacks or drinks. We decorated and encouraged and whatnot.

Part of our duties were to walk in the opposing teams wrestlers and then walk in our own team.

Brandon was a wrestler from another school. I was the one that lead his school in at one of our matches.

We flirted and talked and whatnot. I was 16 when I met him. Over the next two years, we would see each other at wrestling matches but we never hooked up. The timing was never right. Either he had a girlfriend (who was always in the stands) or I had a boyfriend.

When I turned 18, I started going “clubbing” with my friend Mimi (from the Drug Mule story). We used to go to a club called “The Embassy” EVERY Saturday night.

One night was while I was dancing my ass off, I spotted Brandon through the crowd. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year. I went over to him and said hi. He remembered me and we talked for a while. For the first time since we had known each other, we were both single. We exchanged numbers and that was that, or so I thought.

Well, he called. And asked me if I wanted to go out and do something. I said sure. He lived about 30 minutes away but decided to make the drive out to where I lived. Instead of going out, we decided to rent a movie and get Taco Bell for dinner. We stayed in at my house. My mom retreated to her bedroom and closed her door to give us some privacy.

We ate our Taco Bell and sort of half assed watched the movie. I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye and we would do those little touchy things. You know what I mean…arm around the shoulder, finger making circles on his thigh, him rubbing my arm, me laying my head on his shoulder, etc….

I remember when it was time for him to head out, I walked him outside. I can remember that I was barefoot and wearing jeans.

We got to my car and he gently pushed me back against my door. He leaned in for our first kiss. I was anxious but ready all the same.

You know how you read about feeling electricity shoot from your connected lips all the way down to your “spot”?

Yeah, that’s what it was like. For the first time in my life, I was experiencing a really truly passionate kiss. One that had me pressing my entire body against his. One that had me fumbling for naked flesh under his shirt. One that almost made me have an orgasm OUTSIDE UP AGAINST MY CAR DOOR. Completely clothed and just with his lips touching mine.

It was that good.

I couldn’t get enough.

I was hungry for him.

Unfortunately, he had to leave me high and dry (well, not really, if you know what I mean) because he had to leave right then to get home in time to get some sleep before work the next day.

We “dated” for the next couple of weeks, but except for the kissing (and almost but not quite other stuff), we didn’t really have much in common.

The relationship, as it were, didn’t last long.

But to this day, I can still remember that kiss.

And to this day, I’ve not had another like that. Sigh…………

Anyone ever had one of those?

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 7

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

This is the last part. It's sort of a tie-up post, if you will.

The next year is mostly about living in Flowood, keeping sane and dealing with insurance issues.

We did have insurance that paid for everything. So, we were lucky in that regard.

We found an apartment in Flowood, MS and I worked at our local office there. Light of my life started kindergarten in late September and pulled off straight A's the whole year.

She attended counseling once a week as did the rest of the Katrina evacuees that put down temporary roots in Flowood. I think we were one of the only families that stayed the whole year. Most headed back as soon as they could, but since we had no where else to live, we stayed. Plus, I wasn't uprooting her during all this heartache. It would have been too much and too confusing.

We met lots and lots of lovely people while evacuated. Everyone welcomed us with open arms, open hearts and open wallets. We were given lots of toys and a fake Christmas tree by the secretary of the school she attended.

My girls over at my Yahoo groups came through the most of all. They were what kept me sane throughout most of this.

They might not know it and I'm not sure how many I thanked, but they were lifesavers and caregivers and humanitarians all rolled into a great group of women. They sent Target gift cards, toys, clothes, books, games, etc....for light of my life and myself.

We received money from the Red Cross to help us get on our feet.

We received some money from FEMA.

We received items to help us set up the apartment by some ladies that lived where we first evacuated to (where we live now) in addition to money and other goodies.

As heartbreaking as all this was, as terrible as the whole situation was...there were some rainbows in the end.

My house got re-done. I finally got to paint the kitchen and bathroom and my bedroom.

We got new appliances.

