Partners-N-Crime and PB&J

There are two main kinds of PB&J. The first, Pabst Blue Ribbon and Jameson. The second, that delicious sandwich. Both types of PB&J can fall anywhere within the range of “YESSSS! This is ahhhmaazing!!!” to “Just fucking shoot me.” The latter part of 2016 was asphyxiated by PB&J.

And, while usually names are omitted from the lovely Bananas, it is a little hard to do with this one because I’m talking about Jameson (but not that whiskey shot that may or may not kill me one day) – I’m talking about a human.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that 2016 was a particularly low point in Andrea-land. A few weeks ago I was on the phone with my mother and I said something like, “Ugh… October was really really fucking hard.” And my mom said without malice (but a tinge of irony), “Just October?” BITCH. Okay, not a bitch. But really, though. I know that my life is full of ups and downs. Maybe it is because I’m so wildly passionate? I found a great image to depict my life:

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I’m sure you’ve never seen anything like the above image. Totally and completely unique.

Anyway, in August I reconnected with an old friend who used to run in the same party circle as me. We’ve known each other ten years and (after my first spout of shit talking) it was nice to hang out. He’s a bit of an enabler but also incredibly smart. Smart and likes to party. AKA Trouble.

Additionally, for a long time I was searching for (what I thought was) a Nelly song – “Hot Boys,” but that is a different thing. What I really wanted was this song:

So I have to thank him for solving that mystery. (Also, I guess thanks for the threesome. I dig it.)

But, back to the main point. My messed-up-as-fuck almost attorney “friend” who really and truly sucks.

I thought I could help him. Get his shit together. Finish law school. Sometimes I am better at giving a fuck about other people than myself. If you ask, I’m happy to help. But, despite the time spent together (he was homeless, I let him stay with me a few times), nothing ever moved forward. It was always someone’s fault – just definitely not his. It was some reason outside of his control that he didn’t have a job. (Not that he was drunk, late and maybe stealing.) Not his fault that he couldn’t finish his thesis. Not his fault that he has (another) child that he can’t afford.

Finally (we are talking about not that long of a time), I was over it. I didn’t want free drugs and I didn’t want (probably) stolen booze without mixers. I had no interest in staying up past 9 or 10 p.m. and I can’t stand falling asleep to TV. *

*For the record: This is deal breaker territory. I suffered through it with Hot Chef but not again and certainly not when you are rolling in drunk and staying for free in my bed and you are going to drive me crazy by drinking and smoking (helllo, I asked you to go outside a gazillion times with that cigarette!) and watching shit on my laptop. Woof.

I really didn’t think he should give up his dream. In every success, there are casualties along the way. I was willing, if he put out any effort, to potentially be one. But, we’d slept together. >>I’m human!!!<< And it made things messy because he is the definition of Bad News Bears and he totally fell for me. But, he wanted to keep it a “secret” because “what would people think?”

I didn’t keep it a secret, but I didn’t talk about it. It only happened a few times and I consistently and firmly told him that I was not interested in dating him and had no romantic feelings whatsoever. It just happened that he was party to a situation that I couldn’t immediately surgically remove from my life so it seemed easier to just let it ride.

Jameson is in the music industry (unemployed) and thought that because I like this song, I was obviously trying to send him a message through the lyrics. He clearly doesn’t read my blog. Let me summarize: a) I like the song and b) I actually don’t always listen to the lyrics of pop songs that much and c) 5 years of Sometimes Boyfriend might connect him to that song now that I am implored to pay more attention to the lyrics but *certainly* not crazy dude.

So, a few messy phone calls later… (him to my voicemail) many, many mean texts. (As my bestie, she got some fucked up shit typed on little phone keys too…) Horrific actually. Followed by me blocking his number… (I thought messages from a blocked number just go to LaLa Land, but I have 5 messages from his 985 # and I refuse to listen.)  and a bit of violence later, I was cleaning up my trashed apartment (he dumped multiple bottles of water on my bed because since I didn’t want to spend the night with him, he was *sure* I was inviting someone else over and proceeded to make a mess of my bed as a precautionary measure.) including flipping over the coffee table and just making a giant mess.

I wasn’t there for that – I left (because he wouldn’t) and then – he finally quit it.

He also posted this on my Facebook later:

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^ Don’t know why I was Googling “Billy Crudup” and the search for “rehab” came from a looking at the multitude of bottles of Taaka bottles and the disaster that Jmo made when he broke into my apartment and threw a bunch of shit around.

