The Real Threat to National Security

There is an enormous threat facing the American public, one that we should all come together to destroy. No, not terrorism or nuclear weapons. No, not the appalling public education system or the price tag on a college degree. No, not Lindsay Lohan behind the wheel. Stop reading Perez Hilton when I’m ranting! I’m talking about gay marriage, clearly the most terrifying danger to democracy since women got the right to vote.

Mark my words; the day gay marriage is legalized, God-fearing straight marriages will crumble, families will be torn apart and respected Republican senators will be involved in gay sex scandals.

Why Gay Marriage is a National Threat:

1. Discrimination is Disappearing

Remember the good ol’ days when different races and religions couldn’t inter-marry, and fathers could sell their daughters off to the highest bidder? Good times, good times. Well, now blacks can marry whites, Jews can marry Catholics and women can choose husbands on their own. I hope you’re happy, ACLU. Is this the kind of country we want to live in, where people are allowed to love freely? We need to cling on to the few forms of discrimination that are still legal in this fine nation. It’s no longer PC to fear and hate people of color, so I guess we’ll have to settle for the homosexuals. If same-sex couples are allowed to marry like the rest of us, we might as well kiss prejudice goodbye.

2. The Sanctity of Marriage Must Be Protected

Marriage is a sacred vow and should not be taken lightly. Just ask Britney. She was married for only 55 hours before she decided this lifelong commitment wasn’t her bag (don’t feel bad, Brit; it took Zsa Zsa Gabor nine tries to get it right). But the beauty of this country is Brit has the freedom to get back on the marriage train and try again (and maybe again since that K-Fed thing didn’t work out so well)…as long as she doesn’t try to marry a woman. Two women getting married? Now that would be an insult to the holy institution of marriage. Two men exchanging rings? The idea is offensive to all the thriving heterosexual marriages. These days, a staggering 52% of married couples make it to their 15th anniversary, and I will not have those odds being undermined by two grooms tying the knot.

3. God Only Loves You if You’re Straight

We of the religious right take Jesus’ message of love and acceptance very seriously. God is love, and God loves all of his children…the straight ones, that is. After all, in the Bible, God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. It’s really too bad we don’t take the Bible more literally in modern times—we could learn a lot from it. For example, if a father can’t prove his daughter is a virgin when she gets married, she should be stoned to death (Deuteronomy 22:13-21). And if your hand causes you to sin, you should just cut it off because it’s better to be maimed than to go to hell a sinner (Mark 9:43). Look how much better off we are already!

4. Marriage is Only for Procreation

Marriage exists, not for two people to commit their love and fidelity to one another, but to make babies. Lots and lots of babies. Same-sex couples can’t naturally have children together, so what’s the point of them getting married? Of course, some heterosexual couples aren’t able to or choose not to have children, but they have the equipment for it, so it’s OK. There’s no way gay couples can procreate, and if we let them marry, the US population might just die out. We only have the third-largest population in the world; we can’t afford to lose our place to Indonesia.

5. Without the Gay Marriage Debate, We Might Actually Have to Address Real Problems

There are a lot of pesky, boring problems in our country that are best left alone. Don’t worry your pretty little head about health care or poverty or the war in Iraq. Gay marriage is about protecting family values, the very moral fabric of our nation. Surely that is more important than the cost of fighting wars in countries we can’t even find on a map. I don’t care if we’re depleting our natural resources to keep our Ford Expeditions running or if only 31% of college grads can read proficiently. As long as two chicks can’t get married, I am satisfied that we are preserving democracy and defending the “land of the free.”

And the Nominees Are…

I’m a little upset with the Democratic Party of South Carolina. After all, they did kill democracy. OK, maybe not democracy, but those South Cackalacky Dems sure killed any chance of hilarity in the ’08 election when they kicked Stephen Colbert out of the race.

What, were they afraid letting a comedian run would destroy the integrity of American politics? Of course. Remind me; what was that Mark Foley thing again? Something about underage boys, I think. Then there was that messy Scooter Libby/Karl Rove/CIA leak incident, but I’m sure that was just a big misunderstanding. And it’s really not a big deal that my state is run by a guy who got famous by playing a ‘roided-up cyborg assassin and a pregnant dude. Let’s not get sidetracked here. We’re talking about preserving the dignity of the American political process.