We fell in love with our neighbors. I always LIKED my neighbors, J & R and their son W, but after the storm, we utterly fell in LOVE with them. They were always there for us and bent over backwards to help us IN addition to dealing with their own mess. R got me some extra jobs to help with the cash flow situation (due to increased insurance, higher gas costs, higher energy bills, etc....). We connected and became much closer friends. To this day, I still count her as one of my best friends.

Light of my life had an EXTRAORDINARY kindergarten year that, to this day, she still talks about.

We discovered the wonderful city of Flowood and all its citizens.

We re-discovered our faith in humanity.

We re-discovered our adopted city of New Orleans as it struggled to recover. We started going places and doing things that we didn't do before Katrina hit.

We made new friends.

To end this post, I'm gonna provide some links to pictures of the damages and of our life in Flowood. Please forgive the horrible quality of the pictures. They were first taken with a throw-away camera and then I photographed the photographs so I could post 'em. They're blurry and horribly shot, but these were mostly taken for insurance purposes and didn't have to be "pretty".

A picture of light of my life 3 days before Katrina hit.

A picture of the temporary office we set up in my uncle's house so I could continue to earn a paycheck.

A shoe.

The park near our house.

National Guardsmen.

First shot of our house.

Barred door and the white cat.

Laundry room exterior.

Laundry room interior.

Washer and dryer.

Sink.

Junk we pulled out.

Fridge interior...warning...gross.

Floor under fridge.

Fridge on street.

Guest bedroom walls at my mom's house.

Vase that caught the water.

Walls in my mom's living room.

My aunt's driveway.

My aunt's house.

Random house.

Squashed house.

Neighborhood street near levee break.

Yacht.

Big pile o'crap.

Lighthouse.

The car packed on the way to the apartment in Flowood.

Light of my life in the hotel room before her first day of Kindergarten.

The apartment with all it's "high end furniture" (insert sarcasm here).

Thank you for reading my story.

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 6

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

As we went room by room in my house, we did notice some damage. Most of the damage appeared to be water streaks coming from the ceiling and some mold spots on the floor. We concluded that although the water did not breach the house, the standing water stayed long enough to cause moisture to seep through the cracks in the floorboards. We didn’t have sub-flooring, so it was my 80 year old wooden floors, 6 inches of air and nasty, stinky flood waters. It caused spots of mold to grow on the flooring throughout the house.

We were instructed by the oh, so great and knowledgeable TV Gods that you were to clean out your refrigerators and then tape them securely before tossing them on the street for disposal.

I kept telling my mother to hell with it. Let’s just tape up the damn thing and toss it to the street. No one will know or care until it’s too late.

But, nope, my mother wanted to be a good law abiding citizen.

I told her under no circumstances could I do this. I can stomach almost anything but the stench of rotten food. Turns my stomach like nothing else can.

However, I had to put on my big girl panties and hold the trash bag while she literally swept everything that was in the fridge and freezer into the bag below.

***WARNING***WARNING***WARNING***WARNING***

This is gonna get graphic. Skip if you’re eating.

First of all, the stench was not as bad as I had thought it was going to be. I can only assume that after something has rotted to the degree that this rotted, that the smell eventually dissipates.

BUT…..the first time a maggot crawled across my gloved hand…I screamed like the little bitch I am and almost barfed right there amongst the ruins of my fridge.

Not that you would have been able to differentiate between it and what we cleaned out. It would have all looked the same.

I had to leave repeatedly just to get a breath of fresh air. I thought I was going to pass out.

I did learn a bunch of new things on this trip.

For instance…I learned that hamburger meat CAN liquefy. For real. And that just because it’s in a jar, doesn’t mean that it can’t grow legs and hair and practically walk out of the fridge by itself.

And that Tupperware, while sturdy and dependable, can not resist the charms of maggots and flies and liquid ooze.

After that lovely chore was done, we then taped the hell out of that fridge and my mom and I, BY OURSELVES, moved that fridge out of the kitchen and tossed it ass over tea kettle off the front porch to the street below.

I am woman, hear me roar! ROAR!!!!!!!!!!

The next step was to assess the damages to my mom’s place.

In three words…it was worse.

Despite not having a gaping hole in the roof, we lost about 75% of the shingles from the roof which allowed water to simply pour right in to the attic and then down to her ceilings in to her rooms.