** also, I would say that the very, very public Facebook page made all of this OFFICIALLY NOT A FUCKING SECRET. (And potentially a cause for concern…)

He tried to call me for awhile from other numbers but, since he never listened to anything I said, did not attempt between the hours when I am awake. Seriously. Get out of bed before 3 p.m. (or don’t!) but if you are crashing at my place because you can’t get your shit together and I go workout at 7am, at least when you *finally* leave my house around 4, take the trash down. It’s your mess anyway. Also, cool it on the nasty text messages to me. Definitely don’t nasty text my best friend. And mostly, stay the fuck away.

BTW, I’m moving. Let’s all say goodbye to my apartment for the past 5 years. It wreaks of the past anyway.

Hey, What Are You Reading?

So, I’m sitting at the pizza place across the street slowly sipping a giant glass of Pinot Grigio and reading my book when a bunch of sexy firefighters come in to pick up pizza. And by pizza I mean a stack of large pizzas. (There is a football game on, the place is getting crowed with pick-up orders.)

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Full Disclosure: That pizza/wine photo was from the pre-cleanse send off. But I love to rip the bubble off so I took this photo and would also like to say I’m sorry to everyone across the street for past and future impropriety.

BUT, back to my story. Saints Game! WHO DAT!

This very sexy guy in uniform interrupts my reading with a “Hey, what are you reading?!”

And I flash a copy of Technical Editing, Fifth Edition. And then he says “Wow that is so cool, I’m actually looking for someone to edit my dissertation and none of my friends will help me.”

(Insertion: I look super hot because before studying I went out to brunch with one of my favorite ladies and then got my nails done. I’m still rockin’ an all-black super cute skirt and tank combo and have on and this amazing purple shade of lip gloss.)

I have no idea what I would charge or what it would entail but it seemed pretty flirty. No man has ever asked me “What are you reading” when I am clearly not seeking attention unless they are actually trying to flirt. But I don’t know. He actually might need help? But who interrupts someone clearly not aware that there is a game on just trying to carb binge and who says “cool” to Technical Editing, Fifth Edition who isn’t flirting?

In any case, I wrote down my phone number and my email. (I mean, hottie fighting fires while he finished his PhD. SWOON.)

They walk out.

And then the woman next to me GUSHES about how he was just flirting with me and OMG yadda yadda yadda.

THEN, I get an email. Like within minutes!?

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Ummm what does that mean? That was so fast. Did he think he was going to forget?! So I waited like an hour… finished my wine and wrote back. Because I assumed he meant “editing” and maybe more… wink, wink.

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And then since I had his name I looked him up on Facebook. (UGHGHHG) And sent this:

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And then this happened:

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Ahhhh I am so awkward. ALSO: “Not too many New Orleanians interested in reading and writing” is a big fucking red flag. NOLA is where so many famous writers come to write and there are a slew of us competing for the same limited jobs.

I don’t even know. I was confused. Was he really looking for help? Who the fuck reads a Technical Editing book at a pizza place during a football match? (Me.) Or, as the rest of the crowd seemed to think, was he hitting on me? Or just wanting to fuck because he totally just got kicked out and no one was misreading the situation, I just have no filter and made it weird??

Who knows because at this point I’m drunk even though I ate a whole calzone the shape of a football because I was just finishing a cleanse. (Makes total sense, don’t judge me.) BUT JUDGE ME FOR THIS: and never, ever again wonder why I am single.

First I wrote, “Interesting.” SEND

Then I wrote, “I am confused” SEND

THEN I WROTE:

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Shockingly, he never wrote back. And that doesn’t even make sense? Anyway. Curtain call on that one. Sorry hot fire fighter, it wasn’t meant to be.

 

I Don’t Give a Pho

This morning, I drove out to Kenner to get a much-need bikini wax. In light of my recent boy situation, I postponed my regularly scheduled appointment in favor of rocking that 1960-70’s pinup look should the highly unlikely opportunity to drop my pants (or put on a bathing suit) arise between Mardi Gras and the end of midterms.

I felt a little bit bad about moving my appointment as my gal is expecting, and I’m sure she and her husband are saving as much as possible in anticipation of their bundle of joy. That aside, I figured she’d understand my graduate student poverty mixed with the dark pit of sadness thanks to the end of an era of Sometimes Boyfriend, and we’d chat amicably as she tried her hardest to distract me from the fairly painful hair removal. She would probably be incredibly optimistic, remembering how many times in the past I’d rearrange my wax appointments for every whim (or cancellation) of Sometimes Boyfriend, about how there are definitely others out there.

