A Great Day All the Way Around

Yesterday was Peach's first day at the much-heralded Groovy Granola Montessori School, and if her SPRINT into the classroom at drop-off and her "I can't wait until tomorrow chant" on the way home are any indication, it was a great success. Her teacher called last night to say she fit right in, like she'd been there forever, and that she was a great addition to "the community." And my feeble attempt at emulating this gal, albeit with a lacto-ovo vegetarian bent, was well-received by Peach and her lunch buddy for the day, with whom she shared some watermelon balls and cashews. Someday I may get brave enough to post a picture of the day's offering, however, I'm sure I'll never measure up to the original. We do have the cute bento box though. So there's that.

Already, the enormous differences between GGMS and Peach's precious preschool are very apparent. Last year, they had chapel once a week, we had the option of ordering take-out pizza or sandwiches for lunch 4 days a week (we chose Wednesday), and she was learning along side the children of some local glitterati. This year, they have group singing and movement once a week, there is a strict no-waste lunch policy, thus pre-packaged foods and non-reusable containers are forbidden, and her teacher will be out a few days next week because her dance troupe is performing at Burning Man. Opposite ends of the spectrum, but both lovely, loving places. We are thrilled with Peach's success so far and are eager to see how she blossoms in this new environment. Man.

In other GREAT news, Karla May's surgery yesterday was a success, with no trace of cancer in the mass they removed from her belly. I'll let her fill you in on the details, but she looked pretty good when I went to spend the night with her at the hospital last night. Pretty good for having been gutted a few hours earlier. I told her they should have taken her appendix and gall bladder while they were in there, just to save time (her tonsils are already gone). She fought hard not to cough or laugh, and she made a valiant attempt to watch Project Runway for the first time, but the drugs got the better of her. She may be layed up there for about a week, but head over to her blog and leave her some good wishes to read when she gets home.

Laissez les bons temps rouler

So I'm not going to go into a long, drawn out thing here, but I just want to say this: I love New Orleans. I've visited many times, got engaged there, and even applied to law school at Tulane and Loyola (even though Louisiana has a completely different system of law, and I would have been pretty screwed when I tried to take the Texas Bar). Yeah, I love the party atmosphere (ask Karla May about the trash can incident), but what I love even more is the history and the cultural pride associated with the city and the Gulf Coast in general.

I was supposed to go to the Big Easy about a month after Katrina hit for a much-anticipated weekend with all the crazy women in my family, and it was really hard to cancel the whole trip, not knowing when we could go back again and what it would be like if we did. I can't imagine what those people who live or have lived there must have felt like. I still think about them and pray for them, and, on this first anniversary, I hung this in my kitchen:

It's a piece of slate roof from a Garden District home (c. 1850s) that was destroyed by the storm. It came from these gals, who are from the area, and I think it's a beautiful tribute to what was and, hopefully, will be again. I also think it compliments this quite well:

It's a Glitter Girl piece, inspired by Mardi Gras. I got it the weekend T-Bone and I got engaged at The Old Absinthe House. Damn, what I wouldn't give for a cold beer and a noisy strike at The Rock 'n Bowl right now.

You take the good, you take the bad

You take Olive to Gymboree, and there you have:

Jo from The Facts of Life?

Yep. Random. I saw her right when we walked in yesterday, and I confirmed it was actually her by checking the sign-in sheet on our way out. She used her married name, but it was totally her. And (I think) she's pregnant. And surprisingly small. Well, everyone's small compared to me, the Big Girl, but what with all of Jo's motorcycle riding and automotive repairs for Mrs. G., I expected her to be kinda butch. Not so. I guess she's filming something in town, but she has a precious little girl and was just trying to be a normal mom, so I didn't hassle her. I don't think anybody else even realized it was her. But I knew. Because I'm smart like that. Olive, on the other hand, was too blinded by love to realize or care that she was mixing with famous spawn. I love this freaky town.