The funny thing was, it all gravitated towards the light fixtures and ceiling fan openings in the ceilings. Anything that was directly below the fixtures got saturated.

This included the mattresses in both bedrooms, a flower arrangement on the dining room table (because it was right below the light, it saved her birds eye maple dining room pub table from ruin), a coffee table in the living room and part of the flooring in the kitchen.

To skip ahead to the damages, it was over $80000 worth of damage. Seven out of eleven walls had to be replaced, every ceiling had to be replaced, every room had to be repainted, the floors had to be replaced (as well as the ones in my house), contents had to be replaced, we needed a new roof, new gutters, etc, etc, etc…….

After we assessed the damages, I went and found a Ziploc bag, a fresh bottle of water from the car and managed to get Freddy into the bag with fresh water. I gathered up all of light of my life’s requests and we headed back over to K’s house for the night.

To be continued…

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 5

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2 Part 4

We arrived at my friend K’s house. They lived in a suburb outside of New Orleans. We got in town too late to go to the house to do our look and leave. Part of me was glad that I had to wait til the next day but a bigger part of me was antsy to get in there and….well, SEE.

After a restless, sleepless night, we got up the next morning.

I asked light of my life if she still wanted to go to the house with us and, bless her heart, she decided she didn’t want to go. After seeing all the piles and piles of debris in the towns we drove through, she got scared and didn’t want to go.

Her being 5 years old and all, I didn’t push it. I praised her for being brave enough to consider it in the first place and I told her I would call as soon as we got to the house to let her know what it looked like.

When we hit the Jefferson Parish/Orleans Parish line, I whipped out my video camera as I knew that it would only be a few minutes before we got to the house.

The streets were bare. We were the only car for MILES. The streetlights were out, there were no cars in the parking lots…not a single human being around.

We passed a National Guard checkpoint about half a mile from our house. A lone Guardsman sat under a flimsy tent and just half-heartedly waved us on. At this point, we were approaching the water treatment plant.

That’s when we started seeing the flood lines.

Those dirty, slimy, stinky, awful, heartbreaking flood lines.

You could see where there was an incline in the roads because the lines started out about 6 inches or so above the ground. They steadily rose the further into town you got. When we got to the house that was on the corner where we turned to get to our house, we could see the line. It was taller than light of my life.

Think about that. It was taller than my child. If she was standing on the ground, the water was OVER HER HEAD!!!

By this time, I can’t see straight anymore. My eyes were so filled with tears, my stomach was in knots, I felt like I had to barf.

I kept the camera on as we turned down my street. The grass in the park was dead from over saturation of water.

So many trees were missing.

There were abandoned cars that either had flood lines on them or no flood lines at all. It took me forever to realize that that meant that the water was OVER THE TOP OF THE CARS at some point.

We get to the cross street about 2 houses from my house. I’m straining to see if we can see the flood lines at our house and how high they might be.

Before I could see anything, we saw our neighbors house on the corner. The pile of Sheetrock and debris and appliances broke my heart. The doors were opened and you could see the gutted interior. He is a state trooper, so he was able to get back to his house before anyone else and could start working on it right away. My heart ached for their loss.

We pulled up in front of our house and we could see the flood line. It was on the second to the last wooden plank. I know that our neighbor had previously come to the house and declared that the houses weren’t breached, but until I could actually see it for myself, I wasn’t convinced.

With trepidation in our hearts, we walked up the front steps to the porch. We decided to go into my half first. We figured it would have the most damage.

Before we opened the door, we pulled our regulation face masks up on our faces. We were anticipating a foul odor from the rotten food in the now defunct refrigerator. We were anticipating mold spores big enough to pluck out of the air.

We got nothing.

That’s right…nothing.

We opened the door and I almost collapsed in relief. It was obvious that water had not entered up through my floorboards and ruined everything I owned.

The house smelled musty. Like it had been shut up for years and years and years without any visitors.

I started laughing in relief. We started running around the house checking on things.

Remember back in part 1 when I mentioned light of my life’s pet fish Freddy who we had to leave behind?

