I have seen it all

Armed and Famous is a new show on CBS. Latoya Jackson is a cop. She doesn't play a cop; she is a cop. I was sucked into watching the show, and I kind of felt sorry for Latoya. Everyone thought that she couldn't do anything. She was so proud of herself.

The show is actually pretty funny. I don't know if it's meant to be funny, but I laughed a few times.

Wow

What is her diet secret? She looks GREAT, for a dead chick.

Egg Drop Soup

It seems that I'm on the job search again. I'm still working at the hospital, but since my position is "as needed," I haven't been getting the amount of hours that I would prefer.

I have applied for a few positions, but it seems that no one is ready to hire right now. The seasonal hiring is pretty much over, and most places aren't looking to add extra staff, at this moment. I don't have the best track record, and I don't want to apply for a job that I know beforehand that I am going to hate.

I just need something temporary. I hope, within the next few months, to find out that I have been accepted into a program that will cause me to move. I'm trying to make plans to accomodate that move.

Today, I ate lunch at Chung King. It was my first time there, and it was pretty good for a Chineese buffet. My "fortune" was simple, but it hit close to home. Are you ready for it? Here it is:

Yesterday was a dare to struggle.

Today is a dare to win.

That Sums It Up

My life is rated NC-17!



Your life is rated NC-17!

What is your life rated? (MPAA Scale)

Take Other Caffeine Nebula Quizzes

I Smell Pumpkin

October has arrived! Every corner and grocery store is busting with pumpkins and chrysanthemums. If I was not living in south Louisiana, I would swear that it was Fall. I love this time of year when the weather cools off a bit and the Rice Festival rolls into town.

By the way, check out that pimp pumpkin in the picture. That was my first (and last) pumpkin that I ever carved. Not too shabby, eh? That was back in one of my old apartments too. OH...how I do miss those times of independence.

These are new ones!

You Are 40% Sociopath

From time to time, you may be a bit troubled and a bit too charming for your own good. It's likely that you're not a sociopath... just quite smart and a bit out of the mainstream!

Are You A Sociopath?

What Your Bathroom Habits Say About You

You are a giving soul. Way too giving in fact. You often get stuck doing the dirty work that no one else will do. Your look is put together, classic, and stylish. You always look fashionable without trying. You have the perfect blend of confidence and class. You're proud of who you are - but you don't broadcast it. In relationships, you are practical and realistic. You have a romantic side, but you only let it out when it's appropriate.

What Do Your Bathroom Habits Say About You?

You Were Very Naughty This Year!

Naughty, naughty! You've given Santa a broken heart. You probably won't get anything from Mr. Claus Except for a well deserved spanking (Which you'll probably enjoy, you sicko!)

Were You Naughty or Nice This Year?

Your 1950s Name is:

Alfred Raymond

What's your 1950s Name?

Your Summer Anthem is Best Of You by the Foo Fighters

"I've got another confession my friend I'm no fool I'm getting tired of starting again Somewhere new" While you may seem bright on the outside, your insides have a distinct angst flavor.

What's Your 2005 Summer Anthem?

You Are 80% Brutally Honest

Most of the time, you tell it like it is. Even if it's hard for people to hear. Sometimes you hold back though, because you never want your honesty to be hurtful.

How Brutally Honest Are You?

You Are 64% Gentleman

You are definitely a gentleman. You're very considerate and you have excellent manners. Occasionally, you slip and do something foolish... but usually no one notices!

Are You A Gentleman?

You Failed 8th Grade Spanish

Sorry, you only got 1/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Spanish?

Brainy Kid

In high school, you were acing AP classes or hanging out in the computer lab. You may have been a bit of a geek back then, but now you're a total success!

Who Were You In High School?

You Were a Lizard

You are able to bounce back from adversity and regenerate what was lost. Facing your fears and controlling your dreams comes easily for you.

What Animal Were You In a Past Life?

Your Dominant Intelligence is Logical-Mathematical Intelligence

You are great at finding patterns and relationships between things. Always curious about how things work, you love to set up experiments. You need for the world to make sense - and are good at making sense of it. You have a head for numbers and math ... and you can solve almost any logic puzzle. You would make a great scientist, engineer, computer programmer, researcher, accountant, or mathematician.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

You Passed 8th Grade Science

Congratulations, you got 8/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Science?

