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Dinner at Mother's and Game Night

NOLA: Day Two

Traci and N. baking cookies, taken with iPhone Traci and N. baking cookies

Traci (who I will now stop calling "Jill") started the day off right by teaching my daughter how to bake chocolate chip cookies.  An auspicious beginning.

Of course, I didn't try the World Famous Ham.  Of course, I didn't try the WF Ham

We went to Mother's for dinner.  We stood at the door for about ten minutes before we realized you have to go to the counter and order for yourself and, then, you sit down and wait for them to bring the food to you.  Keep your receipt because they will ask you for it when you sit down.  I'm assuming no receipt, no food.

The place has a nice warm atmosphere, and the staff was really friendly in that homey kind of way.

It was fairly clean. Personally, when I'm searching out "authentic" food, I tend to dismiss restaurants that are "sterile."  They just don't feel right in terms of authenticity.  Blame it on my previous travels in Asia, if you must.

Mother's also has a wall of famous people photos.  My only regret is that I didn't snap a photo of the picture of Johnny Cochran hanging on the wall.

I ordered the seafood platter with potato salad and french fries because those were the only two sides that didn't have pork in them.  So bummed that the "greens" had sausage.

Fried Catfish, oysters, shrimp.  Fried Catfish, oysters, shrimp.

The food was good, but not absolutely fantastic.  I also forgot that I don't like catfish.  My daughter seemed to like it, though.

Notable exception: potato saladMother's has the best potato salad I have ever tasted. And I'm not a fan of potato salad.  Unfortunately, it was so good that I forgot to try to guess what was in it before I scarfed it down.

I also realized that B.E. Earl's suggestion that we should have gone for breakfast was right on the mark, the breakfast menu made me dizzy with mouthwatering visions of pancakes, grits and fantastical descriptions of eggs.  Earl, I assume you're going to be your usual graceful self and not comment, "I told you so" anytime soon.

After Mother's, I attended my first NBA basketball game.  Hornets v. Oklahoma City Thunder (?). We got cheap seats, but it didn't matter because the view was great and we had an amazing time.

The nosebleed section.  Not as bad as it looks. The nosebleed section. Not as bad as it looks.

I've never been a huge fan of basketball, but I am now.


I'm in awe of how those men moved and the way their intentions seamlessly intertwined with one another. Intentions then manifested into fluid physical motions that accomplished that seemingly simple, yet extraordinarily complicated task of just getting the ball to go through the net.  Or conversely, from stopping the ball from going through said net.

Really, it was extraordinary.  If you've never been to a professional basketball game, it's a must.  I would even go so far as to say: the great pyramids of Egypt, the Taj Mahal, and an NBA basketball game.  Do those before you die, and you may leave this world with a far greater understanding than most of the magnificent depths of humankind's abilities.

Finally, here's the highlight of my evening.  There's nothing that makes me love my husband more than when I look at him and see this.

The man is just beautiful.  Inside and out.

My favorite view during the game. My favorite view during the game.

* All these photos were taken with my iPhone because I left the "wire thingy" (I've been told it's called a USB cable in some circles) at home.

Laissez les bontemps roule...

On our way to New Orleans and our flight’s delayed by fifteen minutes.  Just enough time to whip out an unplanned blog post.

Who knew that Orlando International had a Krispy Kreme?

I’m a little ticked off because I forgot the little wire thing that connects my camera to my laptop.  It wouldn’t be a big deal except I sort of made an idiot of myself getting a snap of the “Hot Donuts Now” sign and, now... no picture on the blog.

I asked Tariq if he wanted me to get him a donut, but he said no.  And by “no,” he meant, I’m not going to submit to your suggestion that I pollute my body with that filth.

Please don’t argue with me, I’ve known him for eleven years and been his wife for seven of them.  I am positive that’s what he meant.

So, you know what?  I told him that was fine, but he better not expect to even lick the glaze off of the nondescript white bag they’re going to put them in.  Because I’m the one who stood at the counter and let the world know that I love the taste of Krispy Kreme more than I love my pancreas.

(The pancreas is the organ that metabolizes sugar, right?)

I’ve decided that this visit to New Orleans is going to be an “eating” trip.  We're going to visit every little dive that serves authentic Louisiana cuisine in New Orleans from now until next Friday.  This is slightly complicated by the fact that I don’t eat pork, and it happens to be in everything considered delicious there.

But, hey, that makes it even more interesting doesn’t it?

It’s New Orleans halal*.

Let the adventure and the indigestion begin.

*Halal is like kosher, but not.