Here's Your Answer, T

I have two dear friends, M and T, who I have known since elementary and middle school, respectively. M moved to Missouri after our freshman year in high school, and T moved to Pennsylvania after our junior year. We've kept in touch over the years, are there for the big events in each other's lives, and continue to encourage and entertain each other despite the distance. M's back in Missouri, and T's in North Carolina, but we're having a summit meeting in Vegas in October to reconnect, relax, and recharge. M managed to score us a suite at the Bellagio, so we'll be rubbing ashy elbows with the beautiful people, y'all, and we've got tickets to see Elton John in all his queenly glory one night. I'm just praying he throws the mother of all shitfits on stage and takes an ax to his red pie-ana. Wouldn't that be so awesome?!

Alas, I digress. One of the many reasons I love these girls is that they totally GET me and all my weirdness, and even if we go without talking for a while, we always jump right back to where we left off, laughing all the way. Both of them read this blog, although they are too shy to leave comments (ahem), so I have to share this gem of an email I received from one of them tonight:

I’ve been waiting for your blog on how you’re going to leave T-Bone and head to LA to look for the Black Crowes guy, since it looks like he will be single soon enough. Can you even put it into words what it is that you find attractive about him???

And when you become that little boy’s stepmother, will you please give him a decent haircut???

I have made no secret about my love for Chris Robinson, and I have and will go to great lengths to see the man any time. That said, given the current state of his relationship with what's-her-face, I'm not exactly celebrating, especially since they have a kiddo, and it seems that my boyfriend may have been the dumpee in this situation. Which I totally cannot believe, but whatever. As far as what it is I see in him, I think it's a combo of him and his music and his full on commitment to letting his freak flag fly, man. I just wanna love him up every time I see or hear him. And the fact that he weighs about half as much as I do doesn't dissuade me in the least. He rocks. Plain and simple.

And T, methinks you might need to start a blog. Well played.

River Rats

That's what I brought home with me after a weekend on the Guad-a-loop. We had a glorious time at the darling Casa Bonita, and I seriously considered staying a while longer, like a year. We lived in T-shirts and bathing suits. We swam and boated and ate and swam and boated and ate some more, and I didn't even take a shower. For three days! My hair wasn't greasy when we got home - it was sticky, yo. Peach and Olive wore themselves out and fell into bed every night. And we all slept past 8 am every morning. Heaven.

I swear. If I ever win the lottery, you'll know where to find me.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My babe, to be specific. The little one. With the big ideas. And the adorable way she drops the "s" at the beginning of most words that start with an "s" blend - like "(s)chool" "(s)tickers" "(s)poon." A recent dinner conversation:

O: I need my poon! I need my poon to eat my trawbeawees!
P: Here's a poon.
O: No, no dat one! I want dis poon!
P: That's my poon!
LT: P, just give her your poon, I mean spoon.
O: Thanks, sis. (eats furiously) Whoo! I'm tuffed!

Olive is also quite the backseat driver, and we actually had to have a lesson about "turning right on red" after this little exchange:

O: Wed light! Top!
(LT stops, pauses, starts turning right)
O: MOM-MEEE! NO! Wed means top! Gween means go!
LT: Yes, baby, I know. But, if there are no cars coming ...
O: Mommy, wed means TOP! Daddy tops!
LT: He is the tops. And I wish he was here right now.

And finally, you know how you'll talk about something with your children, and then you talk about something else, thinking the first thing is forgotten, but then it pops up later, out of nowhere, and it makes for good comedy? Yeah, that happened the other day, too.

Olive has been messing with one of her ears, and I've looked and the doc's looked, and there's nothing wrong with it. She just keeps talking about it and is obsessed with putting alcohol in it, like we do after swimming. Everclear, by the way, in case Mommy needs a little nip now and then. Anyway, we were talking about our big trip to Disneyworld in November and all the characters we're going to see (which should be interesting since she spent the better part of dinner at Red Robin the other night buried in my lap because the Wed Wobin was going to "get" her). We were talking about going to Mickey and Minnie's houses, and Olive pops up with this:

O: Mommy, does Minnie have alcohol at her house?
LT: (smirking) Yes, baby, I imagine she does. Lots of it.
O: Yes - because her ears are so big.

An angel straight from heaven. By way of the old country, what with the olive skin and dark eyes and hair.

Who am I?