You Are 50% "Average American"

You are average because you wouldn't pay to go in space. You are not average since you live more than three miles away from McDonalds.

How "Average American" Are You?

Your Musical Tastes Match: Jennifer Garner

See her whole playlist here (iTunes required)

What Celebrity Matches Your Taste in Music?

You've Experienced 60% of Life

You have a good deal of life experience, about as much as someone in their late 20s. You've seen and done enough to be quite wise, but you still have a lot of life to look forward to.

How Much Life Experience Do You Have?

Your Christmas Stocking Will Be Filled With Little Wrapped Presents

You've made Santa a very happy fellow this year. Don't worry - what happens at the North Pole stays at the North Pole!

What Will Be In Your Christmas Stocking?

You Are

A Franken Pumpkin Face You would make a good deformed pumpkin.

What's Your Pumpkin Face?

Your EQ is 113

50 or less: Thanks for answering honestly. Now get yourself a shrink, quick! 51-70: When it comes to understanding human emotions, you'd have better luck understanding Chinese. 71-90: You've got more emotional intelligence than the average frat boy. Barely. 91-110: You're average. It's easy to predict how you'll react to things. But anyone could have guessed that. 111-130: You usually have it going on emotionally, but roadblocks tend to land you on your butt. 131-150: You are remarkable when it comes to relating with others. Only the biggest losers get under your skin. 150+: Two possibilities - you've either out "Dr. Phil-ed" Dr. Phil... or you're a dirty liar.

What's Your EQ (Emotional Intelligence Quotient)?

Your Hawaiian Name is:

Mamo Keona

What's your Hawaiian Name?

I'll Show You a Thing or Two

I love to run or jog. I find that it is a great way to shed the fat, improve my cardio/respiratory fitness as well as my emotional well-being. As I drive through Lafayette, I have seen many people who have decided join the ranks of runners. It's good to see people getting off their couches and doing something productive, but I can't say that I see good things out there.

Here are a few things to keep in mind when running:

It is important to stretch before running, but you don't want to stretch cold muscles. Try walking at a fast pace for about 5 minutes before stretching. Now your muscles are warm and ready to be stretched. It's good to stretch for at least 5 minutes. When you strech a muscle, hold it for 15 seconds, and repeat 3 times.

I often see people, while stretching, bouncing up and down. This is bad, and you look like a retard for doing it. Have you ever tried stretching a rubberband over and over again? That's what it's doing to your muscles. What happens if you keep doing that to the rubberband? Right...it pops.

Hydration is vital at all times. Make sure that you are adequately hydrated before running, and I'm sure you're going to want to drink plenty of water after running. Water is the best thing to drink to rehydrate your body. Many people drink a sports drink to replenish lost electrolytes. These drinks are packed with sodium, which is an electrolyte. We should not get more than 2300mg of sodium each day. That amount is equal to one teaspoon. I know we all get way more than one teaspoon, so water is good enough. However, it doesn't matter what you drink, as long as you drink something.

Speaking of hydration, I have noticed so many people around town wearing sweat suits to run. I see this big 250+ pound guys running around the streets wearing a sweatshirt. Why? I don't understand. Sweating is something that your body does to cool itself. If you are wearing something to increase the amount that you sweat, you are only increasing the amount of fluid loss in your body. You are NOT increasing the amount of fat loss.

The appropriate thing to wear while running is light-colored, loose-fitting clothing. It hot weather, shorts and a tshirt are appropriate.

If you can't run a long distance, walk instead. Walking is also a great cardiovascular workout, and it burns calories. The longer you walk, the more fat you will lose. Simple, huh?

At the end of a run, it is good to stretch for an additional 5 minutes using the same methods applied before running.

If I catch you doing something wrong, I'm going to honk my horn and flip you off.

Blowing Off Some Steam

I tend to let things build up inside. When others say something negative, I either shrug it off or let it bother me. There are times when I do snap back, but most times I don't think that it is worth the effort. It isn't worth my breath because the other party is ignorant, or it will just snowball. I find other ways to release my tension.