She really is the best – we can cover a lot about our respective lives in the 20 minutes that we see each other a month because it is imperative to talk the ENTIRE time, with the exceptions of a few pain-filled yelps on my part that are reciprocated by her very endearing “I know…”, about what-the-fuck-ever in order to distract from the discomfort. (She’s going to make an excellent mother.) Beauty is (pain?). Also, I got hooked because razors suck and the nice ones have gotten insanely expensive. I’ve also found that guys don’t really care. They wan to sleep with you. Of course who doesn’t like a sexy treat, but the light fuzz between waxes is really no thing at all unless you are 19 and insecure or unfamiliar with the art of sex.

Side note: Sign me up for that laser stuff (I’m overcoming my fear of a a laser being that close to such an important body part as it’s been on the scene for quite some time) as soon as I’ve got the budget. For real.

Anyway, downstairs in the shopping center there is an excellent Vietnamese place. The legit kind that would be worth the drive in its own right. They have the most excellent rare flank steak pho that I look forward to. And – in case you didn’t know, pho is a traditional Vietnamese breakfast – they open at 10 AM so I can make myself feel better with a steaming bowl of pho post-wax.

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Sadly, today, I didn’t plan for soup and made myself a hearty breakfast after my usual 6 AM workout. I also napped. Nothing like deadlines, insomnia, and a foggy morning to make a nap appealing. So, when I arrived to find out that Elena (the lovely gal to whom I am a loyal client) wasn’t feeling well (that baby!) and wasn’t coming in today, I couldn’t even make the drive worthwhile with some soup. Boo.

“No, I don’t want to see someone else,” I said to the apologetic receptionist who didn’t get around to calling me before I left my house.

And, in true single-gal + I don’t give a fuck mentality I went ahead and moved it back a whole week. Because lets be honest, it is going to rain the next three days and I’m also lined up to hang out with my favorite kitty cat this weekend and he definitely doesn’t care. I can’t even hang out in anything satin or lace because he loves to massage on my stomach making little pricks with his tiny, yet sharp, claws.

So, since pho was out of the question unless I wanted to feel like a balloon expanded in my stomach, I promptly drove back to Mid City to get to work. Writing is fun! And then indulged in a warm, house-made chocolate chip cookie at my favorite neighborhood coffee spot. Because I’m bad like that.

Next Wednesday, I’ll make sure to be prepared to eat, just in case.

Here, Take a Bite

Friyayyyy! After the noon hour no less. What joy! What happiness! (Just kidding I’m really fucking sad and nothing will fix it at the moment.)

Yesterday, I engaged in some much needed therapy because I had a lot on my mind. The therapy: MEAT. So, so much meat. And friends! Friends are good too. (hey, girl!) My pants are still pretty loose today so I think I’m okay; I forgot to wear a belt. Caloriefest2016!

Recently, we started compiling a list of fun happy hours to try around town. The winner for this week was Primitivo, a new(ish) restaurant concept that offers up mostly meat dishes with everything smokey and delicious from their “wood, coal, fire, salt” cooking modality.

Three of us got together and housed 32 gigantic meaty ribs that go for $1.50 each during happy hour. The first plate of twelve was just one giant rack. When we went for twenty, they plated it like this:

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Actually, that is not true. The top four ribs were sadly exiled to their own plate. Why!? We didn’t know so we moved it for my photo.

And we feasted. Hard. Because in addition to the ribs, we started out with some smokey tripe with tomato sauce and jalapeños. Then, in case that was not enough, we also ordered the ceviche. Yummy, yummy.

Yes, I ate all of my feelings. Yes, it felt great. Later, we went next door to the Jazz Market to have a cocktail and listen to some music. Did I mention that I was working through some shit? And had some seriously solid friendbuddies to roll with. Thanks, guys!

What a great idea to go see music because nothing helps the confidence like the lead musician literally singing to you directly. On the microphone. And then playing the trumpet oh so masterfully with those soft, soft lips.

Hello there, sir. Oh my gosh you are making me blush.

Who doesn’t like a public display of “Wow you are so gorgeous!” from someone that is pretty famous. Gahhhh! (PS – we made out!) Very PG but kissing nonetheless. Kissing! Me…kissing a man. An attractive, talented one! One that I assume is single based on the public display but I decided not to lead with that question.

It is as if everything about today – including the gloriously warm, sunny weather and flirting with a guy last night is an affront to my general feeling that today is hard and sad and I’ve got writer’s block for this work project and woe is I.

Hard and sad, I tell ya!

But it is almost over and at 11am I got a lovely text that opened with “Good morning beautiful…” from the sexy musician. I melt! He wants to know what I’m doing tonight but I think “Binge eating and reading my book alone” is not a very good response. I still didn’t write back.  Ugh I am not ready to date. I hate dating! And I’m a crappy person for not writing back already!

