Timing is Right on Time

Since before I can remember, my timing has been all wrong. Literally, since before I can remember. I was born a week early. My mom went into Labor on Easter Sunday, while my family was at our camp in the middle of nowhere having Easter lunch. My dad was smack in the middle of a match with a nasty Water Moccasin that decided to wreak havoc on my family's annual Easter Egg Hunt. And that was precisely when I decided that I was ready to grace this world with my presence. And so began my miserable sense of timing.

The day I graduated Kindergarten was a big day for me. Huge. My parents dressed me up in my little, white graduation cap and gown. They dropped me off at the back of the auditorium with the rest of my class mates and took their seats in front of the stage, anxiously waiting for me to receive what they hoped would be my first of many diplomas. At the very moment that I heard my Kindergarten teacher's voice over the sound system, ready to begin calling the names of my class mates to walk across the stage and receive their diplomas, a brilliant thought crossed my young mind. "This front tooth of mine feels a little loose. I think I'll yank it out now." And so I did. I remember the look of horror on the face of the lady who was keeping us in order,as I gave her a tooth-less smile and proudly held my first-lost tooth in front of her face. My gown was no longer a pristine white, but was now coverd in what looked like red polka-dots from a distance. When my teacher announced that there would be a delay of ceremony due to an unforseen incident with a student, my parents looked at each other, and raced to the back of the stage to find me. They were already aware of my terrible sense of timing. I was, afterall, the kid who managed to steal the show at the Christmas pageant by purposely--and loudly--beginning "Away in a Manger" 10 seconds after the rest of my class mates, just so I could have a 10 second "solo" at the end of the song. Timing is key.

I think that it probably goes without saying that I've also had less than impeccable timing when it comes to relationships, as well. Up until 3rd grade, I pretty much ignored the opposite sex. I will admit, there was an episode in Kindergarten where I chased a boy around a tree for a good 10 minutes trying to kiss him, but that was more for the challege than actual affection....and that is besides the point.

In 3rd grade, I met my first "love." We sat next to each other at lunch every day, because our last names just happened to fall next to each other in alphabetical order. We shared our snacks and he understood my already developing sarcasm. He may have liked to eat paper...and leaves on occasion, but I was so infatuated that he almost made me want to do the same. He could do no wrong, and in my third grade mind, we were soul mates. On the last day of school that year, I cried my eyes out because I knew I wouldn't see him all Summer. I anxiously awaited the first day of fourth grade all Summer long....only to find out when I retured to school that he had moved away. I was devistated.

That was only the start of my terrible relationship timing. In fact, that was only my first of quite a list of relationships that inevitably saw their demise because the timing just wasn't quite right for me, or for him, or just in general. I've even sort of made names for a couple of these "bad timing" experiences complete with translations:

1. I-Still-Love-my-Ex Timing: I really like you, but I am dumb. Real dumb.
2. I'm-Having-a-Quarter-Life-Crisis Timing: I am a grown-ass adult, but I would like to pretend I'm in college again. Can I call you when I'm done?
3. I Want to Be with You, Until You Want to be With Me, And Then I Don't Want to be with You Anymore.....Until you Stop Wanting to be With Me Timing: Self Explanatory....Oh, and I am dumb. Real dumb.

That's just a few of my favorites...

I'm just no good with timing....of any sort, really. I have a habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong times...and the right things, at the wrong times. I am an awful joke teller. My punch line timing is always terribly off...and generally more painful than funny. I laugh uncontrollably at the most inappropriate times. And I am never one of those people who just happens to be in the right place at the right time. I'm quite the opposite actually. I'm the kind of girl who can be outside in a crowd of people, and be shat on by the only bird in the sky. Wrong place. Wrong time.

I swear, I have a point with all of this talk of time and timing. Not to get all serious here, but lately, as I contemplate what could be a couple significant life decisions, I've really been thinking a lot about timing. I've always heard people use the phrase "When the timing is right.." but how do you really know? Is there really such a thing as bad timing? If the things in my life that I once considered "bad timing" wouldn't have happened exactly when they did, how different my life could be at this very moment. Call me cheesy, but I sort of believe that everything happens just the way it should. I have to believe that "timing" is right on time, all the time.

I randomly caught up with that sweet, perfect boy that I once knew in 3rd grade a couple years ago....let's just say, the adorable, paper-eating hunk of burning love that I once oogled over, was no longer visible....not a trace. So maybe timing really is on my side, after all...?