I had been telling light of my life that he was dead. He had gone 30+ days without food and he was just an itty bitty beta fish.

We had already grieved for him and whispered prayers for him in the dark. I explained that when we got back to the house, if possible, we would bury his little fishy body and place a gravestone over his final resting place.

After we got in the house, my mom headed straight for light of my life’s bedroom to check on the damages there and to see what condition his little body was in for burial.

I’m in the kitchen assessing the damages when I heard my mom shout. I ran back to the bedroom and she’s screaming, “He’s alive, he’s alive!” and I’m yelling over and over “You’re shitting me, you’re shitting me!”.

Yep, that little fighter was still alive…barely.

Mom said that when she went into the room, she saw his little body at the bottom of the tank. She just knew in her heart that he was gone. She knew that when fish died, they usually floated belly up on the surface, but it had been so long, she thought that maybe the decomp gasses had already left his body and he sunk back to the bottom.

Just for shits and giggles, she tapped on the glass tank with her flashlight and lo and behold, he swam up to the surface and started swimming all round.

I about near killed him with all the food I tossed into the tank!

I called light of my life immediately and I don't think she understood at first what I was telling her but when it finally clicked, I could hear her crying on the other end. After I got her all calmed down, she started giving me instructions on what to get out of her room that she decided were things she all of a sudden couldn't live without. I complied, because, well...why not? Her fish was alive, our house wasn't ruined, life was good.

Mom and I discussed how this miracle occured and we decided that what saved him was the fact that he was in a 10 gallon tank instead of a bowl and that he had survived by eating his own feces and any algea that had grown on the rocks.

I also discovered that when they tell you that betas get their vibrant coloring from the food they eat, they aren't lying. Freddy, before the storm, was a bright vibrant deep red but by the time we saw him 30+ days later, he was a pale orange and very sickly looking.

I then left him in peace to eat his food while we went to inspect the rest of the house.

To be continued….

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

During the next several weeks, lots of little life things occurred.

I fought with my bosses over leaving Mississippi and going to Houston with the rest of my unit. I finally got them to send me a laptop and all the accoutrements so I could work from my uncle’s house until we could find housing elsewhere.

We discovered we had an office located in Flowood, MS and convinced the powers that be that it would be cheaper to rent an apartment for myself and my mom (we both worked for the same insurance company) to live in until the office in Metairie opened up again. After that, if we couldn’t come home, the insurance would pay for the apartment.

I worried about light of my life and school.

See, she was supposed to have started kindergarten the day after Katrina hit.

Can you guess what happened?

Yeah, she didn’t start school on time.

We moved to Flowood the last week of September. We had a nice little 2-bedroom apartment in a safe complex that was literally within walking distance of the office we were going to work in. We were 3 miles from light of my life’s school. Due to my Katrina circumstances, I got free after school care for light of my life. We got a $25 gift certificate from Kroger to go towards school supplies. People in the office we were working out of brought us some cold weather clothes. While we were still up at my grandmother’s, we got Red Cross assistance, which was about $800+ to use at Wal-Mart. We purchased sheets, air mattresses, cold weather clothes (all we had was summer clothing and it gets chilly in September), utensils, dishes, toiletries, toys, books, chairs, I managed to have enough left over to get a TV for the apartment. Between my mom’s money (about $600 or so) and mine, we had enough to make a dent in furnishing the apartment.

During all this time, however, we still had not gotten a chance to get back down to New Orleans to check on our house. While were busy trying to build a new temporary life in Flowood, we still had MAJOR unfinished business in New Orleans.

We still had no clue for what waited us when we got home.

We were going to go down to New Orleans the weekend before we moved to Flowood, but we were told by our esteemed (insert sarcasm here, please) mayor that certain zip codes would not be allowed back at this time due to the impending Hurricane Rita.

So, we wait…again…to get our first glimpse of home.

Finally, finally, on the first weekend in October, we got a chance to do a look and leave.

This basically meant that we got to go to our houses during daylight hours (there was a strict curfew in the city at this time), look at the damages and then leave. We were not allowed to stay for any reason.

Not that you would have wanted to, anyway.

