Ode to a Friend

I have a friend.

She's been my friend for 28 years. Just to write that number makes me catch my breath, to realize that I, and my friend, have been around for that long, and longer. Let me recount....2008 minus 1980...yes, that's right. 28 years. Wow.

Not to sound cliche, but it certainly doesn't seem that long. We've been through many jilted boyfriends, an untimely death of someone very close to both of us, college, drunken binges, a few disagreements, children, husbands, and many, many, many pets.

We only see each other a couple of times a year, and talk about once a month but each time I hear her voice, it feels like home.

She's always in control while she's out of control, that is who she is. Always questioning and never settling for ordinary, still she loves the mundane. She's somewhat of a contradiction, my friend, which is what makes her so interesting.

Happy 28th anniversary...you know who you are.

Snails and Puppy Dog Tails Rock

Girls.

So much to say about this gentle gender. I'm raising two teenage daughters and for the most part, they are the light of my life. Opposites in every way, they are in the 10th and 9th grade and growing up. Or not. Growing down? Stagnant? Filling out by the bust and booty but not in the brain? Moodier than a woman in the cruel throes of menopause. So smart sometimes in their insight to the human condition that I'm amazed, and other times, dumber than a pile of dirt. And just as unsightly. How can a teenage girl's very countenance change from one of bright, yellow sunshine to odorous, green dung in less than a second?

All I can say, is thank heaven for little boys. And men. If it weren't for my husband, Roberto, and my grandson, Mr. Wapkaplet, I'd lose my mind. As I type this, Roberto is behind me, playing COD on the XBox. Completely at ease with his geek factor, he's got more gadgets to this machine than I knew existed. I can't hear anything from the TV because of the full headphones he wears but at any given moment, he explodes with random comments that mean nothing to me but everything to his twelve-year old Internet comrades..."I'm in Grandma's house" or "They're in the conference room, dude!" and then there's "Watch the cave!" or "There's still one ON THE BALCONY!", and my all time personal favorite, "WHAT? NO WAY! I JUST UNLOADED A FULL CLIP ON HIS ASS! NO WAY HE'S NOT DEAD!"

Gotta love him. Simple creature that he is. He works, he eats, he sleeps, he poops, he plays. Just like my grandson, minus the work. And at the end of the day, he smiles at me, hugs me and tells me he loves me. Just like my grandson, minus the telling me he loves me. But only because he can't talk. I'm sure though, that when he says, "gleekumblakeoopuuu", that's exactly what he means. Because he's cool like that.

Ten minutes with the guys is like a band-aid coated with neosporin for my wounded, teenage girl inflicted, tortured soul.

The World Goes to Hell in a Handbasket

I've had quite a frustrating weekend which revolves around customer service, or should I say, the lack thereof. I have had heated discussions with numerous Comcast employees, trying to find someone who could correct an error that they made. It took me weeks just to get Comcast to even acknowledge the mistake, much less correct it. In a nutshell, we dropped our landline on July 7th because we don't need the extra expense when everyone in the house, except Mr. Wapkaplet, has a cell phone. The monthly bill is autodrafted so I didn't realize that I had been paying for a phone line that I hadn't had for two months. When I realized this, I merely wanted to be credited...that's all, just credit to my account for the cancelled service.

These people are wacko. Idiots. Maroons.

First guy I talked to says yes, my phone service was cancelled on July 7th but to ACTUALLY be issued a credit, I have to GO TO the Comcast office.

"Huh?" (pretend you're me...right now your mouth is hanging open)

"Yes, man. In order to actually have the charge for the phone service REMOVED from your account and be issued a credit, you have to do it in person, at the office."

"Really? How come the girl I spoke to on July 7th didn't mention this vital piece of information to me? And how is it that you can disconnect my service with the touch of a buTTon, but you can't credit my account for a service that I haven't had for two months and HAVE BEEN PAYING FOR DURING THOSE TWO MONTHS?"

"Ma'm, I'm just telling you how this needs to be handled. I can't help you."

Imbecile.

Fine. Three weeks later, I finally find the time to drive to Comcast and I'm pissed. Gustav is heading our way and it's been raining for three solid days. When I arrive, of course, there is a line out the door with similar irate customers, like myself.

I wait, ever so patiently. My patience was not rewarded. A woman who looked like she needed to have something removed from her buttocks, told me that I would NOT get a credit because I still have a phone.