So from now on, my perrogative will be to worry a little less about making sure that my timing is just right, and just....go with it. But since when has perfect timing really mattered to me, anyway?

Christmas is Still My Favorite Holiday

     It has recently been brought to my attention that I have been rather careless and have neglected my blog-writing duty for far too long. It's true...and I wish I had some really neat excuse as to why I've been away for so long. But I don't. I could lie and tell you that I've been away on an African Safari...or that I've been busy preparing my underground bunker in anticipation of 12/21/12 (though the thought has crossed my mind). But, I am no liar. The truth is, I have been in a terrible writing slump and have avoided this blog like the Bubonic Plague. I feel like I must apologize to my (3) faithful followers. I have overlooked some of the most fascinating occasions here in New Orleans, and I promise that I will make it up to you...starting now.

     It would be unnatural to have a Blog about New Orleans and not make a mention of  Mardi Gras. For me, Christmas is the epitome of holidays. For true New Orleanians, Mardi Gras is where it's at. I was born and raised in Louisiana, so Mardi Gras is nothing new to me. I have celebrated Fat Tuesday in many different cities, and have even visited New Orleans during Carnival Season on several occasions. Believe me when I say that NONE of this prepared me for actually living in New Orleans during Carnival Season. Now, if you are a born and raised New Orleanian, now is the time that I thank you for visiting my blog, and ask you to please stop reading for fear of offending you, and being removed from the city in which I love........Confession: I prefer Christmas to Mardi Gras 100 fold, and here is why: 
    
     1. Blocked Roads: Mardi Gras float drivers should take a lesson from Santa and recruit   some flying reindeer to pull them, so that they do not block every single road in the city. Mardi Gras parades make it almost impossible to navigate the city...this includes getting home from work...or where ever you choose to fraternize at the 5 o'clock hour. During Carnival Season, there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING that trumps the importance of successfully blocking several of the most trafficked streets in the area. Think that your excuse is good enough to get you through, or that you can sneak around the barricades? Think again. Try it, and a very scary uniformed man will strut over on his crap-happy horse and put the fear of God in you. I've seen it. And I know for a FACT that Santa would never do that....  

    2. Presents: Every December, without fail, my Christmas list is comprised of cloths and shoes. I'm a girl...somewhere in my DNA it is written that I must love clothes and shoes. What I really love is picking out the exact apparel that I would like to receive, because that ensures that when I wake up Christmas morning, it will all be neatly tucked under my tree in little boxes, and I will not be disappointed. Score! I have a feeling that Santa had a little talk with the Mardi Gras Gods this year. He forgot to mention to them that just because I like clothes and shoes, does not mean that I like ALL clothes and shoes. They got my style all  wrong...Check out these gems that I caught this year:

     The coveted Muses Shoe. It's your average shoe, coated in glitter and beadazzeled to the core. A little gawdy for my taste. However, women of New Orleans would trade their first born child for one of these babies.

     An authentic Indian Dress caught on Fat Tuesday during the Krewe of Cresent City...$40 price tag included. Keeps your eyes pealed for this dress on the streets. I plan on donating it to one very lucky homeless woman....or possibly using it for Halloween this year.

     I feel like I should also add that during the week of Mardi Gras there are also full blown wars over catching things as absurd and coconuts, toilet paper, and toilet plungers??? What a strange, strange city that I live in.

     3. Present Delivery Method: I enjoy receiving Christmas presents. They are nicely wrapped in festive paper adorned with cute little ribbons. They are handed to you, or gently placed under the Christmas Tree. They are not chunked at your face. Or the back of your head. No one is trying to do physical harm with the delivery of a Christmas package (for the most part) ...not like these masked float riders, with their ulterior motives.  I don't think we need to recap on my athletic ability here, but catching a flying object aimed at my forehead is not my preferred method of receiving. And I have NEVER been asked to show any explicit part of my body in order to receive a Christmas gift....just saying. Christmas wins again.


     In my opinion, Mardi Gras does have two strong suites that could give Father Christmas a run for his money, and they come in the form of food and drink(ing).

     1. The King Cake: Bread and Sugar, two of God's greatest gifts to mankind. Not only is this delightful dessert comprised of two of my favorite things, but it's also brightly colored in festive purple, green and gold sugar. And behold! Inside of most king cakes, is a tiny plastic baby. When I was younger, I used to fight for the piece with the baby inside. Now-a-days, I try my best to avoid it, because getting it means that you have to buy the next King Cake.....now why would I want to do that?