Since we didn’t know what to expect, we got our rubber boots (for some reason, we thought to evacuate with them…go figure), tons and tons of garbage bags (remember, we had 2 refrigerators that had been sitting for over a month in tropical heat w/no electricity), flashlights, the special masks you were supposed to use to protect against inhaling mold spores, gloves, cleaning material to get any spills, my camera to record damages, etc…..

I made the decision to bring light of my life with us on this trip.

I know, I know…..horrible, horrible mommy.

But, I know my child. I know how she is. I know that if she wanted to see first hand the damages, it would be o.k.

We drove back to the city. We were going to stay with some friends of ours that lived in a surrounding city (these same friends are the ones who are with us right now due to Gustav).

We entered the outskirts of Kenner and then got into the suburbs. We hadn’t even gotten into New Orleans yet and I was already crying buckets.

The devastation was horrendous in just Kenner alone. Piles and piles and piles of debris and trash and yuck were EVERYWHERE! Baby cribs littered the streets, wet sodden clothes overflowed Hefty bags, the stench of rotted food was in the air.

It looked like a third world country.

And we hadn’t even gotten into New Orleans yet.

To be continued….

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Before we could get any more news, the power went out at my grandmother’s house.

Yeah, someone was laughing at us. I just know it.

Several phone calls later, we determined that the power was up and running in town which was about 8 miles away.

After sitting and stewing and panicking, we got our stuff together, left light of my life with my grandmother and aunt and headed to the library to use their computers.

When we get there, we find out that their system is down.

Argggghhhhh!!!!

We went home and listened to a battery operated radio and heard all sorts of atrocious things that were happening. It was chaotic and noisy and useless and misleading.

It was frustrating.

And, the whole time, I CAN’T REACT!!! I have to be “on” for my daughter.

We tried calling everyone we knew. The lines were so busy we couldn’t get through to anyone and no one could get through to us.

I didn’t know the whereabouts of my friends or co-workers or anything. I didn’t know the status of my house. I didn’t even know if I had a house to go home to. I didn’t know if all of my daughter’s pictures were ruined, or if my couch had floated off down the street or if my daughter’s brand new Barbie house that I had just built for her was ruined. I didn’t know if that snow white neighborhood cat had drowned or if any of my neighbors had stayed behind to ride it out and were now dead or barely surviving.

I didn’t know ANYTHING. And it was FRUSTRATING!

And I couldn’t react.

Later on Monday, we heard from my uncle who said he had power and cable up at his house. We headed over there and watched any cable news station we could find. We were literally sitting on the edge of his leather couch just trying not to scream or cry or throw things at the PURE LACK of information the media seemed to have.

Now, I know I can’t blame them entirely, but in this day and age where you can speak to someone in Japan and it sounds like they’re in the next room or you can download an entire movie in minutes off the internet, it seemed improbable that these people couldn’t get ANY information to the public.

At this point, really, my days started to run together.

During the next couple of days, we were able to ascertain that it seemed our little block did get about 3 feet of water but not as bad as what we were hearing what other neighborhoods were getting.

On one of those days, we heard from my aunt and discovered that their street had 9 feet of water. And their house was only 3-4 feet off the ground. In short, they lost pretty much everything.

Again, hers is not my story to tell.

We heard on the TV that there was a website you could go to and you could see ariel shots of your house or neighborhood. We wrote down the site and headed to the library. Lo and behold, they were right. We were able to actually FIND OUR HOUSE on the Internet! How cool! We could see someone’s VW bug parked on the street in front of the park right by the house. We could ACTUALLY SEE the top of the VW. We knew then that our house wasn’t under water. It did look like there was a tree down on the roof, but we couldn’t tell for certain.

However, I lived on the bottom half of the duplex. Which means, if water got into our house, everything in my house was pretty much ruined. Even if it was only a foot of water.

How did I know this? Because we had been hearing that we were not going to be allowed back in to the house until the waters receded.

Think about it. Weeks of standing water + tropical heat + no power = a big old mildew-y mess of proportions like you’ve never seen.

And I didn’t have flood insurance. My renters insurance didn’t cover flood and my mom’s homeowners insurance didn’t cover MY contents.