Even though Colbert can’t run for President, I have not given up hope for a candidate who will make me smile through the tears in the upcoming election.

I Nominate…

Miss Teen South Carolina

Oh yeah, South Carolina? Maybe you’d like a different ambassador for your state. Consider Miss Teen SC’s stellar reasoning on why Americans can’t seem to find their own country on a map: “I personally believe that US Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps, and, uh, I believe that our education like such as in South Africa and, uh, the Iraq everywhere like, such as and I believe that they should, our education over here in the US should help the US, er, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our children.” Bless her heart, she’s not the waxiest crayon in the box, but she sure would look good in those photo ops. And we won’t have to worry about her invading any countries because, Lord knows, she won’t be able to find them.

Hilarity Factor:

A toss-up between hilarious and a sad commentary on our culture, but we’ll go with the former.

Kanye West

Ever since Kanye’s “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” on-air rant, I’ve been dying to hear more. Can you imagine what he would say during the debates? He would rip everyone a new one, from Romney to Obama. Finally, a candidate who is honest to the point of Tourette’s. Plus, he has a P. Diddy-like adoration for himself that can only lead to fantastic sound bites. The dude said in one interview that if the Bible had been written today, he would be important enough to be included in it. Wow. Now that’s self-confidence.

Hilarity Factor:

Unbelievable but true.

Britney Spears

Poor Brit. It’s kind of like shooting fish in a barrel to make fun of her at this point, but it has to be done. With the no-panty-wearing nights on the town and the court-ordered drug tests and the criminal driving record, she has “Presidential” written all over her (or is that just a tattoo she got while wasted in Vegas?). She may not be up for the Mommy of the Year award, but she’s still our down-home Southern girl. Voters like plain-spoken, down-to-earth candidates, right? Plus, she’s a musician (just go with me here). America loved when Bill Clinton played his sax. Imagine what a pelvic thrust and a body roll or two could do for patriotism.

Hilarity Factor:

It makes you feel a little dirty, but you laugh anyway.

New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin

I’m not sure how much is attributable to Katrina aftermath and how much is simply a lack of an internal monologue, but I’m fairly certain that Ray Nagin is insane. The “chocolate city” comment was classic, but even better was the way he tried to explain it: “You take dark chocolate, you mix it with white milk, and it becomes a delicious drink. That is the chocolate I am talking about.” Oh, like Ovaltine! I love Ovaltine. Thanks for clearing that up, Ray. He also said the hurricanes in New Orleans were a sign that God is mad at America for invading Iraq. He’s like a walking, talking episode of “Kids Say the Darndest Things.” I can’t wait to hear his campaign speeches. Maybe he’ll tell us Ann Coulter is our punishment from God for allowing FOX News on the air.

Hilarity Factor:

So bad, but so, so good.

Tom Cruise

Next stop: Crazy Town. Population: 1. There’s so much potential for greatness here, I get a little giddy just thinking about it. First, there’s the Scientology. Maybe I’m not in touch with my “thetan” or can’t properly understand my “dianetic reading,” but I just can’t take anyone seriously who believes Xenu the Alien Ruler brought people to Earth millions of years ago. Then, there’s the Katie Holmes thing. One minute, she was our lovable, angsty, half-smirking-half-frowning Capeside teen. The next, she was knocked up and under house arrest by Old Man Cruise. I fear Tommy may use his eerie powers of persuasion to brainwash voters, but it’d be worth it if he does another couch rant dance.

Hilarity Factor:

Funny, in a bone-chilling, sweet Jesus, that’s scary kind of way.

Danger Zone

Chuck has a theory that disaster follows me wherever I go. I used to think he was just being mean-spirited (which, let’s be honest, is probably still true), but now I’m starting to believe him. Bad things do seem to happen when I’m around. Catastrophic things. What if I’m the opposite of King Midas and everything I touch turns to shit? (And shit is totally the opposite of gold, so I don’t want to hear it.)

What, you ask, are these disasters I speak of?

Example 1: August 2005. Brian and I were on the last leg of a New Orleans-to-NorCal-and-back road trip. We were crossing the vast state of Texas (notice I did not say “the great state”–bigger is not better in this case). Texas did not approve and flipped our car over four or five times.

Example 2: August 2005, one week later. Hurricane Katrina. Enough said.