     2. The Mardi Gras Ball: There is no better excuse to get all dolled up and then drink excessive amounts of alcohol while listening to a fairly decent band. However, this event can sometimes be tainted by the above #3. In New Orleans, it is custom for parade floats to enter the building that the Mardi Gras ball is being held and continue throwing beads and other strange items. Picture this with me if you will: Inebriated ladies and gentlemen, dressed up in ball gowns and tuxes, attempting to catch Mardi Gras beads with one hand (drink is in the other)...All while standing on their respective chairs. This is a recipe for disaster... aaand I'm pretty sure I still have a bump to prove it.  


   New Orleans Mardi Gras is one of the most unique and absurd phenomenons I have yet to experience. Regardless of my above comments, I really did have a very fun-filled Carnival Season with some great friends. Am I looking forward to it again any time soon? I'll let you answer that for yourself. Right now I have my sight set on Christmas....can you blame me?

As always, stay tuned for more Nonsense coming soon!

 

    

    
  

Perfectly Lonely

    Valentine's Day. It's that one day of the year that seems to be equally loved as it is hated. It's an ongoing war waged between love stricken couples and bitter singles. But must one really be one or the other?? Can't we all just get along? I couldn't help but ponder this question as I celebrated my first Valentine's Day as a single girl in quite some time.

     There is no denying it. I am a romantic. I thrive off of chick flicks. I listen to Taylor Swift on repeat. I want to be wooed. Love is great. And having that special someone on Valentine's Day can be wonderful. But as Valentine's Day approached this year, I could not help but be a little relieved to be going into this one solo.

     Society creates so much hype around the holiday, and it is my observation that, most of the time, this only leads to disappointment. Couples (cough*cough...girls) get so worked up about Valentine's Day that even if Cupid himself flew his naked baby butt down from the Land of Love with a bow and arrow, it still would not be good enough. I cannot begin to count the number of "coupled" friends that I have who reported back to me this year with disappointment. Either the food at the fancy restaurant was terrible, the flowers were not their favorite or the card wasn't enough. Sure, chocolate, roses, fancy dinners....all that stuff is really nice. But often times, we fall into a pink and red coma and forget the true purpose of the holiday...myself included

     Ya know, I can't say that I missed searching the internet for the perfect "original" gift. And I certainly did not miss rummaging through grocery store isles that look as though Cupid puked pink and red all over. Most of all, I didn't miss the stress of trying to create the perfect day or moment with my significant other. This year, I was perfectly fine with being single.

     This year, I celebrated with my fellow single girlfriends...who says you need a male counterpart to celebrate the day? We gorged ourselves on the most delicious food, indulged in copious amounts of chocolate, drank more than a few cosmopolitans and watched one of my favorites...Sex and the City. If that's not love, then I don't know what is.

 My fabulous (and delicious) Valentine's Day cookies

     As the day passed, I couldn't help but be content with my life and where I'm at. Who says that we need a "better half" to feel complete? Don't get me wrong, I hope that my prince finds his way one of these days, but until then, I'm focusing on me.

    So this year, I was nuetral. I wasn't part of a love-stricken couple, and although I was single, I wasn't bitter. Maybe I will feel differently about Valentine's Day next year, but this year, I was perfectly lonely.

As always, stay tuned for more Nonsense coming soon! :)

Unathletic and Unapologetic

     From a young age, children are told by parents, teachers and mentors that they can grow up to be whatever it is that they want to be. Astronauts, ballerinas, ninjas....the sky is the limit. I wanted to be an athlete.

     When I was young, I had my heart set on being a gymnast in the Summer Olympics. My mom, knowing in her heart of hearts that her extremely long and lanky daughter was not cut out to be a gymnast, tried to discourage me by telling me that I would have to leave home and live in China...forever. I was perfectly fine with that. My mom, being a good sport, signed me up for gymnastics class. Two months later, I twisted my pinkie toe. That was the end of my gymnastic career. 

     I had a successful career as a young basketball player. At age 10, I started on an AAU basketball team that made it to Nationals in Disney World. I was in my prime. Of course, looking back now, I was half a foot taller than every other girl in the league, so it was almost like...cheating. When I got to college, I made the mistake of talking about my "basketball career" to some friends. After one game of co-ed intramural basketball, I never spoke of it again. 

