what the hell is water

easier than i thought.

i've been sleeping too much. but the following things have, in their turn, made me happy. ecstatic, even.

--i went to highland to get some work done, and i thought i might have enough in my wallet for a muffin and a small iced tea. three bucks and some change. i told the guy behind the counter that i wasn't sure if i had enough. william from louie's was in line behind me, and i showed him the contents of my altoids box, pennies and nickels and a bobbypin, and he threw in two quarters. the highland guy gave me my order and said, "so are we gonna have to make you wash dishes back here?" but i had enough. i thanked william for contributing to the cause.

--reid was supposed to stay for carlotta this weekend, but heather couldn't get off of work in lafayette, so he went up to hang out with her. when i got home on friday for lunch, he was pulling out of the driveway. i flipped him off and he made weird hand motions at me. when i looked in the passenger side window, he said, "get in the car." so i got in.

he said, "i'm going to atcha's or something before i head to lafayette. do you want to go to atcha's?" and i said, "i've been craving izzo's." and he said he didn't think he could eat izzo's because of his teeth, but then he said maybe he could eat nachos. and i said, all excited, "oh can we split nachos?" and he said, all excited, "oh can we get them to go, and then come home and watch another episode of My So-Called Life?" and i sort of hopped up and down in my seat and flailed my arms because it was so perfect.

--someone knocked on the door and i opened it and it was the mailman, this young black dude in a lime-green shirt. and he said, laughing, "he's just...hanging there. just chilling." and i was really confused. i thought maybe he was referring to the letter i had posted on the mailbox. but then i realized he was talking about fred. fred spends his afternoons staring out of the front window from his perch atop the big chair in the living room. and the mailman says, "i see him every day, like, seriously, every day he's just sitting there staring. and i come in and i put the mail in the box and he watches me. he, like, moves his head to see what i'm doing. and he's just chilling. every day, i swear." then he handed me a package. it was my birthday present from matt.

--my roommates and i had gone to goodwill to help find a halloween costume for reid. we were in the pajama section and there was this robe thing. it was made of red fabric, calico, with tiny blue flowers. and it was quilted. i pulled it off the rack and i had that moment of slow-dawning realization, you know the terrible moment when you find a skirt on the rack that has possibilities, and you pick it up and you realize it's not a skirt, it's culottes; the skirt has legs. well, the robe had legs. not only did it have legs, it had red cuffs on the wrists and ankles like a sweatsuit, and a pointy collar, and it zippered up the front. "what the fuck?" i said, and i held the monstrosity up for my roommates to see. someone said, "it looks like a giant oven mitt." and the thing is, it looks exactly like a giant oven mitt.

thus i was a giant oven mitt for the carlotta street party. and i wore a pie tin on my head like a bonnet.

i spent most of the night stumbling around with a nice boy i met many months ago and was sort of slightly interested in. i went back to his apartment with him--he lives on carlotta--and we talked a lot and made bacon and eggs. i told him i liked cracking eggs, and he gave me six to crack. then we watched TV till 6 in the morning. he actually let me have the remote. he made several comments throughout the night about how i could, you know, come over whenever to hang out. and you know, i could crash at his place if i needed to. or whatever. i wasn't sure if i wanted to or not, but rikki was home by then--she called to check up on me--and i was sober enough to walk home alone but it was still dark. we were sitting on the sofa in the dark, and then he was saying i could sleep in his bed. and i said, "where will you sleep?" and he said "i can sleep in my roommate's bed."

so i let him.

this is the third boy in three months. he was only waiting for the go-ahead. isn't it nice, that they wait for a signal? and i didn't give it. i've been sort of depressed, really, about boys and the lack of them in my life right now. and then i was depressed about how pathetic and desperate i must be by this point. but apparently i'm not so pathetic or desperate, because when the opportunity has presented itself. and the other two boys, i couldn't have done anything with them in good conscience. it would have been a bad decision and it would have happened for the wrong reasons. this one, though. this would have been okay. but you know, i really just didn't feel like it.

i woke up in his bed at eleven, and i wrote him a nice note, gathered my things, and walked home in my wifebeater and boxers, which i'd been wearing under the oven mitt/robe thing. the football fans were tailgating all across campus. and i looked like an old man who'd lost his pants.

i suppose what this means is that i'm okay, and i don't have to worry, because i'm not throwing myself at whoever shows the slightest interest.

it doesn't make me ecstatic. but it is sort of a relief.

i just don't think that it's right.

last night i dreamt that modest mouse was playing at voodoo. except voodoo was going on in this huge building and all the stages were in different rooms. they were crappy rooms, like conference rooms but run-down. kind of like the M&DA building.