Example 3: October-November 2005. I moved to France at the beginning of October to take a job shaping young minds. By the end of the month, race and class riots had broken out in cities all over the country, including Marseille, an hour from where I was living.

Example 4: October 2007 (I had a good run there for a couple of years). That Iraq bullshit I wrote about in my last post. I know it’s more of a personal catastrophe, but I’m counting it.

Example 5: October 2007. I just moved to San Diego three months ago, and what happens? Southern California starts burning. I used to joke about L.A. breaking off from California in the next earthquake, but I didn’t really mean it, and I never wished any harm on San Diego.

I don’t know what I did to be cursed like this, but I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll do some sort of gypsy magic spiritual cleansing before I move back to New Orleans.

Uncle Sam, It’s Time for a Chat

So we got some shitty news last week. Actually, “shitty” doesn’t really do it justice. Awful, heinous, fucking ridiculous– take your pick. The Navy wants to send Brian on an eight-month deployment to Iraq. Yes, the Navy. Like the one that is supposed to stay in the water. That was the only thing it had going for it. Way to screw that up, guys. Kind of like how the only good thing about Nicole Richie was that she hadn’t procreated. And now…you tell me where the silver lining is.

Being the outraged liberal that I am, I decided to take action. I cried for three days straight, then I wrote a few strongly-worded letters.

What I actually wrote:

Dear Senators Boxer and Feinstein:

My boyfriend is an officer in the Navy, and he recently returned home after a nine-month deployment in the Persian Gulf, in which his ship transported Marines between the U.S. and Iraq. Because the Marines’ tour in Iraq was extended twice, his ship was also extended; a six-month deployment became nine months long. When he came home, we were relieved to know he would not deploy again until June 2008.

Last week, we found out he will most likely be sent on an IA (Individual Augmentee) assignment to Iraq. If this becomes official, he will leave in January for four months of training in the U.S. and then spend eight months in Kuwait and Iraq. We know very little about what he will be doing there, except that he will be there to support Marine and Army forces in this “global war on terror.”

Earlier this year, President Bush sent a surge of 30,000 additional troops to “secure” Iraq. He announced last month that he would immediately begin to reduce the number of U.S. troops in Iraq by 20,000. If we are actually reducing our forces there, why then are we sending in Navy personnel? This disastrous and deceitful war has gone on long enough, and we have lost enough American lives.

I am worried for my boyfriend’s safety and frustrated at the additional time we must spend apart, but most of all, I am angry that our country is still putting our armed forces in danger for a war based on lies and manipulation.

Please support legislation to prevent us from sending any more troops to Iraq and to start bringing our citizens home. Thank you.

What I wanted to write:

Dear George, Dick, Don, Robert, Condi, etc.

This letter applies to too many of you to list, so I’d be much obliged if you could just forward it along to the others. Thanks, gang.

Now don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell is wrong with you? You invaded Iraq four years ago because you swore up and down that it had “weapons of mass destruction.” Of course you never found those WMDs, but don’t worry your pretty little heads about that. I’m sure you wouldn’t knowingly deceive or manipulate Americans into supporting a bogus war. Oh, no. You were just trying to protect us from the terrorists. Anyone who says differently is obviously not a patriot.

No, I don’t want to beat a dead horse and ask why we started this war to begin with. It was bullshit from the get go, but let’s focus on what’s happening right now. George, you said last month you would immediately start reducing the numbers of troops in Iraq by 20,000. Now I’m no math major, but I’m awfully perplexed about why we’re sending the Navy in if we’re cutting down on troops. Do you really think if we keep sending over more and more people, this situation will actually stop being a total disaster? Oh, sure. And Larry Craig was just reaching for some toilet paper.

I know y’all are a little slow, so let me be clear: it’s time to admit that you screwed up. Just come clean, and start making this right. Stop spending $8 billion a month fighting a war you can’t win; stop sending our men and women into harm’s way; stop destroying my personal mental health. Just stop, and listen to reason for once in your lives.

I hope this doesn’t get in the way of our friendship. Let’s do lunch.

XOXO,

Me

Drying Paint? Where?

I’m officially one of those people who blogs, not because I have anything to say, but because I am so bored I’m considering alphabetizing every product in my shower. Brian’s ship is underway until Sunday, the one social event I had tonight got canceled, I’m already sick of the book I’m reading, there are no movies I want to see in the theater (no amount of boredom could entice me to see “Sydney White”) and we still don’t have cable hooked up in our apartment.