The next couple of days were filled with listening to my gorgeous new boyfriend (shut up, I know he’s gay, still…) Anderson Cooper and the horrifying and extremely unqualified Nancy Grace go on and on and on and on and on and on about the tragedy.

It was enough to make my ears bleed. But, like a car wreck, you couldn’t help but watch. We were watching to get a glimpse of familiar sites while others in the family were watching to just watch.

We finally got through to my incredibly wonderful neighbors. They had evacuated to a Podunk little town in LA and rode out the storm in a cabin.

All entrances to the city were blocked but my neighbor managed to sneak in and got all the way to our block. The last couple of blocks, he had to walk because it was too deep to drive the car.

He said when he got there, he could immediately see that our houses hadn’t been breached.

WHEW!!!!!!!!!

However, EVERYTHING in the sheds and in our laundry room were gone. My little Geo Storm was flooded and nasty and smelly. He lost the ‘stang he was rebuilding for his son.

Our neighbors on the corner got hit the hardest. They had a slab foundation and got 4 feet of water in their house (our street sloped downwards as you got closer to the park).

We were spared mostly because our houses were off the ground about 3 ½ feet. We missed getting water in our house by 6 inches.

Our neighbor was only able to do a look and see. He walked around both properties and verified that no windows were broken and looters had not broken in.

He said that he had never seen the city so quiet and still and empty. It broke his heart.

To be continued...

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina! Part 2

Part 1

So, we got on the road about 8 o’clock that night. The last time we evacuated (for Hurricane Ivan), it took us 12 HOURS to reach my grandmother’s house which is normally a 5 ½ HOUR drive. That was because the contra-flow was not in effect at that time. We had decided to evacuate by going over the Causeway Bridge. What normally took 30 minutes to cross took 2 hours. I was driving and I was TENSE the whole time.

Anyway, this time, it was a lot smoother. It took us about 7 hours to make the 5 ½ hour trip. This was with stopping for potty breaks and coffee breaks and to clean out the litter box from a foul…never mind. I won’t go there.

So, we arrive at my grandmother’s pretty early Sunday morning.

We had packed summertime clothes with the anticipation that we would be there for at least a week but no more than two weeks tops.

Let me back up a minute.

You know how you see neighbors in disaster movies wishing each other good luck while every one goes their separate ways before the meteor/huge tidal wave/dinosaur/aliens hit and/or attack?

Yeah, that’s what we did. For some reason, we stood on our front porch and talked to a few neighbors about what they all were going to do. Some neighbors that we had always just said “hello” to, we were exchanging telephone numbers of where we were evacuating to just in case. In case of what, we didn’t know. But, Just In Case.

Back to the story…

….when we arrived at my grandmother’s, we found out that my aunt and uncle were going to a party in Shreveport and staying the weekend there. My aunt was concerned enough to take her precious jewelry and a few other things but my asshole of an ex-uncle was absolutely CERTAIN that nothing was going to happen and was frustrated with her and everyone else in the greater N’awlins area for making such a fuss.

Despite what you heard/read/saw…people were taking this seriously.

We were relieved to hear that they would be out of harms way and after putting light of my life to bed, we stayed up for a bit longer talking.

Since nothing was predicted to happen that night or even later that day, I went on to bed.

Sunday was uneventful. Mostly just watching TV and whatnot. Trying to keep a 5 year old entertained with the few toys that we brought with us.

The longer the day dragged on, the more upset my stomach got.

Of course, having a kid, I couldn’t freak out. I couldn’t let on how scared or nervous or terrified or $%^*^& I felt. I had to hold it in.

We heard from my aunt periodically. I think at that point she might have known what was going to happen. I really can’t speak for her, though.

Sunday night arrives and it’s time to go to bed. I get light of my life in bed and watch her fall asleep.

I go back out to the living room and watch the TV. At this point, it was pretty much a forgone conclusion that we were going to get it and get it good. All we could do at this point was bend over and take it like big people.

They were giving updates pretty much every hour.

Knowing it was going to happen until very early Monday morning, I went on to bed.