This little game has been making the rounds, but I lifted it from Bookhart. You Google "(your name) looks like," and see what comes up. I used just my first name, which I happen to share with a famous walking trainwreck, so the results were numerous and quite creative. Some of my favorites:

"(La T’s first name) looks like"

• crap.
• hell.
• death.
• the old junkie she is.
• a dirty dollar bill.
• an ... alien or something.
• a frumpy aunty.
• a granny.
• a tranny.
• a ghoul.
• an Elvis impersonator.
• a cracked out Debbie Harry.
• a b-movie version of James Caan.
• the bloated, maggot-ridden corpse of Joan Rivers on a bad day.
• Penny Marshall, and that ain’t good.
• a scaggy 30-something with a really bad dye job trying to look like a scaggy 'tween.
• a lot of the old broads I see here on the Upper East side. While most of them look like they have sticks up their bums, I bet she actually does.
• she’s about to pop.
• she’s going to a Halloween party at a frat house.
• she’s a little bit guilty – just a little.
• she's chewing something 90% of the time you see her face.
• she’s doing really well with her recovery (fingers crossed).
• a sensitive, trembling doe in the great forest, all crouched against a fallen log, until some kindly person finds her and calms her by gently caressing her quivering breasts.(?!)

Hail All You Cougars

Word up, y'all. You'll have to listen closely, because I talked myself silly this weekend, and my voice is shot. (clearing throat ...)

My GD high school reunion was so bitchin', I'm actually a little blue now that it's over. At our 10 year, there were folks there who obviously wanted to make some kind of a point or try to out-do everybody in one way or another, so while fun, there was still a competitive air about the whole thing. Not so with the 20 year. I think by this point, everybody has gotten over all that crap and is more settled in their lives, and they just genuinely want to reconnect and have fun. And we had lots of it. Twice I came dangerously close to peeing in my pants because of things that were said or dance moves that were courageously attempted (not by me - the fierce shoes and my better judgment didn't allow much daincin'). I ate so much at dinner Friday and Saturday that I may have officially ODed on mexican food. And I laughed so hard, so often, that my face, neck, and back are still sore today. Gawd, I know some funny as shit people.

Friday night was dinner with my girls and their hubs, and the CD and DVD were huge hits. After that, T-Bone and I hit my FAVORITE bar ever ever in the whole world anywhere ever and enjoyed the orange moon and a hint of a breeze with a boatload of bikers and some random local scenesters. Perfect.

Saturday morning we met at a friend's house for lunch and swimming. The kids had a ball in the brand-new pool, however, Peach suffered a bit of an ankle injury while scurrying too fast on the deck. I think she was more embarrassed than anything, but she falls like me - HARD. My friend put the CD into the rotation, whereupon everyone admitted they had listened to it on the way home the night before AND viewed the DVD until the wee hours of the morning. I told ya they would eat those up.

Saturday afternoon we checked into our awesome hotel, and Saturday night was the big event. I'm better with faces than I am with names, but man it's hard to remember nearly 700 faces. Just like at the 10 year, I'm convinced the guys changed more than the girls - some now being nearly unrecognizable. And it's not just the hair loss. Their bodies are totally different, and some have not aged well at all. Guys are so weird.

About half way through the night, everybody had gotten sufficiently loosened up to just come right out and say, "I'm sorry, dude, can you tell me your name?" Or blatantly stare at people's nametags to figure out who the hell they were. I talked to just about everybody there, and the consensus seems to be that I look exactly the same and that I'm tall. Score one for the fierce shoes. I'm sure at least my hair looked like it did in high school because a) I've never been adventurous with my hair and have pretty much always had it all one length and b) when I thought about how humid it was outside, where we would be spending about half the night, I had to go with the ol' ponytail to downplay the lovely Ted Nugent thing I get going on when there's even one drop of moisture in the air. Seriously. My hair becomes dangerously big. I rounded out my sassy outfit of wrap shirt, cha cha skirt, and fierce shoes with my kick ass new La T necklace and thus stood out from out the sea of glittery tanktops and jeans or skinny pants, which seemed to be the uniform du jour.

