On Australian Cattle Dogs, Hamster Trauma, and some guy named Kevin
Brilliant writing as always, Alicia. Your footnote made me laugh. Your childhood diary also made me laugh, but I thought it was very logical and literate. You were clearly born to be a writer, not just a rotter (vis-a-vis Kevin). I went to a conference in Atlanta, Georgia and I was dead pleased about two things. Firstly, I could understand what people were saying. Secondly, they were just so friendly, and funny. I found it hard to locate vegetarian food though (when I asked at the hotel the lady gave me a list of seafood restaurants). Anyway, a bunch of us went to a restaurant, and when the waiter came to ask ME what I wanted, I said, "Well, I'd like a portion of number 3, and a portion of number 27...". He said: What you tryin' to do? I said I was trying to put together a vegetarian meal. He said Leave it to me.
Anyway, I said to him afterwards "That meal was delicious, thank you" to which he replied, in a very broad Georgian accent of course, "Darn better than anything YOU could have come up with!" which made us both laugh our heads off!
I've always thought of you as a DC and NY girl. Do you miss the southern USA?
Loved the video too. TBH, I think most men love their women on the trashy side, at least that's MY excuse. I always thought the Eagles got it about right:
"I've been searching for the daughter of the devil himself
I've been searching for an angel in white
I've been waiting for a woman who's a little of both
And I can feel her, but she's nowhere in sight"
Oh, sorry for another long-ass comment, Alicia.
Hamster trauma is an idea I'm stealing and reworking into something utterly reprehensible down the line. :-)
"....wide open spaces with room to make all the big mistakes." “There ain’t but one moon,” he tells me. “And God called it moon.” Brilliant, Alicia. Thanks!
This was such a great read.
Your writing is wonderful and your childhood diary views were both funny and poignant.
Oh my goodness, Alicia, I'm very new to your site. This morning just waking up, somehow I ended up on this post. Five minutes with the sleep still in my eyes, I started my day off laughing! LOVED THIS! I'll be back! Thanks for starting my day off on a great note. 💜
I love this in more ways than I have fingers and toes. Country antics, I can talk in circles for days, as my French Quarter social circle included four from Natchitoches, LA. Every play spoons? Most certainly a contact sport of backwoods repercussions for losing, and many nights laughed into tears or spraying a mouth full of iced tea. No one spits whisky; that’s southern gold!
The first time I saw fireflies was in the 90s, when my friends took me home to their small town where the weekend activity was to drive around two blocks repeatedly to honk, wave, and play “red light” which is a car version of musical chairs. I was convinced someone gave me mushroom tea. To them, I was a city slicker in high heels, nicknamed “ Ginjah” for my endless dancing (Ginger Rogers) and personality described to be smooth as pot. In the 90s, I even met Cajun ravers - looked like candy ravers with pigtails, glow sticks, and piercings but spoke Cajun. Who knew?!?
As you know, I don’t watch TV much, though my attachment to True Blood has a strong tie to the variety of Deep South folk I met. That character “Jason” ... I’m sure I dated and undated his reflection before moving to NYC, quite the flip side from the uptown Tulane crowd. I know someone like every single True Blood character.
There is something about the current of consciousness and timing. In another layer on my iPad I’m writing a story about the pack rat indicating the peak of going “full on whack-a-mole” We have the same words!!! I admit, I’ve played hooky so long I feel lost with three separate posts and scenes partially written and unpublished, so I stopped here to further procrastinate before retreating into a bath. I have a Jack and Rose scene I could do, or move onto Tesson (the architect of my dreams, and sexy chewer) and Lydia’s first rough scene. I’m crashing! I’m crashing and burning! But oh, I’m going to meet my matchmaker soon. Officially recruited for a dating pool, though I feel stronger with my relationship to fiction. Maybe a first date scene with Tesson could work.
Annoying house mates are the worst! I had one once who was harder to remove than the rat. With the recent “hurricane” scare in SoCal, I was reminded of how much my French Quarter friends slumber partied and barbecued during such times. Candles, playing cards, some spoons, acoustic instruments, and good friends was everything back then. We all had our own places though usually ended up in one house till morning. I would never trade those times, though needed NYC ... similar to how I need a new destination now. But wiser, I’m cautious about roomies. I’m not in NOLA anymore! … Since compared to favor Juice Newton on Facebook, I’m working on the country accent in her songs. So far, so good! Want lead role in that film, if ever 😎
NOLA? Oh dear God, no. Absolutely no. New Yorker, sure. I have a few deal breakers and even though NOLA is fun, I have zero interest in returning (unless to visit in a family member’s home on Bourbon for Mardi Gras) or dealing with any bit of the surrounding conservative population. I appreciate etiquette and chivalry, but not the b.s.… Guggenheim prince, most yes! As stated, my resident keyhole between to Roberts (Smithson & Mapplethorpe) was a great place, everything to discuss around that art provides a enough to get to know someone and their lens upon the outside as well. European architects held up most in conversation, I found. Not even my past interior design partner could bring me back to NOLA, and I loved that job. A Greek prince would be nice, simply for the understanding of Eros, Aphrodite, Tyche, and Pegasus. And, I once again, in mid Leo season a repeat musician reminded of last years wooing by a maybe Greek Prince I met in the park, comparing me to the likeness of a painting he commissioned. Instant ace. But what am I to do with a gent in another country? The distance doesn’t quite meet my high maintenance! Not an idea how to handle that moment or proceed. So, I will keep you posted on the outcome of my date with a matchmaker lady. The in-person outreach from her is most appreciated, since I don’t list myself. … On spoons. It is a card game that works similar to “bullshit” with a card on the forehead, though when someone breached the chain of acceptance and the challenge is false everyone runs to a pile of spoons in the middle of the room (total count one less than people). Whoever is left without a spoon, has a choice between two dares. The goal might be to make it out of the game without becoming a Darwin Award. I watched someone take a shot of bong water once. Nevahhha! So, like football.