Also seeing as my horrible insomnia had me up since the early dawn, I really am hoping to just curl into my bed and sleep as soon as the sun drops from the sky. Maybe a run first. That always makes me feel better.

Table for One, Please

Ah yes, friends. The magic of dating. Mardi Gras, as you all probably can guess, is not my strong suit for the meeting or retaining of boys. And, if you happen to live in New Orleans, that also puts Valentine’s Day creeping around one corner or another. Yippeee.

I met Dr. Glitterbeard at the Space Ball. We met in line to get ourselves jazzed up with some Get Fly Bodypaint and were having a good time. We had mutual friends, and apparently, he was of the opinion that I was the hottest girl there. (High five, me!) My costume wasn’t fully baked because of the pressures of graduate school but the final product was some sexy red star pasties, a gorgeous handmade hood, and matching red bottoms. I was pretty on fire. Fun times.

He asked me to dance, and then if I wanted to get a drink. (Yes!) And of course, Sometimes Boyfriend happened to be nearby with The Ogre so the timing was pretty nice for me to get such flattering male attention. Two vodka sodas and an almost kind of kiss later, we were cutting it up under the black light. After a song or two, I took him to find some other friends that we realized we shared in common from his undergrad days. We realize we’ve lost his friends so he excuses himself to go find them. I figured I’d bump into him later and went on with my fun. Fast forward to me, bumping into his (our) friends first. Here is what I get: “You know he’s married, right?”

Ummm no, I did not. Got ZERO married vibes. Of course, it was all fairly platonic so not real lines were crossed (unless you count the no-tongue kiss thing) although I’m sure if the wife was there I would not have been the center of attention for so long. Anyway, awkward and moving on. I did bump into him later with a coarse “Hi, you are MARRIED!?” to which he responded “Wasn’t gonna happen, lady.” Or something to that effect with a fairly rude undertone.

Whatever, dude. Enjoy the ball.

Then, of course, Fat Tuesday happened. Yippee. And as I attempted to gather my life together and sweep up the glitter, Valentine’s Day came and went with another year of light acknowledgement of another day where society expects us to eat too much food in the name of LOVE. (Pro tip, have sex before dinner so that the after dinner sex can be kind of drunk and relaxed.)

Sigh.

Even though I had no special someone to drape myself in gorgeously scandalous lace for, I do have an awesome friend who got super crafty and made some great Valentines (see below). We did venture out on the sunny Sunday for some quick binge eating of Vietnamese food at the annual Tet Celebration. That was a good call. It was a beautiful day for a drive out to the East (when I wasn’t the driver) and it was nice to catch up.

And later, because I am a graduate student in English, I hung out with Henry James (really, dude…why so many words?) and enjoyed a long walk and two solo glasses of wine. Because you know what, I’d rather just date myself than someone that doesn’t light my fire.

12717504_10103695866555600_5276383802883651588_n(Photo and Art Cred: Camilio Estevez)

I Want My $12 Back

Okay, actually, just $10. You can keep the tip.

I have a serious love for egg rolls. The east coast kind. The kind in the actual egg roll wrapper with cabbage and pork with the delicious duck sauce on the side. I want it piping hot and practically burning my mouth.

In New Orleans, there is a perversion of sorts going on because many restaurants have both egg roll and spring roll on the menu but give you the same thing regardless of the order. They are not the same. But, as I’ve established it as a known risk when ordering an egg roll in the Crescent City, I am prepared for the letdown. (If you are looking for straight egg roll, Bamboo Restaurant on Downman Rd., conveniently located down the street from New Orleans East’s most popular strip club, will set you straight.)

Recently, I’d heard a buzz about a new food truck called Electric Eggroll. Everyone was excited about their take on an egg roll; but they also serve a unique selection of either steamed or fried dumplings. So, the other day when I was leaving the office, I saw the eccentric colored food truck at a usual spot for food trucks to park up for lunch downtown and decided I should definitely pull over.

Knowing that the way to go is *not* traditional, I ordered an egg roll with ginger and beets and an order of tofu steamed dumplings. I was pretty excited. I love beets. I love ginger. I definitely love steamed dumplings. (Just don’t give an an egg roll or dumplings with those tiny shrimp in them. That looks like fish food and makes me nauseated.)