My brother's most recent ex-girlfriend just recently became a pain in my ass. Since it is quite a web of confusion, I won't go through all the specifics. However, since a friend of mine thinks that she is "trashy," I am the one automatically guitly of gossip.

I usually don't waste my time on this chick. The only gossip that I am guilty of is some funny story at their expense.

In the end, my friend was just calling it the way it is. Let's be honest, it only takes a few key observations to make that call. It's not like I let everyone know that my brother's most recent ex-girlfriend had two abortions before she graduated high school, and one of her baby's daddy isn't the man she claims.

Now...that would be perceived as trashy, right?

Towel Heads

Means Nothing to Me

I don't know about you, but I could not care less about Suri Cruise, Tom, or Katie. I'm tired of hearing "the latest."

Pecan

There's my girl Cypress hard at work on the trail this summer in Northern Califonia. She left at the end of May, and she will be up there...well...I don't know when she's coming back, actually. I sure do miss dat guh. Come home soon.

Well, look who got slapped with the model stick while she's on the West Coast. Don't let it get to your head.

Hooka!

Oh Yes I Did

I have recently noticed that I have a bit of a sinus congestion issue. Of course, who does not have sinus issues in South Louisiana? Anyway, with these problems comes....what's a good way to say it....drainage.

I have never been good at spitting. I just never have enough spit, apparently. Even if I have such drainage, I have about a 50% success rate on getting the job done.

After the rainstorm, I was driving back towards campus. I felt the urge to eliminate some of this drainage from my throat. I don't know what made me think that I could do this without flaw, but I tried it anyway. While driving, I decided to roll down my window and hock one out. I felt something nice and wet on my face. Immediately I think, "Ooh...I think this one failed too." I wipped my face, and it was nothing more than a little saliva. No big deal.

I parked, at school, came into the library, and wrote the previous post. After that, I made a quick pass by McDonald's to eat a bite before my class at 18:30. I decided to sit inside and eat because I had plenty of time.

After leaving McDonald's, I still had plenty of time before class. I didn't have anywhere to go, so I went to Albertsons because it was close. Also, I guess partly because I'm a dork.

While washing my hands in the bathroom, I do the same thing that everyone else does....I check myself out in the mirror. I started to examine my rain jacket. It did an excellent job, and it's bright red, one of my favorite colors. Then, I do a double-take. What's that on my left shoulder? Phlegm! Yes Phlegm! I had been walking around in front of tons of people with this mass of nastiness on my shoulder. Of course I was embarrassed, but I bursted out laughing alone in the bathroom. (Which could be a new complex situation of embarrassment, but no stories there.)

Moral of the Story: If you think you will fail, don't even try.

Long Time No See!

I know...I know. I haven't posted in a decade or something. I'll fill you in. I moved back to Crow-town "temporarily." I think I've been back 2-3 weeks. I'm not quite sure. All I know is that it has already been too long.

On my break between the summer and fall semesters, I worked 190 hours in 3 weeks. Most of my days worked were consecutive. All I did was eat, work, and sleep. Although, it was nice to be away from my temporary home.

Since I am back in Crowley, I don't have internet access anymore. I disconnected the phone line when I moved out. I live so far out in the sticks that our only available connection is dial up. I'm not about to reconnect a phone line because it would be pointless.

Right now, I'm on campus, and I am soaked. After leaving my previous class, I walked through water that reached my KNEES! Yes, my KNEES! I think the water came down so fast that it didn't have anywhere to go. Well...That, and UL's less than adequate drainage system.

My classes seem ok so far. Not going to be too difficult of a semester. I guess the most difficult thing will be tolerating the sorority-type chicks that make up most of the school of nursing.

Let me think....No....I really haven't been up to much else. Now that I'm back around people, I'm sure I'll have stories to tell.

Entrepreneur Dies

Meeeooooowww!

This is how we get to have fun during the summer semester. I have to admit, I am not a cat lover. When this cat was let out of the bag, she was in this position. I couldn't help but laugh. Yeah, I know it's horrible, but I think it goes way back to high school.