Of course there are things I should do, productive things like emptying the dishwasher or cleaning the bathroom or brushing up on my French literature, but those things can wait. I’m busy wallowing in my own ennui. It’s way existential.

This is my new plan for the evening:

6:00: Start writing e-mails to the people I should have written back to weeks ago
6:04: Get distracted by Facebook and start writing on unrelated people’s walls
6:25: Stare in dismay at the junk mail, bills and other crap in the living room that I should put away
6:27: Halfheartedly shuffle the papers into a neater stack on the coffee table
6:28: Open a beer
6:30: Attempt to read the last two chapters of my book
6:35: Stalk my building manager again to see if he has our cable installation package
6:36: Mutter obscenities under my breath when he’s not there and I end up running into the blond chick from downstairs who always complains that we walk around “too loudly” à la Mr. Heckles
6:38: Wonder how many beers one can consume alone before it becomes a red flag
6:40: Open another one anyway

That’s really as far as I’ve gotten. I might throw in some aimless YouTube viewing or blog surfing, just to keep things fresh. Remember the time when I actually had places to go and friends in the same city to hang out with? Yeah…that was awesome.

Just Say No

I have a confession to make: I don’t like beer pong. I know, this is blasphemy to many of you, but it’s time I came clean. I don’t have a good reason for not liking it. I never took a flying pong ball to the eye and had to wear a patch or anything epic like that. It just kind of sucks. It’s like that awful board game, Cranium, that someone always insists on bringing to game night. Everyone loves that damn game (except for you, Melia, and I love you for it), and I just don’t understand. I am a connoisseur of both board games and drinking games, and neither beer pong nor Cranium will be played at any house party of mine.

For some reason, this trip has been beer-pong-tastic (which is odd considering I haven’t played since circa 2002), and it’s gotten me thinking about all the other well-loved American social pastimes that I loathe. This isn’t an all-inclusive list, as my hatred reaches far and wide. These are just the first few that come to mind.

1. Bowling. Please, everyone look at my ass while I awkwardly chuck a ball down a narrow alley and alarm the old folks in the next lane by continuously dropping the f-bomb. Honestly, I only go for the beer and pizza.

2. Darts. Trust me; it’s better that I don’t hurl sharp objects in crowded places.

3. Piñatas. The crappy Dum Dums and Smarties left over from last Halloween are never worth wearing a blindfold and spastically flailing a stick around.

4. Dodge ball. So many bad childhood memories all rolled into one humiliating game. And I wasn’t even the fat kid.

5. Wiffle ball. The last time I played, I was on vacation with Brian’s entire family. I was happy to sit on the beach and read David Sedaris, but noooo, I had to play frickin’ wiffle ball. I struck out enough times that everyone from Brian’s 70-year-old dad to his 10-year-old nephew made fun of me. I like my family because we don’t mandate wholesome fun through sports.

Brian insists I only hate these games because I’m not very good at them. Whatever. I’m taking my ball and going home.

In the Navy

For the next three weeks, I will be living on a Navy base in Rhode Island. Oh yes; you heard correctly. They’re letting the dirty liberal in dirtier flip-flops stay on the coast where they “dress” for dinner and know how to eat lobster. Did I mention I’ll be living in a military establishment? Brian is at the Surface Warfare Officer’s School (which sounds terrifying and full of grizzled old men yelling, “Fire the nukes!”) for a few weeks, and I decided to tag along for a change of scenery. I can work from my little laptop by day, then tear it up New England style at night.

I’m stoked about my quasi-vacation, but honestly, I don’t know if I can behave myself for such an extended period of time. I couldn’t even swing it for an evening. Brian took me to a Navy ball in college, right before we started dating, and I tried my darndest to be a lady. I squeezed into my senior prom dress and let my roommates curl my hair and paint me up like a DG pledge. I only ground my teeth a little when some higher-up gave a speech about “fighting the war on terror” and “preserving the freedoms we hold so dear.” I was so proud of myself. And then this old man got up and started talking about our brave seamen abroad, and it was all over.