i hadn't known modest mouse was going to play. i was sitting outside and i heard them through the windows. and i went inside and looked in all the rooms. finally i found them. they were doing a sound check, but they were letting the kids listen. there were metal folding chairs set out for us. and there were only two guys in the band, one on guitar and one over on the side playing piano. the guitar guy was dressed in a wooden suit that was painted to look like his bare chest.

after soundcheck was over, a bunch of kids came in and found seats and waited for the set to start. barrett was there, and he came over and sat in the empty chair next to mine. then the band made us scoot our chairs closer to the stage. i was in the first row, all the way to the side, and when i scooted forward, i couldn't really see the stage anymore, so i moved to a better spot.

after the performance was over, the band informed us on behalf of voodoofest that since they had gone over the practice SAT with us before the show started, we had to purchase two sets of SAT preparation material from the sponsors before we left the room. the SAT stuff was $19.95 each. they started handing out the SAT sets, and i told them that it was bullshit, that kids had come in early to find a seat and hear them play, that no one knew about the practice SAT stuff and they hadn't told us beforehand that if we stayed we'd have to buy anything. and that i was a senior in college, what would i want with practice SAT tests anyway. when they passed me the practice tests, i refused to take them. "what a racket," i said. "the ticket price of this all-day festival was forty bucks. and these practice tests are forty bucks. don't you see what they're trying to do?"

the modest mouse guys looked at this bitchy middle-aged woman who was apparently in charge. dismissively she said, "let her do what she wants. just wait till she goes to albertson's and tries to pick up her paycheck."

i was outraged.

apparently i'm entering the post-breakup bridget jones phase.

v. annoying.

there are all these things i want to do, cute date-y things, and i don't have anyone to do them with. i mean, i have friends i could these cute date-y things with, but that just seems wrong, and not the point.

and Bloom came out on DVD, and i saw it in blockbuster when i went to rent a movie with rikki and leif and reid and heather (yay for being the fifth wheel, yaaaaaay). i really really wanted to rent it. and i had this horrible moment where i realized that the only person who would watch that movie with me was ben, and i didn't want to have to watch it with ben, because...well...just because. and Etre et Avoir came out finally, and i was so excited when i saw it on the shelf, but who would watch that with me either. then i thought, well, jesse would watch it with me. or matt. and how fucking retarded is it, that the only people who are interested in the movies i want to see are my ex-boyfriends. there have got to be other boys in baton rouge. i mean, come on.

and then i remembered barrett was in that joyce class too, and he would watch Bloom with me. and that was sort of a relief.

i was sitting on the couch with rikki this afternoon--she was reading richard wright for class, and i was distracting her. i told her how i would like to meet someone new, which is good, because for a while after ben and i broke up i couldn't even think about it. but now all i can think is that i'm never going to meet anyone that i'll like enough, because every guy i see seems to be so fake. and i keep comparing them to the guys i already know, and the guys i know are so smart, and genuine, and kind, and it's starting to seem like no one will measure up. but i can't date the guys i already know, because i already know them. so what the fuck.

and rikki pointed out that my guy friends are in the same boat i'm in. and the ones who aren't had been for a long time before they got into their current relationships. which is true.

so maybe we all have a hard time with this.

last year i thought it was so cool how everyone i met seemed to fit somehow into the group of people i already knew. it was this vast and ever-expanding social circle.

the problem with this is that the circle is not, in fact, ever-expanding. rather, it loops back around on itself.

i'm trying not to want it too much. because i'm superstitious, like all good catholics. and it's like telling your birthday wish. also, because it's pathetic.

i told rikki: this is an improvement, certainly, over wanting ben.

but it's kind of a shitty alternative.

yay.

yaaaaaaaay for birthdays.
----------
crispybreton: happy birthday

Auto response from grapity purple: ::happy birthday to me::
bingo at chelsea's tonight.

crispybreton: i miss you like a sun misses a sunburn
crispybreton: i miss you like peanut butter misses jelly... or better yet how fromage misses pain.
crispybreton: i miss you!
crispybreton: and happy birthday
crispybreton: joyeux anniversaire

(note to breton: my grammar school french is a little rusty; at first i thought you were saying that cheese missed pain. but "pain" is bread, right? right?)
-----------
LugEMONkeY (2:13:52 AM): happy birthday bitch!! you going to bingo tonight? great, see you there.
-----------
geojesslsu: after i read your "livejournal" post, i happened upon this little nugget in The Advocate's horoscope section: Happy Birthday: You should be totally focused on work, money and going in the direction that will allow you to use your talents. Procrastinating about your goals will not result in satisfaction. You will be more receptive this year, making this the ideal time to try something new. Your numbers are 4, 17, 22, 25, 33, 41

