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Just yesterday I got an email from my friend the Cajun Queen, giving me her new address in New England so I can send her a Christmas card. Needless to say, I'd emailed her to ask for it some weeks ago. I asked if she had a new email address that she checks more than once a month that I should know about. She replied, no, she just hadn't been checking her email lately. It seems she'd been looking for a job last year and, despite sending out 100 resumes, she did not receive a single offer. This put her in such a funk that she stopped checking her messages all together.

Don't call us, we'll call you (if we feel like it). )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the fact that my friend, the Cajun Queen, got married the Friday before last. She notified me by sending an email with photos taken at the courthouse where it happened. This casual method of notification didn't hurt my feelings one bit, because I suspect she probably notified her parents the same way. She queen likes attention, but she doesn't like fuss. If the spotlight is going to be on her, it needs to be on her simply because she is fabulous, not because of anything her fabulous self is doing.

I certainly do, your honor. )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about how my friend the Cajun Queen always gets depressed on Mother's Day, which is this Sunday. She is a mother, but she won't get a card or flowers for being one. Her son has another woman's name is on his birth certificate, and that woman will get his kisses and the card he made at school this week. That is his real mother, and the only mother he knows. The Cajun Queen is only his birth mother, and not real to him at all.

A Cajun Unaware )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the day it was determined by the women I worked with one part of my body is substandard, and that I don't have to worry about men watching me from behind because there is nothing to see there.

No back to this baby )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the role of the "courtesy flush" in the world of office politics. Everyone takes the idea of the courtesy flush for granted until they work with someone who doesn't subscribe to the protocol. It's hard to find out who these people are without placing a sentry outside of the restroom to catch them in action (or, in this case, inaction). Then, once you have one of them cornered, what do you do with them? Do you march them back into the stall and make them flush until the job is done? I say yes, if that's what it takes to get the idea through their inconsiderate heads that no one wants to know if they had corn for dinner last night unless we ask them the question point blank.

Meet me in the Ladies Room )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my friend the Cajun Queen, and how music and sex are strongly linked in her mind. She likes hard rock and roll, and only hard rock and roll. She likes her music to throb, pulsate, and dominate. Music is not a soothing thing to her, and it's not a spiritual thing. It is simply a phallic thing.

Get it On, Bang a Gong )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the face of my friend, the Cajun Queen, and how I wish I had one like it. It's not that I want to look like her. Though she's pretty enough, her beauty is not the thing that I covet about her face. I love her face because it does tricks. I've always wanted a face that could do tricks.

A face like a pretty circus )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the Cajun Queen I used to work with and the tattoo on her hip. Both tattoos, actually: one on top of the other. The tattoo on the bottom is the name of her ex fiancé. Since getting a lover's name tattooed on your body dooms the relationship to failure, she had to get another, larger, tattoo to cover it up once she booted the guy to the curb.

The first tattoo probably caused her to stay with him a little longer than she would have if it weren't there. There is a certain awkwardness that comes with starting a new relationship and having to explain why someone else's name is permanently displayed upon your ass. Because the Cajun Queen is normally a smart woman, I asked her what possessed her to get that tattoo in the first place.

Covering Up A Mistake )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about how a good storyteller is not afraid to adjust the facts to make a story better. For them, accuracy is not as important as the greater truth and entertainment value of the tale.

I learned this a few years ago from The Cajun Queen that I worked with. At the time, people all over the US were angry with the French for their position that our invading Iraq was not a bonne idée. In response, some people in America started boycotting all things perceived to be French and renaming things that had French as part of their name. In the cafeteria of the US Capital, congressmen no longer ordered French Fries - they ordered Freedom Fries, instead. As far as I know, they still do.

The Cajun Queen and the Bonne a Rienne )
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about, Sharon, the Korean woman who used to run the deli in building where I work. Everyone in my office adored her, but the rest of the building regarded her with terror. The idea that a plump Korean grandmother standing less than 5 feet tall could intimidate anyone might sound strange, unless you met her. It then became perfectly clear.

In spite of rumors to the contrary, I have it on good authority that I don't cause trouble. )
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I wrote this one about a conversation I had with a friend almost a year ago. She was going through something very scary, and I suddenly realized how helpless I was and that there was nothing brilliant to say at a time like that, no magic words to make everything better (at least none that I know of). If anyone does knows some, could you please pass them on to me?

Biopsy )

Poetry Post

Jan. 7th, 2006 12:42 pm
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But sometimes I do like to post it. I know most people hate poetry, and with good reason. My feeling won't be hurt if you skip this; no one hates poetry more than I do. )

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