The $55 appetizers proved to be the frozen fried shit you can get in bulk, plus some scary looking meatballs and cookies. They had ONE bar, which was a huge mistake, so we all did a lot of visitin' in the line outside. Score one for the ponytail. Everybody was buying at least two drinks at once, but it was so damn hot out there, and I was running my mouth so much, that I put down more half empty, warm second beers than I care to count. The place was nice, but the DJ was completely annoying and unnecessary (I mean, who really comes to dance at these things? Apparently, no one, until about the last 30 minutes, when a handful of jackasses couldn't restrain themselves any longer). He did do one thing right, though - he was instructed by the reunion committee that under no circumstances was our class president allowed to sing, lip synch, or otherwise perform, and I personally saw him wave off the prez and his huge ass cowboy hat several times.

Speaking of, as a fitting end to the weekend's events, the prez was the last person I saw as T-Bone and I were leaving the hotel bar after the reunion proper. He stopped me for a hug and a chat, and then he told T-Bone, "You know what, man? You got yourself a good one here." I said, "Oh come on now, (prez)." And he said, "No, I really mean it, you're a good one," as he continuously POUNDED me on the back. What am I, a friggin' horse? I seriously thought he was going to check my teeth and hooves next. Whatever, dude.

'86 KIX!

That was our class motto. You wanna hear our class cheer?

Foxy guys, classy chicks, we're the Class of '86! WHOOOOO!

Ugh. So, here we are on the eve of my GD high school reunion. I've looked at the latest list of who is supposedly coming, and I've noticed quite a few omissions. Where's the girl who jumped off the balcony while high on acid because she thought she could fly? Where's the guy who punched a hole through my windshield because he thought my girls and I were football players from a rival school? Where's the girl who was an absolute SPAZ who wore a yellow rain slicker with a beaver on the back that said, "Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella?" When we were 17?!

Damn. I think I know where some of them are. Sitting at home, laughing their asses off at those of us who forked over $55 PER PERSON for one event, Saturday night, with a DJ, appetizers, and a CASH BAR. Yeah, I know. I can't wait to see the gold tile floor and jewel encrusted thrones we must all be sitting on because why the hell else would it cost so much. T-Bone says we should call for an audit of the reunion committee's books because, seriously, somebody has to be making money off this thing. Numerous emails have been flying around for months, and one committee member said that actually they were planning something for Friday night, too, but they didn't want to TELL anybody until the last minute for fear no one would show up on Saturday - the magical night we get to pay out the nose for greasy potato skins and Dixie cups of Texas Trash. Drinks extra.

Don't get me wrong. I am looking forward to this. I actually enjoyed high school and had lots of friends, many of whom I still keep in touch with. But this reunion has a lot to live up to. At our 10 year, our class president got the DJ to play his country western CD (apparently he has a large following in Germany - Hasselhoff anyone?), and he lip-synched to his OWN song. While his wife walked around with a stack of CDs for sale. Which he would autograph for an extra dollar. No shit.

So, hell yeah, I'm gonna be there. I'm just going to fast all day today because I've got 55 bucks worth of appetizers to eat tomorrow night.

P.S. On a lighter note, check out the fierce shoes I got to go with my reunion ensemble. The reluctant shopper does love a good bargain, so I snatched these up for $36 - originally $75.

Still fresh from that bargain buzz, I splurged for this little cutie. Originally $55 - on sale for $10!

And the winners are ...

After careful deliberation, I have selected the lineup for my compilation CD for this weekend, you know, my GD high school reunion weekend. I would love to 'splain my decisions in detail, but that wouldn't really make all this any less dorky. I had to tailor the music to its intended audience, and this particular "crue" of mine did not share my taste in new wave and punk (Where or where are you Nina Hagen? P.I.L.? Suicidal Tendencies?). So, may I present, a collection of pure 80s crapola:

1. On the Dark Side - John Cafferty
2. What I Like About You - The Romantics
3. Hold On Loosely - .38 Special
4. Wake Me Up Before You GoGo - Wham!
5. Your Love - The Outfield
6. Keep on Loving You - REO Speedwagon
7. (She's) Sexy and 17 - The Stray Cats
8. You’re the One that I Want - Grease soundtrack
9. Summer of ‘69 - Bryan Adams
10. Caught Up in You - .38 Special
11. Footloose - Kenny Loggins
12. My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars
13. Don’t Stop Believin’ - Journey
14. Let’s Go Crazy - Prince
15. Livin’ After Midnight - Judas Priest
16. Our Love - Krokus
17. Boys of Summer - Don Henley
18. Whisper to a Scream - Icicle Works
19. Don’t You Forget About Me - Simple Minds
20. Jose Cuervo - The Crue at Six Flags
21. That’s What Friends Are For - The Crue at Six Flags

Oh ... the horror. Let me say first that I'm from San Antonio, yo, and we loves our heavy metal - hence, #s 15 and 16. But Grease, Footloose, and Wham? I don't have the time to explain my way around those, so whatever.