Faiqa for Secretary of State

I read recently that Hillary Clinton might be named Secretary of State in President-elect Obama's new administration.

I got to thinking.  What, exactly, does a secretary of state do, besides force democratic elections which basically ensure the leadership of radical Islamists in an already unstable region of the world?

I love Hillary so much, and no offense to her, but I think Barack Obama should name me Secretary of State.

Oh, just hear me out.  I read over the job requirements on the U.S. Government home page.

I can totally do this.

As a matter of fact, I feel that I would particularly outshine other potential choices for the job in the following duties:

  • Negotiates, interprets, and terminates treaties and agreements.

This one time, a guy came over because our AC unit was leaking in the garage.  He said it would  cost $600 to fix.

I interpreted this to mean that the job would take several hours and asked him to come back the next day because I had stuff to do.  He came back the next day and replaced two inches of PVC pipe in about thirty minutes.

I was all, "Are you kidding me?  This wasn't the agreement.  I'm totally terminating this!"  He wasn't amenable, so I called the home office for two weeks straight.  Finally, I negotiated a price of $100.00.

(OK, really, I got so fed up that I made Tariq call them.  But, still, I delegated... that's very leader-like, you have to admit).

  • Supervises the administration of U.S. immigration laws abroad

I've so got this.  I'll have only one rule: if a person calls us "The Great Satan,"  they can't come in.

Those passing this test may relocate to Alaska, which happens to have the lowest square mileage per capita in the United States. Alaska also boasts an executive administration that is very well versed in foreign affairs, so it should be a smooth transition for our newly immigrated population.

  • Provides information to American citizens regarding the political, economic, social, cultural, and humanitarian conditions in foreign countries.

Remember that post I wrote for Avitable about Pakistan?  It was very politically, economically, socially, culturally and humanitarianily informative.  And even a little funny.

  • Informs the Congress and American citizens on the conduct of U.S. foreign relations.

I can do that right now, in two simple words: totally whack.

So.  What do you think?  Do you think I'll get the job?

I mean, I would only be available on weekends and evenings since I've scarred my child by taking her to places where children shouldn't go and now she won't go to daycare.

But, still.  I'm, at the very least, a viable choice, right?

Your Turn

You may have noticed that yesterday I did a meme.  And, though, it was super fun and even therapeutic, I did it because I have severe writer's block.  I simply cannot think of a single interesting thing to write about.

On a seemingly tangential, yet highly relevant note, some of you may know that I pulled my daughter out of preschool about two months ago.  As a result, I am, cough, cough, homeschooling her.  At least, until she's four.

One of the things we've been doing is sequencing.  I show her a series of pictures, and, then, she tells me what she thinks happened and in what order the events happened.

Well, damn.  That's a mighty good idea for someone who has writer's block, isn't it?  Except, I'm not a storyteller.  I'm a pontificater.  Yes, that is a word... that I just made up.

Are you a storyteller?  Good.  Tell me the story behind this photo.  (You can find more like it at


You Might Not Know That I...

...cannot do two things at once without making a complete mess of one them.

...cry almost every day.  Not because I'm sad, but because I'm very sensitive.  I cry when I'm happy, sad, confused, hungry, tired, or angry.

...have a family history of mental illness allergic to popcorn, but eat it anyway (and then I wonder why I am in the ER with hives)

...get jealous of my husband because he's such a happy and well adjusted person extremely hard on myself, but way too easy on others

...feel guilty about doing anything that benefits me exclusively

...can read other people very easily, my first impressions are accurate 99.999% of the time

...wish I had been much nicer to some people in high school and much meaner to others afraid people will think I'm not genuine

...first tried pepperoni when I was 23 years old  (it was turkey) lavish in my praise of others, but have never met anyone I "look up to"

...can be unusually competitive if the prize is something I care about

...feel physically tired all the time

...was 16 when I got my first credit card

...was 7 when I got my first paycheck (I worked for my mom after school... she paid me)

...miss the television show "Angel" so much that it makes me physically ill

...clean in order to resolve inner conflict

...try to be meticulously organized with my life, but that I admire people who aren't

...believe that I am inferior in some way to every single person I meet, irrespective of their intelligence, education or social status (and also that I am superior to them in some way, as well) very careful about how I present myself to people.  Not because I'm afraid, but I wonder if people are ready or able to accept me for who I am all at one time beef jerky, but haven't eaten any in over twenty years

...feel old when I hear Nirvana on a "retro station" that I feel old

And I might not know that you...

Thanks to Finn, Miss Britt and Poppy for this meme which was my very first!