(note to jesse: it's a *typepad*, smartypants. but that's okay, because jesse gets brownie points for being the first person to tell me happy birthday, at midnight last night.)
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swingingcat7: i need your address! i need your address!
swingingcat7 is away at 1:58:15 PM.
grapity purple: [blah blah blah, baton rouge address]

Auto response from swingingcat7: to my kumquat, my friend who was by my side during the "awakening" in pre-ballet, the nature fairies, sleepovers that lasted for DAYS, dinners at chilis, that incident with the covergray, "little women" in 8th grade (where we were really just playing ourselves), ballet recital upon ballet recital, bi-annual sushi dates and nights of just driving around to catch up...

happy 21st birthday, ann!

welcome to the cool-kids club :-)
----------
aaaaaaand matt called me this morning, from freaking england, to tell me happy birthday, because he is awesome.

aaaaaand i walked into my india class and told ben it was my birthday, and he took me out to lunch afterwards.

aaaaaaand my dad called me this afternoon, to say my camera came in, and he's going to drive up here tonight to bring it to me and to take me out to dinner. to ruth's chris. holy hell.

aaaaaaand when i got up this morning and went into the bathroom, rikki had a present for me sitting on the shelf in front of the mirror. it was wrapped in printer paper and tied with a couple of my hair thingies. and it was a bunch of really cute colorful bobbypins and ladybug earrings. which was very exciting.

so all in all, it's been a good birthday. because i have the best friends ever. and it'll be a good birthday all week, because the party is friday, hooray! and yes i'll take pictures, breton.

oh and we workshopped my first story and it went over really well.

happy, happy day. i feel so loved.

happy birthday to me.

First journal entry, October 19, 1995

Dear Ann,

In case you were wondering, this is the year you thought of writing a letter to yourself for every birthday. This year you are twelve. Let me fill you in on wuzzup.

[Here I listed my closest friends and labeled them as "best," "good," "nice," and "pain in the butt!"]

At this point in time, I have a crush on Joel C. (Meghan's boyfriend) and Shelby H. (who thinks Meghan's a babe).

Do you remember the fair? Well, Shelby had some talks with me, Claudia's money got stolen/found, and Joel called Claudia an Indian and I sprayed him with a whole can of silly string. I have highest average in Social Studies and it's 104. I hate the computer teachers and Meghan's initials are M.B.B. when I'm PO'd at her. (Meghan Boobs Bitch.) The second "B" came from Claudia's D.J.B. (Delahoussay Junior B) and is only used when angry and is added behind the person's initals. I hate cursewords. I cursed Liz D. out in my sleep. I called her a jackass because it was 3 AM and she was going to open the door to see if the alarm was working. I hate Ryan S. Kyle S is cute. Andre T sucks. I love to sew. I'm Mrs. Winthrop-Dimple in Drama, Yardsale. I have to be carried around the stage! Do you remember any of this? I love Audrey Hepburn and the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s are in style. MCA rulz!

Love,
The new 12 year old,
AEDG

P.S. I wear a size 2 1/2 K-Swiss Canvas Classic

-----------------------------------------------------------

Saturday, October 19, 1996

Dear Ann,

Happy birthday, teenager! Yesterday, I went over to Lauren D's, with her friends (Hollie, Anna, Ashley, Molly, Angela, CBG) for a little get-together. When originally invited, I didn't want to show, but Mom said LD had something fun planned. I couldn't imagine what, since it was 10pm. Turned out it was a surprise party--for me!!! I've always wanted a surprise party! WOW! I was about to cry!

From Lauren: Kermit the frog
From Angela: two sets of great pens
From Ashley: stationary
From Hollie: Angel journal and body gel
From CBG: An Angel a Day and No Doubt
From Molly: 2 ugly barrettes
From Anna: an awesome candle

Today, we celebrated in the cafeteria. Mom bought Dad, Michael, Haley, Amanda, Claudia, and me chocolate chip cookies (mmm!) and bought a cupcake, on which she put 14 candles (1 for good luck!!) The cupcake was not edible because it was covered in wax! I got a computer game (Hollywood High), a boombox, a necklace and stuffed animal, tickets to West Side Story, a backpack purse, and $15 from Grand....dear and Uncle David and co. The fair sucks because I don't know why! There aren't any go-carts. Shelby and Lindsey B are going to Jesuit homecoming. Andy W and Ashley Q are going to Homecoming, too. Andy says Ben G would go with me, but I said no because my parents wouldn't let me. Anyway, if he wants me to go with him, let him ask me!!! Claudia wanted me to get Casey G to come closer so she could squirt him, but he wouldn't. I said "Claudia wants to show you something" and Claudia got so mad she squirted me in my crotch so it would look like I peed on myself.

