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On the way home yesterday, I saw a car parked on the side of the street en flambe. The fire trucks were just arriving. It smelled. I hope there was no one in there.
When I finally get to go back to New Orleans, it will be with someone I love. I need to make new memories and erase the bittersweet taste that this gorgeous city sometimes leaves me with. We will stroll around the Quarter, pick up my perfume at Bourbon French, have cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe Du Monde, get plastered on Jungle Juice daquiris, kiss in Jackson Square, and play schexy hide and seek in St. Louis Cemetery #1. Yep.
I need to write more in my paper journal. I think of great things to write down, either for my own purging or for later writing ideas, and I keep telling myself, "Oh, I'll add that to my journal." But these thoughts usually come while I'm about to fall asleep or when I'm driving. I need to get back to where I was. Sometimes, the stuff I write in here is so blah, so filtered, so processed.
Places what draw the freaks(in order of concentration):
1. Post Offices (some guy standing behind me talked to the Lucille Ball stamp today)
2. Grocery Stores (thanks skyz)
3. Banks (not so much "freak" but more like a rude/stupid combo)
4. 7-Elevens
5. Bus Stations (thanks Loco)
6. Any store where all the merchandise is under $1.
7. Any restaurant open 24 hours.
And what the hell is it about freakin' French class. Maybe it's all foreign language classes, but damn if I don't hate most of the people in them. Same kind of people in each one I take. It's like they're all trying to prove they know more than anyone else, so they pipe up, answer questions for other people, and argue with you. These stupid girls behind me (straight out of high school French I'm sure) yelled "un chat!" at the T.V. today...only they pronounced the "t" making it "a pussy". (right bunnymaster?) And if it's not the "ooh look I know how to say "hello" in French", it's the older people who refuse to listen to the younger ones. I wish they would all just shut the hell up and stop trying to impress everyone. Moogs.
I have some kind of half-ass insomnia. I can sleep (oh, boy can I sleep), I just don't want to.
I got home at about 1am last night and knew that I should quickly do my homework and get to bed as I had class this morning, but I ended up sitting there on the floor, like I usually do, spaced out and looking for something to just "look at". I happened upon a little box of pictures from grade school all the way to high school. Senior portraits and school pictures most of them. So I read the back of ALL of them. Almost every one of them commented on how "unique" I was and that I was a great girl and artist. Why didn't I hear these comments about my artwork when I was there? Blinded by my own hatred of that place and it's boring conformity I suppose. Part of the reason I've moved more towards writing is that I thought no on liked my art and I wasn't even sure if *I* liked it anymore. I always heard more praise for my writing anyway. I know, I know, don't listen to people, do what you love...pfft. Well, I have too many things that I love and I'm too lazy. It was kinda nice to see that I was liked and that I was sorta cool back in the day. I need to get that back as well. High school will NOT be the highlight of my life. That's for the ex-cheerleaders who are still living in Topeka and popping out babies like something that pops out other things...a lot.
See, my writing, it is good, no?
When I finally get to go back to New Orleans, it will be with someone I love. I need to make new memories and erase the bittersweet taste that this gorgeous city sometimes leaves me with. We will stroll around the Quarter, pick up my perfume at Bourbon French, have cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe Du Monde, get plastered on Jungle Juice daquiris, kiss in Jackson Square, and play schexy hide and seek in St. Louis Cemetery #1. Yep.
I need to write more in my paper journal. I think of great things to write down, either for my own purging or for later writing ideas, and I keep telling myself, "Oh, I'll add that to my journal." But these thoughts usually come while I'm about to fall asleep or when I'm driving. I need to get back to where I was. Sometimes, the stuff I write in here is so blah, so filtered, so processed.
Places what draw the freaks(in order of concentration):
1. Post Offices (some guy standing behind me talked to the Lucille Ball stamp today)
2. Grocery Stores (thanks skyz)
3. Banks (not so much "freak" but more like a rude/stupid combo)
4. 7-Elevens
5. Bus Stations (thanks Loco)
6. Any store where all the merchandise is under $1.
7. Any restaurant open 24 hours.
And what the hell is it about freakin' French class. Maybe it's all foreign language classes, but damn if I don't hate most of the people in them. Same kind of people in each one I take. It's like they're all trying to prove they know more than anyone else, so they pipe up, answer questions for other people, and argue with you. These stupid girls behind me (straight out of high school French I'm sure) yelled "un chat!" at the T.V. today...only they pronounced the "t" making it "a pussy". (right bunnymaster?) And if it's not the "ooh look I know how to say "hello" in French", it's the older people who refuse to listen to the younger ones. I wish they would all just shut the hell up and stop trying to impress everyone. Moogs.
I have some kind of half-ass insomnia. I can sleep (oh, boy can I sleep), I just don't want to.
I got home at about 1am last night and knew that I should quickly do my homework and get to bed as I had class this morning, but I ended up sitting there on the floor, like I usually do, spaced out and looking for something to just "look at". I happened upon a little box of pictures from grade school all the way to high school. Senior portraits and school pictures most of them. So I read the back of ALL of them. Almost every one of them commented on how "unique" I was and that I was a great girl and artist. Why didn't I hear these comments about my artwork when I was there? Blinded by my own hatred of that place and it's boring conformity I suppose. Part of the reason I've moved more towards writing is that I thought no on liked my art and I wasn't even sure if *I* liked it anymore. I always heard more praise for my writing anyway. I know, I know, don't listen to people, do what you love...pfft. Well, I have too many things that I love and I'm too lazy. It was kinda nice to see that I was liked and that I was sorta cool back in the day. I need to get that back as well. High school will NOT be the highlight of my life. That's for the ex-cheerleaders who are still living in Topeka and popping out babies like something that pops out other things...a lot.
See, my writing, it is good, no?