     In Junior High, I experimented with softball. I joined a summer traveling league, coached by the super intense, visor-wearing, show-no-mercy, high school softball coach. He promised that after a summer under his training, you were guaranteed to make the junior high softball team. Well....I didn't. All that I got from that summer was a few good bruises and a bad sock tan.

     When I got to high school, I was your average six-foot-tall 120, pound bean pole. The volleyball coach thought I would be a star. Height does not always translate into athleticism. One year in, and several awkward spike attempts later, I traded in my knee pads for a pair of pom-poms when I made the cheerleading squad. 

      I gave my final attempt at high school athleticism to the track team. Track, in most cases, is a solo sport. You run. Easy enough, right? Wrong. I was assigned to the hurdles. You run, you jump, you run, you jump...get the picture? Well, that is exactly what did NOT happen at my first track meet. There was lots of running and jumping. In fact, I was in the lead. Right until the end. Right until my foot got caught in a hurdle, and I face planted. In front of my friends, my family, and this really cute boy that I liked at the time. I turned in my track jersey the next day. 
      
     You may call me a quitter, but, I like to consider myself a realist. I came. I tried. I failed. I'm done. 

     I was done. That is, until I moved to New Orleans and decided to try my luck with intramural sports. A college friend of mine was recruiting people for her social kickball team through an organization called PlayNOLA, so I decided to come out of my athletic retirement.

     Did you know that it is possible to strike out in kickball? Yeh, me either. But I did. Regardless, it was the the most fun I've had pretending to be athletic...ever. Maybe it was the copious amounts of beer that we consumed. This was a "social" league after all. Maybe it was the team comradery. Maybe it was the fact that our 10-year-old selves would have kicked our butts, and then laughed at us. What I do know is that I have met some really great people, some of whom are now my closest friends. Coming out of athletic retirement might just be the best decision I've made since I've moved to NOLA. Who cares that we came in last place?  

                                                                Team Awesome
                                                     (yes, that was really our name)

      So, I'm not an athlete. That is clear. But I have other talents. For instance, I'm very good at beer pong. I've been told that I am an exceptional toast maker (the speech, not the bread). I can make some mean French Onion soup. Did I mention that they are all very useless talents?? Let's just say, I'm still looking for my "knack" in life.
    
     I am not giving up on being an athlete just yet. Tonight, I will put on my jersey, and head to the football stadium for some intramural flag football. Hey, I am not giving up on my dream until I've exhausted all outlets. Needless to say, it's not looking good for me. : )

As always, stay tuned for more Nonsense coming soon!

Tourist in My Own Town

       New Orleans is my new home. And while my tiny apartment doesn't always feel "homie," and I've been forced to trade in Mom's home cooking for hot pockets, I wouldn't trade cities for anything. However, it only took a couple of days for me to realize that it is possible to live in this city for YEARS and still feel like a tourist. With an extensive selection of restaurants, bars and entertainment, there is always a new experience waiting just around the corner (literally).
    
     Last weekend, I had an old friend come to town for a "tourist" weekend. This was the perfect opportunity for me to show off some of my particularly favorite spots, discover lots of new "hot spots" and explore my new city all at the same time.

     Friday night was my time to shine. We were looking for a low-key dinner spot with good prices and even better food. I decided on one of my favorite food joints in the area, Lebanon's Cafe on Carrollton. Let me tell you...when it comes to Lebanese food, Lebanon's Cafe is hard to beat. We started with some of the best hummus and pita that I have ever eaten in my life. I ordered the Sauteed Vegetable plate, which is to. die. for. Not to mention, I had enough left over for the next three days. My "date" had the Shrimp Kabob which looked just as delicious. (If you eat seafood. I rarely do. I know. It's weird. We'll save that for another day.) We both left dinner feeling absolutely satisfied and super stuffed. Side note: Lebanon's is a BYO alcohol restaurant. They do not serve alcohol, so if you are looking to booze it up at dinner, be sure to bring your own.

     After dinner we decided to hit Magazine Street for one of my favorite local bars/music venues, Les Bon Temps Roule. I love this bar! It has so much personality, and there is generally some type of live music being played. When we first arrived, there was a fellow playing the piano, and by the time we left, a full band had assembled in the back room. They also have a great selection of beer that is decently priced. Two-dollar Pabst Blue Ribbon?? Yes, Please! Definitely a hidden gem, in my book!