Trust me, the gals are going to love it. Almost as much as they're going to love the DVDs I made them of our senior dance team banquet slideshow. Yeah - most of us were on the "Top Cats," the crown jewel of the whole Cougarette spirit organization, and we literally kicked ass, man. This post could only be made more painful to write and read if I included a picture of me "in uniform," but I really don't think you or I could take it. And fair warning Karla May, if you post one, I'll whip out the flag picture. So bring it on.

Thunder Only Happens When it's Raining

And it seems as though we got a tiny bit of rain up in here while I was gone. We left Galveston County yesterday under a hail of raindrops and thunder claps, only to meet up with the sun again somewhere around Katy. My grass is so hating me right now.

Anywho - what a week we had! The resort we stayed in last weekend was nice, great pool, all that, but they were hosting one too many family reunions for my taste. We were startled awake several times on Saturday night when the yahoos in the room next door came in and out, on and off some boat they chartered, to and from some late night pancake breakfast, etc.. Peach and Olive thankfully slept through it all and were jumping out of their skin when we ordered room service for breakfast the next morning. Olive ate until I thought she might burst.

The week at my grandmother's was just like the good ol' days - sleeping late (almost 8 am!), eating way too much, and laughing my arse off with (and directly at) my nutty family. Thursday, we took the chittlins to the beach, and I thought I'd never get Olive out of the sand. This was her first time, and although she has pretty big aversions to dirt and dust, she LOVES to dig, and she insisted on being buried up to her waist. Twice. Friday, we rounded everybody up again and hit the new waterpark in Galveston. Another glorious day with the general public, after which I felt quite slim yet nearly naked in my ink-free skin.

Saturday night was the big Tom Petty show, and the boys, they rocked the house. Too bad we were all SOAKED in sweat, just from standing still, thanks to the lovely Houston humidity. Balmy doesn't even come close to describing the hell we were locked in for three hours. It took the Heartbreakers all of one song to peel off the jackets they foolishly donned for the show, and Tom sweated through two shirts AND a vest before it was all over with. It was that damn hot. And still. Where the hell was that coastal breeze? Liars.
Once again, T-Bone came through with third row center seats. I tell you, the man spoils me. The show was like a retrospective of hits from every stage of the band's now 30 year history. But then again, what Tom Petty song is NOT a hit? They threw in a couple of covers and a couple of songs off of the new album, but the highlight of the evening was when the special guest came out. Yep, Bella Donna herself, Stevie Nicks came whirling and twirling out, in full witchy woman regalia, and she looked great. She's got one of those baby doll faces, like Jules, so no matter if she's 8 or 80, she's always going to have that sweet face. She sang a couple of duets with Tom and later sang back up on a few more - with three costume changes. I had the perfect vantage point for pictures, but I refuse to join the new culture of assholes who pull out their phones at concerts to get really bad pictures or to herald an encore. So. damn. stupid. When looking for other people's really bad pictures to post, I found this. And this. Enjoy.

Home is where my big fat ass is

So, we're back. I'm tired, sunburned, and covered in mosquito bites, but we had an awesome time. Much to tell, just not tonight. I'll leave you with my favorite quote of the week, courtesy of my Southern belle grandmother, regarding the blackest sheep of the family of her dear best friend, who quietly "passed" on Thursday morning: "And that damn Tammy is nothin' but trash. You know she's been married three times? And she did time for selling drugs? In two different states! (pause) Actually, I don't know if she ever really married that first guy - that may have been one of those 'shack-ups.'"

P.S. Thanks to Nanny's cooking, I'm pretty sure I've gained back most of the weight I struggled to lose in anticipation of my GD high school reunion this weekend. So there's that, too. Sweet.