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What a letdown. The dumplings were good but they added something to soy sauce and I wasn’t a huge fan. I sort of feel like $6 for three average vegetarian dumplings is  big excessive. But my biggest issue was the egg roll. UGh. That pink sauce was flavorless and a container of mayonnaise would have lent better to the beet egg roll. (That sounds gross, too.) Ugh at least if I’d had the option of grabbing a few packets of that sticky sweet orange deliciousness I could at least have enjoyed it a little bit.

When you order a traditional egg roll, the filling is hot too. The pork and the cabbage – hot. This was a cold, raw salad inside a crispy wrapper with a gross dipping sauce. Lame. I actually enjoyed the little salad of the filling that they put on the side more than the bit inside the wrapper.

What a let down. At least now I can save myself the calories. I don’t want a pizza egg roll. If i want pizza, I’ll go get fucking pizza. Thanks, but no thanks. And…can I get a refund?

Good Karma?

I’m okay with the misery for now, it’s winter for fuck’s sake, but puhhhleeease if I try to do good things it would be super if there was some karmic retribution. I would love to rack up some future happiness.

Because yesterday kind of sucked. I woke up early, before my alarm, and lounged in bed debating a run or not. It looked miserable outside so I decided to stay peacefully in bed. As if anyone can peacefully BE in bed with a gazillion stressors running amuck their head. If it wasn’t for that, I might just have been sleeping away with the rest of the world. So, even though it was edging on 6:45 a.m. (a bit late for a run) I decided to put on my most festive running pants and hope no one in a hurry on the morning commute ran me over while I cruised though the fog.

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I know. I should get a better app for doing those combined photo things. Anyway I did a shortie run, just 3.5 miles, to leave time to get home to shower and make breakfast before heading to the office for the morning. Of course I was working on a writing assignment the night before until I was too tired so I still needed to finish editing a short essay for class that afternoon. I was early. I stood outside waiting for someone with a key to let me in. Then, I had nothing to do at work but for some reason made the conscious decision to leave my homework at, well, home. Yippee.

I was also famished. Super, super hungry mid morning and irritated that I was bored and had nothing to do with so much stuff that actually needed to be done. I probably checked my phone, Facebook and Instagram at least 100 times in the course of three hours. Pathetic? Yep.  Boring? Hell yes. But, a ray of sunshine, I make plans to meet my BFF at this awesome restaurant that occupies the downstairs spacious, beautiful room of a yoga studio in our neighborhood. I’m pretty stoked because I’ve been meaning to eat at Good Karma since the 4th of July yoga retreat where the guy that is behind the food at Good Karma was our personal chef for the weekend. Oh. My. God. So. Good.

Naturally I got caught up in some chat on my out of work, and I desperately needed gas. Minutes ticking by. And, since I left my school stuff at home, I needed to swing by my apartment. There was widespread whispers of tornadoes and rain storms so I thought I’d quick change into my fantastic all-weather boots before driving the mile or so to lunch. More minutes. Did I mention I was hungry? And tired? And fucking stressed?

Still, I was basically on-time; I mean it was 12:31 and we were supposed to meet at 12:30. And, I noticed my friend’s Civic was right in front of me! (Our cars are twinsies) Wohoo! Cue excitement quickly diminishing because I suck at driving and I know for a fact we are going to both be looking to park and now she will get the better spot first. Fuck.

But wait! She misses one! I am probably shaking from low blood sugar but I put on my signal to go park because I am an adult, damn it.

And then I backed into someone.

Okay rolled into him. Because I don’t think I looked in all of the directions (the key one being behind me). I must’ve missed a mirror?! It all happened quite fast considering how slow I was moving. I probably could have cried from just about anything at that moment but this was more than I was up for. Thankfully I was wearing sunglasses. He was super nice and there really wasn’t damage to his car or anything. He made a joke like “I guess we are going to the same place!”

Um yes. (Great…)

Thankfully that “place” was a mostly vegan restaurant at a beautiful yoga studio in Mid City and that almost required that this guy be a nice human. He also was going to back up so I could park there buuut I most certainly didn’t have the nerve. I said (awkwardly) no thinks I’m going to drive straight.

After a few more tears inside my vehicle I drove around once more, found a spot exactly across from my friend and we walked in together. UGH I suck at life so hard.

On the plus side, the food was amazing. I ordered a warm tofu wrap and my friend had their house made veggie burger. Incredible. The kitchen was backed up so it took awhile and they surprised us by bringing out some lentil soup on the house. Great for me because did I mention that I was hungry? Then, the guy that was at the yoga retreat brought our food out (yay/swoon) and apologized for the wait. I almost melted because we hung out some at the retreat and his incredibly calm personality was very soothing to my insanely high frequency one. If it doesn’t work like a succubus, I’d love to feed off of his calm energy some more.