I have to tell y’all something. No matter how stressful it gets, I can ALWAYS, ALWAYS fall asleep. And I did. I fell asleep cradling my daughter while horrible, horrible images floated through my head.

My mom later told me that when the winds started picking up (for at this time, we were starting to get some head winds), she opened the front door to my grandmother’s place and just watched the trees dance in the wind. She said it was beautiful.

I woke up later that day an hour or so after the storm had hit. We still had power at my grandmother’s house. We turned on the TV and tried to catch a glimpse of our city.

At this time, the levees hadn’t broken and flooded the city.

We didn’t breathe a sigh of relief, but I remember a sense of relief that we got the west side of the storm and my heart started going out to the Mississippians on the Gulf Coast who got the east and worst side of the storm.

Later that day, literally right before we lost power at my grandmother’s house (by that time, the storm had downgraded to a Category 1 or a Tropical Storm as it passed over us), we heard on the news that the levees had broken.

To be continued...

Later,

Happy Third Birthday, Katrina!

That bitch. I wish she was never born.

For those who think I’m a horrible, horrible person at this point, don’t fret.

I’m talking about Hurricane Katrina.



It was three years ago, today, that she struck with a wrath that only a woman could embody.

And that’s not an insult to women.

Quite a few of you have asked (in the past) about my Katrina story.

So, in honor of this anniversary (really, why do they call horrible tragedies, anniversaries? Why can’t they call them something else….like…trageversaries…or something), I’m gonna tell you my Katrina story.

Now, keep in mind, my immediate family (me, my daughter and my mother) got off relatively light in comparison to others.

I can’t tell you other people’s stories.

That’s for them to tell.

This is mine.

And mine alone.

A little background.

At that time, I worked for an insurance company. Ironic, huh? Anyway, I worked in the personal lines boat and yacht unit. We handled claims from all over the country, not just Louisiana.

In addition, we lived in a section of New Orleans called Uptown. It’s not as fancy as it sounds. If you think of New Orleans as a big 10 inch deep FULL to the brim bowl…our house was about 2 centimeters from the lip of the bowl.

Back in 1998, my mom moved to New Orleans from Orlando, FL. I had moved there earlier in the year and was living with a friend. My mom decided to put down roots in New Orleans and she thought it would be beneficial to both of us if she purchased a duplex. She would live in one half of the duplex and I would rent the other half from her.

This was pre-light of my life and pre-ex-husband.

This scenario worked out for both of us.

7 years, 1 kid and 1 divorce later, on the Friday before Katrina struck, we found ourselves wiping our foreheads with relief that we had dodged a big one.

Before I left work on that Friday, I had logged on to the National Hurricane Center (NHC) and saw that the prediction was that the storm was going to turn and the projected path at that time was Orange Beach/the panhandle of Florida area.

We went about our business like normal. Had a nice Friday night. Yada, yada, yada.

On Saturday morning, I got a phone call from a co-worker asking me what I was going to do.

I was stumped. I said, “What do you mean”? She told me to turn on the weather channel.

So I did. And I promptly dropped the phone.

The projected path put New Orleans right smack dab in the middle of the path.

There was still a chance that the storm would turn. We didn’t panic too bad. Yet….

My mom came downstairs from her house and we talked about our options. We had already needed to run errands, so we decided to continue on with our day with us stopping by the office at some point to check the NHC website.

We went about our errands and ran by the office. We saw that they still had it hitting New Orleans.

Now…we panicked.

We went home and both of us checked our hurricane bags (for those of you not in the know, a lot of people keep a bag packed with important essentials like insurance papers, birth certificates, marriage certificates, divorce papers, precious jewelry, etc…packed in an easy to identify bag from basically June to November) and started taking pictures off the walls and putting breakables under pillows, etc….You know, preparing for your house to be pummeled with high winds and lots of rain. I put all of light of my life’s books in garbage bags (some were from when I was a kid). I fed her fish, Freddy, tons and tons of food.

We cooked up as much tilapia from the freezer as we could eat and had a feast before we left.

We had decided to leave that night around 8 pm or so. They had turned on the contra-flow at that point and we figured not as many people would leave at night.