"Huh?" (pretend you're me except this time, your mouth isn't hanging open and you have that bitch tone in your voice)

"Yes, mam. We're showing you never cancelled your service and the phone is still on."

Tap. Tap. Tap. The lady (and I use this term MOST loosely, is making this sound with her pen on her desk while she stares at me as if we are 'bout to throw down)

"No, mam. You are mistaken. I cancelled that service on July 7th and merely want my credit APPLIED TO MY ACCOUNT!"

"Mam, I can't help you until you turn in your modem at which point, you will be issued a different modem, at which point, your phone will be terminated as of that day."

"Really? Return the modem? Even though I still have Internet with you halfwits? The phone is TURNED OFF! THERE IS NO DIAL TONE! How come no one told me I had to turn in the modem the first TWO TIMES I CALLED?"

"Mam, please calm down and move aside. I have told you all I can do at this point and what YOU need to do to correct the situation."

Imagine her looking so annoyed with me, the pitiful victim, and imagine her whiny, condescending voice as she sends me away. Then imagine me smashing my hulk fist through the plexi-glass shield that separates us and ripping out her thin, whiny, vocal chords! No, that didn't happen, but welcome to my mind.

This story could take all day, so I'll condense. I did eventually get my credit. But only after I threatened to cancel my service completely and THEN find every employee of Comcast and sew their ass-cheeks together after I've shoved massive doses of Ex-Lax down their whiny throats.

But I must share with you the last conversation that I had with the Comcast drone before I got to the sweet, kind young lady who helped me.

"This is Doris, can I help you?"

"Yes, mam. I cancelled my phone service on July 7th and have been paying for this service for two months, still shows up on my newest bill, so I just need to have this resolved and have a credit issued to my account."

"I see. (type, type, clickity, clickity frickin' clack) Mam, I show no record of your service being disconnected. You are being charged for this service because you still have this service."

"No...I don't. I have not had a dial tone as of July 7th when I called and cancelled this service. Don't you show that in your records? WHEN YOU CALL THAT NUMBER YOU GET A RECORDING THAT SAYS THE NUMBER HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED OR IS NO LONGER IN SERVICE! WANNA KNOW WHY, HUH, DO YA, DO YA? BECAUSE I CANCELLED IT! CALL IT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE CALL IT! I WANT MY CREDIT!"

"Mam, please calm down. There's no need to shout. Have you contacted our service department to see why it is that you don't have a dial tone?"

I kid you not. That's exactly what she said. It was then that I lost complete control of my bladder and all rational thought. The paramedics later found me lying in the parking lot, muttering something about the wrath of Gustav and the evils of digital phone service.

Tomorrow: The sad, sad story of how the Texas Street Tavern royally screwed me shortly after my release from the 8th floor.

Winter in August

Louisiana is a strange land. All summer long, we've hardly had any rain. But even without the cool of the rain, the heat, with the exception of the last two weeks of July and the first half of August, hasn't been terribly oppressive either. But now the lingering Louisiana rain has set in, five days in a row. No sunshine. I have to keep reminding myself that summer is still here, that any day now, the sun will show his sweet, glowing face and that wem will go swimming again before the end of August. It's gray, it's dreary and it's getting darker earlier because of the cloud cover.

I thought I was ready for a change in the seasons, but as it turns out, not quite. I love the ease of the summer.

Languid. I love that word. Sultry. Another word that I love.

And with the change of the seasons, from summer to fall, from fall to winter, comes my love/hate relationship with the holidays. Love because it's warm, filled with family, food and giving. Hate because it's filled with activity, school projects and endless commitments to have warm time with family, friends, food and giving. Seems I have managed the art of finding fault with things that I love. Can't I ever be content?

Night Thoughts

It's late and I find myself wandering the house alone again.

This has to do with my son and my counselor. I am trying turn over a new leaf. I am trying not to consume most of time with worry over my oldest child. Sometimes late at night though, when he's not yet home, it gets a little difficult.

And I can't help but wonder about something my counselor once said to me. She said that addictive personality's often crave drama. And then she said that I had that personality...addictive. Me. I guffawed at this. Guffawed. And I'm pretty sure that's how you spell it.

The thing about truth is that when you recognize it, it's liberating. So, even though this flys in the face of everything that I'd like to believe about myself, I have to consider that this may be true .