Haley, Claudia, and Amanda are close friends. Meghan and I are acquaintances and I'm way over it. Haley's going through that with Lizzie. Poor dahlin'. Ashleigh G's grandpa died today. It is Mrs. Debbie's 5 year old daughter Morgan's bday, and Uncle Danny and co's wedding anniversary. I think that's about it. Oh yeah. Of course, I still have a crush on S.H. I wear a size 3 black and white Gap shoe that looks like Airwalks. Their awesome!!!

--Ann
The teenager!!!

P.S. From Mrs. D, I got a heart-shaped rag rug. Yesterday Hollie was making fair announcements on the stage, and said "Even though it's a day early, Happy 13th birthday to Ann!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Dear Ann,

In case you were wondering, this was the year you started keeping an online journal (or "blog," if you must), because you'd been wanting to write every day, as a good writer should, and you'd been saying you were going to keep a journal. You hadn't kept a regular journal since you were in junior high. And you remembered how good it felt to get it all out, writing only when you felt like it, which was often, in the little cloth-covered notebook--dark green with yellow flowers--the lined paper--and the spine of the book like a real book, solid instead of spiral bound. You'd asked for that journal for your twelfth birthday, and you were so excited when you got it that you wrote in in that first night. A birthday letter to yourself. Which was so sentimental of you, in all the usual ways that you were sentimental. And still are.

So now you're twenty-one. You've been waiting for this for three years, since you started drinking, really, because it's such a pain in the ass to have to depend on other people to get your alcohol. Now you can order your own drinks, no hassle. Although you've done that already, legally, in London and Prague. And this birthday is about more than alcohol, isn't it? Well, isn't it?

No, not really.

So what all-consuming things are going on in my life right now that I think you'll want to (or ought to) know about when you read this down the line?

I'm single. Quite single, in fact. More single than I've been in about four years. For the first time in four years I have no prospects. Not a one. I can't think of anyone I know that I could seriously consider dating. It's sort of a terrifying and deadening feeling. I live to have crushes. It's something to look forward to. It gets me out of bed in the morning. I've been like this since I was a kid, since junior high and before. At first I thought everyone was like that, and then I thought maybe I was weird and pathetic, and then I read in the Kiersey book on personality that my type (Idealist: Counselor: INFJ) lives to be in love, etc. So apparently I'm normal. Or semi-normal, at least. Anyway, I don't suppose I'm all that interested in being in a solemn monogamous relationship right now. However, I would like to be really excited about someone, and I'm not, and that's been getting me down.

I'm graduating in May. This is, I suppose, the big one. I have no real plans post-graduation. I want to get my MFA, but I don't know where, or in what genre, and my portfolio isn't ready yet. So I can't apply for the upcoming school year. That means I have to get a job for at least a year. I'm considering doing Teach for America, but that seems like such a typically structured thing for me to get into. What I really want to do is go off and do something crazy and unstructured and figure out a way to survive. Because that's what I'm most scared of. And I want to prove to myself that I can make it on my own. The other thing I really want to do is stay in Baton Rouge for another year. Because I'm so comfortable here, and my friends will all be around for at least one more year, and I like my house, and my roommates, and I'm close to home, and I could get a stupid mindless job and just save money for later. Except then I'll be biding my time, which seems like a waste, a wasted opportunity. And also I fear that I'll become complacent. And then I'll never get out of here. And that's the number one goal. Get out of Louisiana. Not forever, but for a little while.

I sent off an email today to a video production company in Baton Rouge to see if they take interns.

I'm getting a camera from my dad for my birthday, a Canon ZR80, and I'm psyched. I have access to all this sweet editing equipment through work. I'm going to see if I can get Jim to let me borrow the spare Powerbook from the lab so that I can mess around with the camera and edit at home.

Rikki and I are in the midst of writing our second short stories for our 4000-level fiction class. I'm getting my first story workshopped tomorrow, and I'm scared. I like my second story so far; I just wish it wasn't due the week of my birthday. I'll be spending my birthday afternoon and evening writing furiously. And then going to Chelsea's to play bingo. Except now, if I actually win a game, I can legally accept the prize!

My party is Friday--it'll be the third annual costume party. The parties from the past two years were pretty enormous and wild, and considering the extensive invitation list, I'm assuming this year's party will follow suit. Highlight from my 19th birthday: Philip T. puking in the washer. Highlight from my 20th birthday: Ben lighting my dresser on fire via a broken glass full of flaming absinthe. Costume for my 21st birthday: a work in progress. But I'm shooting for "renegade mime."