A friend and I used to ride around Crow-town. I remember one specific day, there was a yellow cat on the road that had obviously ran out of its nine lives. She rolled down the window and made a long, drawn out "Meow." I don't know why, but it cracked me up. So, now I'm cursed when I look at the disected cats because I think of them having that expression.

All in all, I guess it's better than most of the girls freaking out over the smell of formaldehyde. I hate to see when they become nurses and have to clean up vomit and poo.

I just looked at my previous post and remembered that this all occured on the same day my bike was stolen. The evil spirits that made me chuckle may have caused my bike to get stolen as well. Hmmm.....

Nah!

Chaps My Butt

Just after I turned off my alarm this morning, Katie called. I am glad that I was already awake. We talked, while I ate breakfast and got ready for class. It was something different from the daily routine, and I enjoyed it.

I rode my bike to class, same as always. I parked it on a bike rack closer to the building that I am in. I usually park it a little farther because I don't like riding my bike through crowds of people. I find it annoying when someone, on a bike, is two inches behind me.

I get out of class, and I don't see my bike. Right away, I begin to second guess myself. "Did I really park it on this side of the library?" So, I walk to the other side, my normal parking spot. "Not here either!"

Now before you think it, yes, I locked it up. Really, how stupid do you think I am? Apparently, most people must think I am a complete moron because that is the first question I have been getting asked. I guess people are suprised that I can dress myself and keep the droll on the inside of my mouth. Of course I locked up my bike. I don't live in freakin Mayberry.

I went ahead and filed a police report. I know nothing will come of it, but "just incase." You never know when something is going to come up, or the pawn shop may magically have my bike.
So, now I'm on foot. I have my car, but I'm staying so close to campus that driving is useless. I can drive and park in a parking lot that is 3 blocks closer to campus from where I live. Oh, and I can pay $1.00 to park, plus $0.25 per hour. Hmm....I think not.

Some thugs just moved in downstairs. I guess my car is next to be stolen. Accords seem to round out every Top 10 Stolen Car Lists that I have seen. The bright side is my car has insurance.

Now I'm home, and I'm working on bringing down my hypertension. I'll pass the collection plate for donations.

Human Anatomy & Physiology

1st and 2nd Test = A

Now what? [That was with attitude]

Independence Day

Happy Fourth of July Everyone! I hope that all you fellow American's enjoyed celebrating our independence day. I spent mine with the family. It's one of those days of obligation. I was hoping that I would have had to work, but I couldn't get out of it that easy. I think my family gets more wacked everytime I see them. Lawzy!

Say that 3 times fast

It has been forever and a day since I have posted, but I have just (within the last few seconds) come across the longest word in the English Dictionary, while studying for Anatomy and Physiology. Are you ready for it? Here it is:

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

The definition: a lung disease caused by the inhalation of very fine silica dust, mostly found in volcanos.

It was originally postulated by Everett M. Smith, simply to serve as the longest English word, but has been used in several sources as an approximation of its originally intended definition. The plural of this word, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconioses, which is equally long.

Hello

Hi! I am 5 months old today. Where's my treat?

YUCKY

I am not usually a Community Coffee drinker because I support my hometown boys. However, I decided to try it this time because a saw this chocolate flavor, and I thought it would be pretty good. Wrong! It is not good. Maybe I have to develop a taste for it, or maybe not. I can barely even tell that it is coffee. I am not a fan.

Let me know if you want to come over for a cup of coffee. You may like it, and if you don't, well, then you know not to buy any. I need help getting rid of it.

Mello Joy will be my next purchase. Stick with old faithful.

June 1: Hurricane Season Begins

Still today, we are living in the devistation of Hurricane Katrina, the only hurricane last year. It seems like before we can turn around, another active season is upon us. The predictions seem pretty bad, but I can only pray that it will not ruin too many lives.

With that, Happy Hurricane Season 2006! If you are in a low-lying area, I hope that you have learned how to EVACUATE. Take everything you need, who knows what you're going to come back to. I don't live far from the coast either. I wish everyone the best.

Waiting...