Again, for those not in the know, a contra-flow is when they make a decision to turn I-55 that starts in LA and runs through MS and beyond, into a 4 lane highway all going north. This is to help evacuees get out of the city as fast as possible.

To be continued....

Later,

Wild, But Not Wet, Willies

This happened either late 2006 or early 2007. I know it was after I moved back to New Orleans from being in exile due to Katrina.

My old next-door neighbor, R, is one of my closest friends. She’s this big ball of energy that infects you if you get too close to her. If I’m having a crappy day, a nice word or a smile from her always makes me feel better. If I’m low on energy, just 5 minutes in her presence makes me want to get up off my ass (that was for you, Debbie!) posterior and DO SOMETHING!!!

The thing with R is…you never know what’s gonna happen when you go out with her.

Now, normally, nothing real big happens. Just lots of drinking (not her, she doesn’t drink that much…natural DD!) and laughs and drinking and laughs. Did I mention drinking and laughs? If not, those are always had by all.

R is the best at hook-ups. She works for a HUGE corporation that includes ownership of places such as oh, let’s say, The Chicken Ranch and Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club and Déjà vu. Yeah….she works for them.

But not as a “dancer”. No siree, you’ll never catch R up on that nasty, nasty pole.

She has family ties that go way back and is connected to some very notable people in New Orleans. Such as Dr. John (he’s her godfather) and Andrew Jaeger (one of her bosses).

She runs a hotel in the French Quarter and has run several of the many, many restaurants Andrew Jaeger has “owned” and “operated” throughout his years in NOLA.

She has connections out the wazoo when it comes to clubs and casinos and bars and restaurants.

If that wasn’t enough to make you want to be friends with her….she’s funny and generous to a fault and is just one of the best people on Earth. Don’t even get me started on her husband and son. You will never meet better people.

Having said all that….R sometimes comes up with “interesting” things to do and it usually has to do with her connections to various places in the city.

Her uncle is a cross dresser and has/had access to plays and clubs of the “alternative” kind.

One day, she asked me if I wanted to go see a play that her uncle either put on or ran…not sure which. It was in the Marigny and since I had never been there after dark, I said, “Sure”…plus…free play!

She said that her mom and grandmother were attending and we would be able to get front row seats!!!

Awesome!!! Score!!!!

New Orleans is known for their art productions of all kinds so I knew that the play would be entertaining. Either because it sucked hard core and we could make fun of it or it would be great.

All she would tell me about the play is that it was called “Take Me Out” and it had something to do with baseball players and it was a production of all men.

Ok, cool…I was down with that. I love me some men.

So, we get in her Dodge Charger and drive down to the Marigny. We park the car and go into the theatre. R talks to the man behind the curtain and we go all the way inside and find our table at the very front . Not even 5 feet from the stage.

It’s one of those small theatres that holds about….50 people or so. Very tiny.

We’re sitting at a round table with normal chairs. You know, the kind you find at reception halls and the like.

R’s mom and grandma show up and sit right behind us. We’re all chatting away and the lights go dim.

All of a sudden…….




…..there’s like 20 NAKED swinging willies in my face…of all sizes and shapes and colors.

All the men were nude. It was a nude play.

A play of naked men.

Nude males five feet from my face.

On the one hand, it was like a gift from God.

Except…they were all gay.

On the other hand, it was hysterical.

But it wasn’t supposed to be.

It was supposed to be art.

But, c’mon. Willies 5 FEET FROM MY FACE!!! How do you not laugh? Seriously, how do you not laugh?

To this day, I still don’t know what it was about. Something about race and homosexuality and prejudice and yada yada yada.

All I took away from the whole thing was 20 willies hanging free in the wind with me only 5 feet away.

This is the reason I love R and New Orleans (except to live there).

Later,

Mama Dawg

P.S. If you want a link to the review (no nudie pics….sorry!) click here.

We Have A Winnah!!!

For my next performance story, I will tell you all about the multiple naked men. A close second was all my celebrity encounters (more boring than it sounds, believe me) and then stories about working at the Mouse House.

Tune in next week for stories from Mama Dawg.

Thanks to all who voted!

Later,

Mama Dawg