I've just returned from the Chevron on Nicholson, where I purchased a Jack Daniel's "Lynchburg Lemonade"--one of those goofy, really sweet "malt beverages"--for two bucks. I instructed the cashier, a large, flaming black man, to card me; he retorted, lisping, with attitude: "I was gonna." I told him it was my birthday. He told me happy birthday on my way out. Which is ultimately what makes the whole thing official, I think.

The Jack and lemonade thing is pretty tasty. Except it just dawned on me: in my second short story from my 2005 class--the story that got published in Delta 2004--I had my silly high school characters mixing Jack and lemonade, because it was, like, the grossest thing I could think of. And it was supposed to show how silly and high school they were, mixing those two things together. And here I am on my 21st birthday, and this is my beverage of choice. What do you call that? A self-fulfilling prophecy? Bad taste?

I'm freaking out a little bit right now, because I have no idea what I'm going to do in the next year, and then for the rest of my life, and it's all coming up on me very fast, and I hate not knowing. But I have faith that it will work out, that something good will come up, and in the meantime, I'm going to push as hard as I fucking can in every direction that scares me most. And I hope that I don't settle. And I hope that you're reading this and remembering how terrified you were, and how alone you felt, and I hope that you've figured out what you want and have the balls to go after it.

I used to worry that I was smart enough but didn't have enough edge, or balls, or viciousness, or whatever the fuck I needed to drive me to be the best. Good has never been good enough. I've always loathed apathy and mediocrity, especially in myself, and have worried that I will end up being nice enough, and smart enough, and second-rate. But I'm starting to realize all the ways that I'm driven--maybe because as a kid, my parents set such insanely high expectations for me--maybe because my mother always seemed sincerely to believe that there was nothing, literally, nothing I couldn't do--maybe because I've internalized all of this--maybe because I still feel like I haven't hit the wall. But in spite of my slacker procrastination tendencies, I do, in fact, have the ability to be incredibly self-motivated, conscientious, disciplined, even organized. This has been a recent, startling, and pleasant discovery.

...Oh god, don't look back and regret it. Take a fucking risk.

--Ann

P.S. I wear size 4 bright green Converse All-Stars! And the left shoelace is rainbow and the right shoelace is pink with black stars!!!!

blame it on barrett.

oh dance with me
oh don't be shy
oh kiss me cunt
oh kiss me cock

oh kiss the world
oh kiss the sky
oh kiss my ass
oh let it rock

oh the pixies, oh oh oh. like they weren't even trying. yes, voodoo was fun.

i did manage to catch a nap during the sonic youth set. in the middle of all that long-winded distortion feedback bullshit, i lay down on my beach towel and fell asleep.

got into a fight with my mother today, more on that later if i feel like it.

for the first time ever, this blog is getting hits off of google searches. recent google searches that turned up this site:

izzo's illegal burrito
boring old bulky brown shoes
Baton rouge louie's fred
dragnet theme music
Hostel Dhoula

this is funny, i think, but also a little scary. now, if you type in my full name, this site is the first thing that comes up.

what if someone starts stalking me? and by someone i mean my parents.

okay, time for linguistics take-home midterm and to write my ass off. essay for jim tuesday, short story thursday. at least i know what the story's about this time.

bad/good

BAD:

about two weeks ago, i got a letter from entergy saying that they had never received my final payment of $71.19 from my old apartment. but that they appreciated me as a customer, or something, and if i hadn't ever received that bill--which i hadn't--that i should call them.

so i immediately called them and told them that i had never received the bill. and they made sure they had my address right and they said they would send it.

so today i got another letter from entergy. it says:

Dear Customer,

We have recently written you concerning your outstanding final bill for utility service at [your former address] in the amount of $71.19, but you have not responded. Unless immediate action is taken by you, we will report this to multiple credit bureaus which could negatively impact your credit rating.

Furthermore, if this balance is not paid within 15 days from the date of this letter, we will refer your account to a collection agency for further action. We will empower this agency to aggressively pursue all means of collection including litigation to secure payment or to obtain liens against your assets in advance of payment. Help avoid this unpleasant process by making payment today.

i'm pretty certain that i'm within my rights as a customer to request and receive an official bill from them before i'm required to pay it. i'm going to call them (again) tomorrow. i don't suppose it's worth getting bad credit to hold off my payment--but the fact that they think they can bully me into paying my final bill from a letter and not an offical document detailing what i'm actually paying for is absolute and intolerable bullshit.