Ryan Reynolds, Anna Faris, Justin Long and Luis Guzmán are just a few of the random employees at a Bennigan's-like restaurant (called Shenanigan's), killing time before their real lives get started. But while they wait, they'll have to deal with picky customers who want their steak cooked to order and enthusiastic managers who want to build the perfect wait staff. Luckily, these employees have effective revenge tactics.

Tonight, I watched Waiting...I thought it was just OK. Having spent too much of my life in the same situation, I thought this movie was a little more tame than the actual restaurant life. The movie took a much slower pace than reality, and it was so quiet. A real restaurant is noisy, very noisy. Although, I'm sure it is more quiet for the public's viewing pleasure, and that it is filmed in a slower pace because it would be hard to follow if it were in real time.

Of course, there were several situations that were not covered in this film. No one was stiffed, only small tips. Small tips are a classic sign that you are working at a Bennigan's like restaurant, anyway. There were no Canadians (408s), Pentecostals, large parties, sex in the cooler, running side work, screaming multiple managers, screaming people on the line thinking that they have power, diva waitresses, and no one was in the weeds. I have to give credit because everything that it touched on, does happen, except for the "alpha sprouts." I'm so sure that you could put that on someone's plate without them noticing.

Overall, as I said before, the movie was OK. It could have been so much better. They should have contacted me.

Thought I'd Share

Cypress and I hung out together on one of her last days in Lafayette. We decided to take a walk downtown from her apartment. It was so freaking hot, but still a beautiful day nonetheless. She's sporting her new satchel that she sewed herself in this picture. She had to have one because she can't exactly carry a purse on her, with her horse-paking job in California.

Last Saturday night, we celebrated Stephanie's graduation at the Blue Moon. In this picture is John (left), Cypress (middle), and Stephanie (right). I'm not sure why everyone is looking in the same direction. Later when they saw the picture, they didn't even know. Go figure! Stephanie is leaving next month to move to Honduras.

Amber also graduated on Saturday. We took this picture right after we hit up the table with all the free food. I'm sure you can figure out who is who in this picture. Cypress is already in California. Amber is moving to Tennessee in August. This is probably the last time we'll be together at the same time. I think everyone is leaving me behind.

Cypress and I, pictured here, on the dancefloor at the Blue Moon. That was a fun night. I miss that girl.

Freedom!

Well, it is official. I am out of my parents house, for the summer. The reason I say, "for the summer" is because it is temporary. Beth is gone for the summer, and she didn't want her apartment to be empty. So here I am!

It will be nice, not only for the privacy, but for the location. I love this area, and I can ride my bike to school all summer. That will save a ton on gas. I'm so excited.

Hopefully, by the time Beth returns, I will have found another place in the city to stay. Then I'll never have to go back to Ebenezer.

Ahh...it'll be a great summer.

What? Again?

Have you ever waken up in the morning, and you knew that you had to do something that was going to be very painful? Well, today was that day for me.

We had another family gathering. There was no special occasion. My family just decides to get together because it is so much fun. We are such a close family with so much love. Can you see why I think it's painful?

Of course, my biological brother was present. Biology is our only connection, at this point. He stuck out his hand, to shake mine, when he arrived. I hesitated, but I decided not to be obviously hateful and shook his hand. Then, I got up out of my chair and avoided him for the rest of the day.

Then, I had to hear stories about my two little cousins, from their mom. Whew...I will not get into it right now. There are some strange family dynamics going on in that house. They ain't right.

My name is Kevin, and I played football in high school. Now, I'm a 30 year old mailman that lives at home with my momma.

As you well know, yesterday was Mother's Day, and that usually brings about a family gathering. During the get-together at our house, the subject of school and grades came up. Of course, the person inquiring about grades was my lovable brother.

He asked how my grades were for the semester. I am not ashamed in the least. I said, "I have all A's." His response: "Well, you sure try a lot harder now that you gotta pay for it." I am immediately ticked off. I know exactly what he was implying, and I won't keep my mouth shut around him like I have done for so many years. I said, "'Now that I gotta pay for it?' Who the F _ _ _ you think paid for it before?"

I am still furious at his remark. This evening, I asked mom if she had heard him make that comment. She said, "yes," and cocked a grin. A grin that meant: "You know how Kevin is."