So, what does this say about me? And how can this liberate me from my present cycle of drama revolving around my son?

This blog doesn't wrap itself up with nice, fuzzy answers. I don't have any right now. I'm working on it though.

And that, in itself, is a beginning. An unraveling of truth.

Blessed are the Cheesemakers

I had a wonderful week with my in-laws. It's a unique situation...maybe not so unique, but still very special to me. If you read my blog (TWO...count them...TWO readers) you know that my husband, Brian, passed away when we were very young. That's been 19 years ago exactly tomorrow. Hard to believe that so many years have passed. His family, the Johnsons of the Wildwoods, have never let me forget that I belong to them. Just the other night, over margaritas at Pepito's, my mother-in-law, Carmen said those exact words "You belong to us." She's an amazing woman whom I love and admire greatly. And she loves her some margaritas. Incredibly refined and always in control, one margarita unlocks the door to her "long hair" side. I love that about her. She shines. And funny!...she makes me laugh until my sides hurt. She opens her house to me and I feel like I'm home.

And then there's Ray...my father-in-law. He comes and goes but when he's there, he's there. Warm, big-hearted and full of stories about his military life, his gunshop, and anything else that involves explicit, technical mechanical details or a man named Beaudreaux. The man is always working on things. And he always fixes them. He loves his family and hands out hugs and kisses unlike most men I know.

Kristin, the baby of the family, has grown into a young woman. My first date with Brian was taking Kristin and my little sister, Pam, to see The Fox and the Hound. It was so sweet. She was so tiny and slight. Full of questions. Now she's a beautiful young woman with two girls of her own, Bella and Anna Marie, and well on her way to making a life for herself and her two girls as a single mother. I have no doubt that she can accomplish this.

And then there's Diahn, the middle determined child. We befriended each other in high school and it never ceases to amaze me when she says she thought that I was cool...ME...in high school. And how she loved it that I let her hang around with me and my cool senior friends at lunch. My friends and I were anything but cool.

We were the anti-cool.

The negative of cool.

We were...well, let's face it, we were cool repellent.

But when I'm with her, my sister-in-law, we are anti-cool together. We remember. We laugh. We drink a little and laugh a lot. We sing. We throw out Monty Python one liners like crazy.
And we catch up on every detail imaginable that we've missed. Never miss a beat.

I am different, yet the same when I return to Tuscaloosa, to the Wildwoods. There is a part of me there that is separate from my other life. A part of me that I left there. It's so good to remember that girl...that life. And even better to find her among sweet family, and bring her back to life, back to my family in Louisiana.

She Was Marvelous

My Grandmother, Learon Laverne Cooper, passed away this morning. She was 86 and I will miss her terribly. These are some things that I loved about her.

She always talked about herself in third person.
She made the BEST biscuits in Louisiana, possibly the WORLD.
She loved AquaNet.
She loved DippityDo.
She cooked for an army, which my family definitely is, and loved to see us eat.
She cut a special piece of chicken just for me, from the pulley-bone, and called it a "frog."
She cooked "Grandma peas" just for me (black-eyed peas).
She loved me the best of all the grandchildren.
She gave me a bionic woman action figure for my 11th birthday.
She made me a giant Raggedy-Ann doll for Christmas on my 10th birthday, she made my prom dress and my first wedding dress.
She loved polyester.
She was a strong, independent woman and has been on her own since my Grandpa died at the young age of 43 and has taught me perseverence.
She loved to travel, alone.
She loved, loved, loved her family.
She was a faithful, consistent, calm, strong Chrisitian woman.
She loved chinese food and we went to "Imperial Gardens" together often for lunch.
She was a breast-cancer survivor.
She was a dear friend to me and always listened to me.
She told me her stories and sometimes her secrets (my favorite...her best friend, Mr. Pickett, whom everyone thought she would marry one day, was gay...I knew it!)
She loved coffee with cream.
She was the best seamstress...ever.
She cooked everything southern style...bacon grease, Crisco and butter...lots and lots of butter.
She liked to gossip a little but always finished up her stories with "bless her/his heart"...a southern disclaimer.
She was soft when she needed to be and tough when she needed to be.
She was the most forgiving, non-judgmental person I have ever met.
She was my Grandma and she was marvelous.

I love you, Grandma.