GOOD:

we have all these coupons for popeye's that we've been getting in the mail. and last night we were gonna get some yummy chicken for dinner, but rikki and i ended up getting free pizza at the Teach for America meeting, and then the debates were on, so i just made pasta (and chicken and mushrooms--i made it all by myself, too! breton would be so impressed) instead. and the kids went to rolypoly.

so tonight was designated chicken night. rikki and i came back from ballet feeling limber and healthy, so then the three of us got into reid's car and drove to popeye's. we had a coupon for a "family feast"--10 pieces of mixed chicken, one large side, and five fucking biscuits. we requested spicy chicken; the lady behind the counter said it was gonna be a ten-minute wait. she asked if we would like drinks while we waited. i said, "well...do we have to pay for them?" and she said no. so i said "sure" and she handed us three cups. we all got dr. pepper (why the baton rouge popeye's only offers pepsi products is truly beyond my comprehension), and as we were sipping our carbonated beverages, the popeye's lady looked at me and said "hey, would you mind doing me a favor?"

and she said, "would you mind going across the street to subway and getting me a sandwich?"
and i said, "sure, okay, what kind of sandwich do you want?"
and she said "a BMT."

so i grab the pen off the popeye's counter and start writing down her order on my hand. 6 inch, with everything on it except cucumbers and those mild peppers, on that cheese-herb bread, with oil and vinegar and salt and pepper. so she gives me five bucks and i walk across lee with rikki and reid and almost get run over by a white suburban. and we go to the subway next to plantation trace and get her food and walk back. i give the popeye's lady her sandwich and her change and a stamp for her subway card if she has one. and she gives us: our ten-piece mixed chicken, two large sides of beans and rice, and a box of biscuits. and she grins at me and says "here you go" and i say "enjoy your sandwich" and we leave.

we get into the car and rikki's like "aw yeah" and reid's like "i think she gave us like, eight biscuits"--we were only supposed to get five--"only"--one popeye's biscuit is like 800 calories or something insane. and it's like a little slice of heaven. of course. anyway, reid's like "see how many there are in there" and i open up the box and it's full. twelve biscuits. twelve. and we, like, explode into laughter. i'm hyperventilating i'm laughing so hard. i almost peed on myself. twelve biscuits. between the three of us. that's just ridiculous. we were so excited, we took a picture when we got home.

this one goes out to The Fortress.

from The Tennessean, dated Wednesday, 10/13/04:

SPRING HILL — A bright ''yellow ducky'' vibrating bath sponge and its angry owner took on Spring Hill City Hall yesterday — and won.

If only by default.

After hearing about a business promoting personal pleasure and adult toys at Saturday's Friends of Spring Hill Library flea market, held on the grounds of a Presbyterian church, city officials said they would cite the owner into Municipal Court for violating the city's sexually oriented business ordinance.

But yesterday, after consulting with their attorney, city officials decided not to issue the citation.

''When police officers arrived at the flea market, she had already taken down her booth, and so we've declined to prosecute because of a lack of evidence,'' City Administrator Ken York said. ''We also talked to nearby vendors, and they didn't want to testify in a case like this.''

The booth in question displayed the ''yellow ducky'' vibrating bath sponge, along with other products Katherine Williams described as ''PG-13,'' including lubricants and body lotions from her Spring Hill-based business, Passions & Pleasures.

''Nothing we do is nasty, unless you have a nasty mind,'' she said, turning a knob on the yellow ducky's tail to make the sponge vibrate. ''My 3-year-old son loves to play with this duck in the bath. He puts it on his neck and on his head; there's nothing inappropriate about it.''

Williams said she was pleased the city had changed its mind about issuing the citation, but she didn't like the way she was treated when she went to City Hall yesterday.

''I asked for a copy of the ordinance from Ken York, and he refused to talk to me,'' she said. ''Then he called a detective, who got right in my face and told me I needed to leave the building.

''Well, I pay Spring Hill taxes, and they can't throw me out of a building my taxes pay for,'' she said.

York said Williams was ''loud and vocal'' when she entered the building. ''It was necessary to escort her out of the building,'' he said.

When she returned an hour later to pick up a copy of the ordinance, again she was loud and was escorted out, York said.

Outside City Hall, Williams came face to face with Effie Heiss, the president of the Friends of the Spring Hill Library, which sponsored the flea market where Williams had set up her controversial booth.

''You sure shocked a lot of little old gray-haired ladies like me,'' Heiss told Williams.

''Well, I have a lot of little old ladies who buy my products,'' Williams shot back.

''And I only had two negative comments, but I got a stack of people who signed up to win my gift basket,'' she said, indicating a 2-inch-high stack with her index finger and thumb.

Williams said she intends to set up again at next year's flea market.