I said, "Well, it isn't over; I'm going to bring it up again." She looked up at me, and I asked her, "Why do you think he said that?" She replied, "Apparently he thinks that we paid for everything when you were in school before."

Leave it to that lazy, fat, dumb, excuse for a human being, to sling around accusations. The boy has no clue. My entire college career, no one paid for me, except for me. Sure, I had TOPS. Who earned TOPS? Me. I had an apartment, a vehicle (several actually), utilities, phones, books, tuition, an appetite, and no one supported that other than me. I feel like I can't express the extent of the matter to which I am pissed off.

I think that this just shows that FLUF is jealous. Up until my second semester at UL, he would try to tell me to quit school each and every day. He quit LSUE 2 weeks into his second semester, and he couldn't imagine me going any farther than him. He is the type of person that is always looking for the easy fix. That can easily be seen by peeping into his bathroom cabinet that contains all of his weight loss pills, including pills with labels that say, "Loose weight while you sleep!" How lazy can you be? (By the way, I can take a picture of him to show how they do not work.)

The more I think about it, the closer I am coming to a decision. Before long, I'll be moving out of this house. I'll be moving out for a second time, before Kevin moves out for the first time. When I do it, I'm thinking about cutting all ties. I have no desire to speak to him, ever. I have absolutely zero use for someone who has to constantly put me down to make himself feel better, whether it is true or not. I'll see him at family gatherings, and that'll probably be the extent of it. That is, if I decide to attend.

Happy Mother's Day

On the first note, I just wanted to wish a Happy Mother's Day to all the baby mommas. I'm a little happy that the "holiday" portion of the day is over. All the family and friends have left, and the house is once again normal; however, normal is subject to interpretation.

The semester is finally over, and grades have been reported. The verdict:
I made a 4.0!
Obviously, I'm stoked! Right now, I'm feeling guilty because I'm not studying, or coordinating future studying.

I am going to take some summer semester classes. Classes start on June fifth, which is also Erica's birthday. Yes, I remember. I've taken classes during the summer before, but this summer semester seems very short. It is June 5 - July 26th, then the Fall semester doesn't begin until August 21. It will be just about a month break between each semester. [Sigh] It doesn't sound half bad.

The first part of the season finale of Grey's Anatomy is on, and I cannot continue to distract myself by blogging.

Oh, and if anyone would like to shower me with congratulatory gifts, my wish list is linked on my profile. Well, it's a thought.

Double Take

Excuse me. Can I see your license and registeration?

I took this picture, in November 2005, when I was in Destin. This was a Mercedes that was driving down the main highway just in front of the beach. I thought it was funny because it actually looked like the horse was driving. The driver wasn't much cuter.

OH yeah! [Chic-ah-chic-ah]

Today is Friday. I took my last final, and I ain't got shit to do. Man, what a great feeling. This morning, starting at 07:30, I took my last final of the semester. It was in Louisiana History. I LOVE that class. The final had a large essay question, six identifications, multiple choice, and short answer questions. I kicked names, and took ass. That's right. I didn't stutter.

I wrote so much on that final that my wrist was hurting by the time that I turned it in. My essay....Well, it was on no one other than Crowley boy, Edwin Washington Edwards. I need to find a book more in detail about Edwards. Of course, I couldn't leave out the globally recognized election in our state. "The election from hell. The wizard verses the lizard." Wow, you've gotta love Louisiana politics. It's a hard decision to pick between a crook and a neo-Nazi "racial realist," as Duke calls himself.

I will end this post with a couple of funny quotes that Edwards used during his campaign, when running against David Treen, for the governors office in the 1984 term. Edwards did not think that Treen was suited for Louisiana politics, and he often made fun of him. He once said, "[Treen is] so low that it takes him an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes." Also, being confident that he would win the election against Treen, Edwards said, "The only way that I will lose this election is if I am caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy."

I'm over it

I'm sick of all these finals. I will be officially finished with my first semester of Nursing school, this Friday. Don't expect to hear from me until after 10:00, on Friday.

I haven't posted regularly in a while, so I....