“Let us remember the seamen who are working hard to keep us safe. These seamen make personal sacrifices to patrol our waters. Let’s take a moment to pray for the seamen…”

I had to keep coughing and covering my mouth with my hand to disguise the fact that I was giggling like a little girl. No one else (besides Brian) seemed amused. Come on, people! An old, old man keeps saying “semen” over and over. Nothing? Not even a little bit? These were obviously not my people.

So I’m a little apprehensive about spending three whole weeks trying to hold my tongue and not shame my boyfriend. I’ve already established that, yes, he will be a little embarrassed if I randomly salute people on base. But what if I just call everyone “Cap’n” or ask strangers in uniform for an a capella rendition of “In the Navy”? Sometimes the spirit just moves me. I’ll do my best to be good, but I’m not making any promises…

Hipster Olympics

Many of you know of my profound distaste for hipsters. I lived among them for a year in the Mission (apparently San Francisco’s version of Williamsburg), dodging them as they wheeled their bicycles languidly through crowded sidewalks, trying not to listen to their purposely loud accounts of how hard they partied the night before. Oh my GOD, I feel like shit today. I must have had, like, ten beers last night. Are my eyes still dilated? I can’t even take my sunglasses off inside; it hurts too much.

Hipsters perplex me. I just have so many questions. How do all the tools know to congregate in one particular area? Is there a hipster version of a bat signal? How can a person possibly wear that many accessories at once? How long does it really take them to achieve that “I just rolled out of bed and haven’t bathed in days” look? Does it hurt to be too cool for school? If I started to cut my own hair and wear skinny jeans and smoke a pack a day, would I become one of them, or would they sniff me out as an impostor?

One of my SF co-workers sent me this video today, and while I laughed heartily at the expense of my stylish, trust-funded peers, I also realized something disturbing. I kind of miss the hipsters. San Diego has surf bums and aging hippies and blonde Valley Girls with fake tans and faker boobs, but no hipsters spouting their pseudo-intellectual analysis of the latest indie band you’ve never heard of. Where am I supposed to direct all my snarky commentary if there’s no malnourished, velvet-blazer-wearing, PBR-drinking “artist” at my neighborhood coffee shop? The SoCal sorostitutes are far too easy (in every sense of the word). Must. Mock. Something. Help!

Games? I Like Games

The sweet, sassy vixen Lisa tagged me, and I’m not one to back down from a fight. A game…I mean, a game.

Accent – I’m from California. I don’t think I really have an accent. I do talk too fast and say “hella” and “sweet” and “hella sweet” too much. I did pick up some New Orleansisms when I was down there, and every now and then, people tell me I sound like a Southern belle and/or bootlegger.

I Don’t Drink – Jägermeister. Holy crap, that stuff is awful. The last time I had it was at a classy establishment called Tropical Isle on Bourbon Street (we were meeting friends from out of town around– Bourbon Street isn’t a normal hangout). For some reason, I kept insisting that I could scam drinks from strangers, and some friendly gentleman tourists obliged to prove my point. That night ended badly.

Chore I Hate – I don’t mind doing dishes or cleaning bathrooms, but I hate tidying and decluttering my apartment. I never have places to put things, and it drives me nuts.

Pets – I have a blind, 12-year-old goldfish named either Santa or Nova (I wasn’t sure which one died– they look the same!) that resides with my parents. Brian and I are working on keeping our little herb garden alive, and then we can talk pets.

Essential Electronic – My sweet, sweet Macbook. I don’t know how I ever lived without being in constant email and IM contact with my co-workers, friends and distant acquaintances.

Perfume/Cologne – I recently bought my first big kid perfume (in other words, one that costs more than ten bucks and doesn’t smell like cucumber-melon). It’s Lancome’s “Miracle,” which I insist on pronouncing in an exaggerated, pretentious French accent.

Gold or silver – Well, I’d go with white gold if I had the cash, but I’ll settle for silver. Gold just makes me feel like Mr. T.

Insomnia – I never have a problem sleeping unless I’m really upset about something or it’s obscenely hot in my room. The latter has been true the last week, so I’ve been a wee bit grumpy.

Job Title – Content Writer/Editor/Bitch-Slapper Extraordinaire.

Most Admired Trait – I make an excellent trophy wife. I didn’t get my MRS degree for nothing. I also have a mean football tackle.