''If she does, she'll be cited into court,'' York said. ''That duck is a sexual toy, and it was on display. That was a vibrator on display in public view.''

check out a picture of the offending ducky here.

this is me.

this is me walking around the house in my underwear. (rikki and reid are in lafayette.) this is me eating zatarain's yellow rice out of the pot. with a spoon, not a fork. and drinking blackberry tea. the tea is to give me caffeinated pseudo-energy to write the paper that i'm not writing. because i'm eating yellow rice and drinking tea instead. the paper is due tomorrow at noon. it's for my 4086 class on india and the short story form. i haven't started. i haven't even picked a topic. it's quarter to ten. instead of writing my paper, i'm writing this post. also eating rice, drinking tea, and hey, playing the piano! i learned a new song! instead of starting my paper! i went to ballet at 5:30 and took the barre, even though i'm so sore from modern class last night that i can't fucking stand up straight. because it meant that i could not-start my paper for a little while longer!

the words "procrastination" and "progress" both start with "pro-". this must be significant. i will look it up. right now.

dictionary.com says:

"progress" comes from the Latin progressus, from past participle of progred: to advance. pro-, forward + grad, to go, walk.

"procrastinate" comes from the Latin procrastinare. pro-, forward + crastinus, of tomorrow (from cras, tomorrow).

aha. even as i "put off doing something"--even in my "habitual carelessness and laziness"--i am moving forward!

pro-crastination. pro-gress.

see, it's totally, like, the same thing.

--------------------
p.s. ...looking for ways to join in the procrastination fun? go read breton's moto post.

the theme music to "Dragnet" used to scare me.

we played Taboo last night whilst drinking margaritas.

afterward, i was sitting on the uncomfortable sofa, listening to stosh play the piano, and reid came out of his room to ask me if i had checked my email recently. i said, "well, sorta," and he said, "come read this." so i sat down at his computer and read this broadcast LSU email:

PUBLIC SAFETY ALERT

The LSU Police Department is issuing an alert to the LSU community regarding some very specific suspicious activity that has been reported. Allegedly, a male subject has been seen loitering in various locations on campus and randomly approaching females identifying himself as a "photographer." It is alleged that the subject offers to put together a portfolio of photographs for the person he stops and offers to accompany them to any location to take the photographs. The police department has
established that no local studios or photographers have permission to conduct this type of business activity on the LSU campus. Therefore, any contact with this person or any other person not known to you should be avoided. In the event that you are approached by this person on campus you are encouraged to proceed to the nearest area of safety, such as a building or residence hall, and immediately notify the LSU Police Department at 578-3231.

and i finish reading and i'm like, oh, holy fuck. and he's like, "yeah, i know." because last wednesday i was walking back from class, and when i got to the corner of iowa and west chimes, this dude stopped me. and he said, "excuse me, i'm sorry, but i just have to say--you have such a great style. i saw you last week, you were wearing this skirt with these kneesocks that had a stripe around the top--and i wanted to talk to you but i was in my car and i didn't want to seem, you know, threatening."

at this point, of course, i'm feeling threatened. as a general rule, if i'm talking to someone who tells me that i don't need to be afraid of them, i assume that i probably do.

so he says, "see, i'm a photographer, and i'm looking for a model, and you would be perfect. have you done any modeling before?"

and i say no, and that i'm not really interested, because cameras make me self-conscious.

and he says, "really? you'd be perfect. you have such a great sense of style. you like to stand out, don't you. you don't like to fall in with the crowd. admit it. you dress this way because you like the attention."

i shrug. and i ask him for his name and number. trying to beat him to the punch. so he tells me his name is ben, and he gives me a number with a lafayette area code. he says, "we can keep walking, if you want" because i had been mid-stride when he stopped me. so we walk down iowa and he tells me that he works freelance, and he needs a portfolio, because he can't get work if he doesn't have a portfolio. that's why he needs models. it's a slick line that he delivers fast, so that it sounds a lot like the stories the people on state street tell you to get you to give them money. and he asks me if i know what a portfolio is. i tell him that my roommates are photography majors (which is sort of true, or used to be).

i ask him what kind of camera he uses--not that i know enough about photography to tell whether or not he's full of shit, but i'm trying. he tells me what kind, i can't remember the brand, but it was something familiar. and he said that actually he'd just gotten back from florida, where he'd been shooting in the hurricane, and all his equipment got wet, so it's all in the shop getting "dried." and i started laughing. and he's like, "why are you laughing? that's not funny. it's really expensive."