     After leaving Les Bon Temps, we decided to kick things up a notch and headed to a snazzy little bar on Freret Street called Cure. Cure specializes in cocktails, and has a quality selection of beer, wine, and spirits. We chose to forgo the fancy cocktails, and opted for a bottle of wine instead. Cure's dimly lit, up-scale atmosphere is perfect for a romantic evening, or even a girl's night out. 


     Saturday afternoon was all about exploring and discovering the unknown. What better way to do this then to head to the French Quarter! We arrived to the Quarter around 5:00 p.m., and with a 10:00 p.m. dinner reservation at Bayona, (I'll get to that later) we had plenty of time to stop in to several places of interest along the way. 


       Stop # 1: Tropical Isle...home of the famous Hand Grenade. Yes, I live in New Orleans. No, I had never experienced the oh so famous Hand Grenade before. Might I add that I do not plan on having another one of these drinks again...ever. Here is a recipe for the Hand Grenade that I found online, for those of you who are not familiar. 

Hand Grenade Recipe

1 1/2 oz Gin
1 1/2 oz Grain alcohol
1 1/2 oz Melon liqueur
1 1/2 oz Rum
1 1/2 oz Vodka

       

      Stop # 2: Crescent City Brewhouse...They brew their own beer, so don't make the mistake of asking for a Bud light, Michelob Ultra, Abita, or any other type of beer that is not brewed in house. With that being said, we had some really great beer there along with a yummy baked brie dish. Delicious!

     Stop # 3: Hermes Bar at Antoine's...It looks like a fancy little joint from the outside, and we were not disappointed once we were inside. Hermes is an extension of the restaurant Antoine's which has been open since 1840. We were served complementary bowls of popcorn while we waited for our gin and vodka martinis. Needless to say, we felt fancy. :) 

      Stop # 4: Old Absinthe House...If you are dead-set on trying Absinthe, and don't mind splurging for it ($21 for approx. 2 shots) then this is the place for you! The Absinthe is prepared the traditional way (sugar cube and all)  and even lit on fire for extra effect. Let me just warn you...Absinthe tastes like licorice. If you like licorice, then you you'll like Absinthe. If not, do not waste your money. Also, pints of draft beer are priced at $7. Not appealing. But, this joint is geared towards tourists, and this particular weekend, that is exactly what I was.

      After a long day of exploring...and drinking, we finally arrived to our 10:00 p.m. reservation at Bayona, the highly acclaimed restaurant of Chef Susan Spicer. I cannot describe this experience as anything less than fantastic. The food was A-mazing, the atmosphere was perfect and the service was top-notch. Those who know me, know that I am generally picky when it comes to food. I don't like to eat anything that I "feel sorry for" (i.e. deer, duck, rabbit, etc.) or anything that is too "outside the box" or weird (i.e. snails, squid, liver, etc.) I most often stick with chicken. Well, I did have a fabulous chicken dish for my main course, but, that was not the highlight of my meal. I have discovered the most divine food ever to touch my palate. Drum roll please............................................................................

Sweetbreads. I know. Many of you are probably thinking that I mean Sweet Bread. Bread that is sweet. But ah contraire, my friends. Let me enlighten you. Sweetbreads are the pancreas of a baby cow. Yep, that's right. This girl LOVES pancreas. Weird...Who would have thought? 

All in all, I had a wonderful "tourist" weekend filled with good drinks, great food and even better company. Isn't that what Louisiana is all about?

Well friends, in the future I will try to keep my posts much shorter than this. 

For now, it's Friday night in New Orleans, and I have people to see and places to discover. 

Stay tuned for more Nonsense coming soon.

Michelle

   

And We're Off...

     Eight months ago, following a whim (and a boy), I packed five years of my life in Baton Rouge into what seemed like a million boxes and made my move to the Big Easy. While some loves dwindle and fade, my love for my new city continues to flourish.

Moving to New Orleans has been one of the best decisions of my life. It's lead me to my own personal independence and a greater appreciation for music, art, food, Louisiana culture and life, in general.

From the moment I moved to New Orleans, I have yearned for a way to document all the fun and exciting changes, opportunities and experiences that have presented themselves. I made a New Year's resolution for 2011 to create a blog, and finally, one month and a few days into the new year, I present you with Nola & Nonsense and my first blog post...ever.  

I may not know a lot about anything, but I do know a little bit about a lot of things. I plan on writing about my life here in NOLA, love (or lack thereof), random thoughts and ideas and my adventures in this amazing city. In other words: Nonsense. Stay tuned....this is bound to get interesting. : )