Kids – Not for a very long time. No buns coming out of this oven. When I’m in my thirties, I think I’ll want a couple of them; no more, no less. With a few exceptions, only children are freaks, and more than two is just not happening. Brian wants three; I told him he can carry the last one for nine months and give up his figure, career and mental stability. Sometimes it’s like Katie Ide is speaking through me.

Religion – Catholic-ish. I grew up in the “love, forgiveness and tolerance” brand of Catholicism, which I’m realizing as I get older is rarely found outside Northern California. I’m not a huge fan of doctrines that hate on women, gays and those who live in sin with their significant others.

Siblings – One fabulous older sister, Melia. I’m not sure who’s the yin and who’s the yang, but together, we will simultaneously kick your ass at Taboo and make you the best peppermintini you’ve ever had.

Time I wake up – I used to hit my snooze button until almost 8 a.m. and have to run to get to work on time. Now that I work from home, I can get up at 7:30, exercise and still be at work by 9.

Unusual talent/skill – I can remember every piece of useless pop culture trivia that comes my way. What? You want to know what Tori Spelling’s character’s name was on “Saved by the Bell”? Why, Violet Bickerstaff, of course! What else would you like to know?

Vegetable I refuse to eat – Brussel sprouts. WTF is that smell?

Worst habit –Procrastination.

X-rays – Are pretty frickin’ sweet. I worked at a dental office in high school, and I got darn good at arranging them in order to create a creepy skeletal smile.

My favorite meal – I crave lots of New Orleans foods that I can’t get here–shrimp po-boys, crawfish étouffée, beignets. Or dim sum. Lots and lots of those little steamed pork buns.

Tag time, eh? Um, most of the bloggy friends I have (not many) are already playing this game. OK, Sara. And Melia when she finally starts her blog. GO!

Two Years Later

I used to love telling people I lived in New Orleans. I’d come home for Christmas break or visit friends at other schools and watch people’s reactions when I’d say, “I go to school in New Orleans.”

“Oh man! Is it crazy?”
“How is Mardi Gras? I hear you can drink in the streets!”
“Is it really like ‘Girls Gone Wild’?”

I’ll be honest; I loved that people were jealous of me for living in such a cool city. I’m sure UC Davis has its subtle charms, but it probably can’t compete with Dunbar’s fried chicken or Ms. Mae’s one dollar well drinks. And in response to everyone’s questions:

“Yes, it is crazy. Strangers say ‘hello’ to you when you pass them in the street. They put the emphasis on weird syllables. UMbrella. TUlane. INsurance. They eat crawdads…I mean…crawfish.”
“Mardi Gras is kickass. It goes on for weeks, and the parades just get bigger as Mardi Gras Day gets closer. People will cut you for blinking beads or painted coconuts. Costumes are encouraged, if not mandatory. And of course you can drink in the streets; you can do that every day.”
“No, you fool. Only dumb, drunk frat boys from Ole Miss act like it’s ‘Girls Gone Wild.’”

Since Katrina, the reactions have obviously been a little different. Instead of envy, I get pity or concern or, my least favorite, morbid curiosity. I was patient with people’s questions in the months following the storm. I understood that, as a New Orleans evacuee, I could offer a perspective people might not get from watching the coverage on Fox News.

Two years later, I’m tired of talking about how quickly the storm came down on us and how I threw three days’ worth of clothes and my camera in a backpack and left the city that Saturday afternoon. I’m tired of recounting how we were all on the phone to our friends and families, making sure everyone was safe, then watching hours and hours of CNN footage (when we had power, that is). I’m tired of talking about the evacuation to well-intentioned people because, well, it doesn’t matter. I was lucky. I had the means to get out of the city early; I had friends kind enough to let me sleep on their floor for five days; I had a home somewhere else to go to.

Instead, let’s talk about the mind-numbing incompetence with which Katrina was handled. Let’s talk about why Louisiana has to fight tooth and nail for more relief assistance, while we’re throwing money into Iraq like it’s goin’ out of style. Let’s talk about why half of New Orleans’ population is still displaced and parts of the city look like the aftermath of the blitzkrieg.

I may be living 2,000 miles from New Orleans right now, but my thoughts are with y’all today. I’ll be the one rocking the fleur-de-lys necklace, drinking an Abita Amber on my balcony and pissing off my neighbors by singing the Jazz Vipers and Cowboy Mouth at the top of my lungs.