at this point we're approaching my house, which is on the corner of violet and iowa. and as soon as i see it, i realize that i don't want him to know where i live. so i say, "i'm gonna walk to the chevron, wanna come with me?" and he says okay. we continue down violet and he asks where i'm from. i tell him new orleans, and we start talking about live music, and he says that we're gonna go down to new orleans and shoot on location at a cool music venue. also that he's gonna make sure he gets my freckles in the shot. he's nicely dressed, in a blue button-down tucked into khaki pleated pants, with brown loafers. he looks about twenty-eight. i get the distinct impression that he's hitting on me. also that he's not for real. also that i'm a little scared of him.

we walk into the chevron and i pick up a candy bar, which i don't even want. he offers to buy it for me. i tell him i've got it. i have a brief conversation with the cashier about the price of candy bars these days. outside the chevron, i immediately stick out my hand for him to shake it, and i say firmly, "nice meeting you, ben, i'll give you a call." he shakes my hand without giving me any hassle, and when i turn to walk back down violet, he doesn't follow me. in fact, he sort of seems to disappear. i keep looking over my shoulder to see if he's following, or watching. at this point i'm straight-up scared. there are cars parked on the side of the road between the chevron and my house, so once i get about halfway down the street i know he can't get a clear sight line on me, but i unlock my front door in a hurry anyway, and lock it back behind me.

i didn't have any intention of taking him up on the modeling offer, but i considered calling him back anyway, just to tell him that i'd thought about it but wasn't interested. because i was afraid i'd run into him again on the street, and he'd get hostile with me for not calling him. but i never did call, because we don't have long distance on our house phone, and i didn't want to use my cell in case his lafayette number was a cell. because then he'd have my number in his phone.

when rikki got home, i told her the story; reid was listening from the other room.

so reid shows me the broadcast email--there's also a police alert on the PAWS homepage--and i'm like, "i guess i ought to call and file a report, i can give a pretty thorough description." i told jim about it today at work, and he said, "you can use my phone if you want to--you should call--because what if something happens to someone, and you could have helped--" and i'm like, "i know, i know, i'll call."

i call the number listed in the email and tell the guy who answers what i'm calling about. he directs me to a detective named lieutenant anderson, who asks me to come down to the campus police station. when i arrive, anderson takes me to his office, which he shares with detective martin. i'm having a hard time keeping a straight face at this point. it's all so gumshoe. i tell him my story, and when i get to the part about what he's wearing, they both start laughing. martin turns to anderson and says, "does he own any other shirts?" i ask anderson to tell me what's going on.

he tells me that he knows the guy, the guy is probably forty-six--although he looks like he's in his late twenties. he's got an extensive criminal history, including some sexual shit. in 1992, he was charged with sexual battery and found guilty. i asked anderson what "sexual battery" was; he told me it was when someone "touches the vagina or the anus--it can't just be breasts." he said it without cringing, so i tried not to look embarrassed, but jesus. anyway, back in '92, this guy pulled the same photographer story on a couple of girls on campus, had them "model" for him, got them posed, and then "copped a feel," as anderson said, under their clothes. now he's banned from campus.

last night, after they sent out the broadcast email, six girls showed up at the police station to file statements.

they opened up the case when a girl they were working with, who'd been a victim of some other crime on campus, told them, "oh, by the way, you might be interested in what happened to me last weekend." this guy had approached the girl, and she went back to his apartment with him. i interrupted anderson at this point to say, "are you kidding? she went with him?" he shrugged and said, "it's the law of averages, ask enough people and someone will say yes." so the girl goes back to his apartment, but manages to--"i think the word she used was 'escape,'" anderson said.

he tells me that he's gonna call me next week for a photo line-up. and that right now they don't have him for anything that's actually illegal--there's nothing illegal about approaching people to ask them to take pictures. but he says that the guy tends to go after the same girls--that part of his strategy is not to hassle them the first time he talks to them, so that the second time he talks to them, the girls think, "well, nothing bad happened the first time, maybe this guy is for real." but that i should be careful, and if i see this guy again, i shouldn't "chit-chat" with him, but call the police immediately. because, anderson says, "this guy gives me the willies."

so i'm shaking my head, because this is straight out of the movies. as i'm filling out my statement, i look up at the desk across and realize that there's an enormous hookah on display. i ask detective martin, "excuse me, is that a hookah on the desk?" and martin says, "huh? oh, yeah. anderson has one too, up there on his bookshelf." i look up, and sure enough. along with two blown-glass pipes. and on the bulletin board there's a bumper sticker from the american cannabis society that declares "THANK YOU FOR POT SMOKING." martin explains that they have sort of a competition going to see who can confiscate the biggest hookah. they display them like trophies.

so part of me is trying not to laugh.

the other part of me is afraid to open my blinds, day or night.