It didn't end there

This afternoon, I got my third test back in chemistry. I now have a 100% total in that class. All I need is a 70% on my final to still get an A. It's starting to get a little easier to breathe.

I think I had a pretty good day.

So far so good...

Today, I got my grade back for test #5 in my statistics class. Turns out, that my grades have been so high that I am exempt from taking the comprehensive final. Whew...that is a load off my back. Now, I can spend a little more time on the killer chemistry final that I have to take. Although, to be perfectly honest, I don't want to spend all my time on chemistry. I am already burnt out on the subject.

After leaving statistics, I came to the library, and the first thing I did was check my university email account. I got an email from my nursing instructor, and I thought that I would share it. I was quite surprised. Here it is:

Because your healty habit paper was excellent, I have chosen it to use as an example or the National League of Nursing (NLN) accreditation visit to ULL College of Nursing. However, I can only use your paper with your permission and a signed consent form. Could you let me know asap if you would mind me making a copy of your paper and using it as an example for the NLN? If you reply that this is ok, I need for you to stop by my office at your conveinence to sign a consent form.

Thanks alot,
Mrs. Stefanski

Now, shouldn't that help me out to get into the accelerated program? Mais la!

Chris Young

Well, it is official. Chris Young is the newest Nashville Star. This boy is a great country artist. He can sing, play guitar, and write. It must be a wild ride to be on such a show. I didn't get to catch every episode, but I saw the first one and a few in between. I saw Chris in his first performance.

From the beginning, I figured he was going to be the winner, but the final three were all in my predictions. This was a tough year because everyone was great.

This show is so much better than American Idol!

Biggity Biggity Back

I have been without my computer for a week, and I finally have it back. It's always nice to reunite with old friends. Now, I just have to remember all my favorites to add them again.

Finals are next week, so if you want to find me, try looking at the library.

Wish me luck!

Virus

My brother and his girlfriend have been exposed to a stomach virus. They were both here all day yesterday. She started showing symptoms today. Now, tonight FLUF is coming back here to sleep. Essentially, this means that he's going to come home, blow his infectious breath all over, and use my bathroom.

How exciting, I'm sure I'll get his nasty germs. I have tests this week. It'll be great to think and squirt at the same time.

Put Emergencies on ICE

Programming a simple acronym into a cell phone could be a useful resource for paramedics when they're trying to reach a victim's loved ones during an emergency. In light of last summer's terrorist attacks in London, a British paramedic was struck with the idea of doing just that, and the country quickly adopted the practice.

Here's how it works: Cell-phone users program "ICE" (short for "in case of an emergency") followed by a person's name and phone number into their phones' contact lists. If a person is injured and unable to communicate, the paramedics can easily know who to call and how to reach them.

Though an ICE campaign like Britain's is beginning to catch on, members of the International Association of EMTs and Paramedics are hopeful the practice will become more prevalent.

YOU, Spring 2006

Don't Waste Your Time

Just to let some of you folks know, I am no longer capable of sending or receiving text messages. So, don't waste your time and/or money.

Diamonds on the top

...and the bottom row ain't gold.

Ok, I'm listening...

Now, where's my treat??

The Mayor of Ebenezer

Each of us has someone that has significantly touched our lives. Born March 14, 1920, in Ebenezer, he spent his life defending our freedom and praying for our souls. He was the only grandfather whom I have ever known, and I called him "Uncle Bob."

Thursday, April 13, 2006, was the last day of Uncle Bob's life, and he is greatly missed by many. He fought in World War II, where he received a purple heart for his duties. He later served in our armed forces as a drill sergeant. Also, he spent more than 50 years as the caretaker of the cemetery of the Ebenezer Methodist Church.

Almost anytime that you would pass by the church yard, there Uncle Bob could be seen either mowing grass, getting rid of weeds, or just talking to people in search of their relatives. We called him "The Mayor of Ebenezer" because no one knew this area or the people as well as he did. If anyone had a question, it usually ended up in Uncle Bob's kitchen, over a cup of coffee or a cold drink.

Uncle Bob is my grandmother's uncle. He came from a family of 10 children. He was brothers with my grandmother's father, on my dad's side of the family. Last year, I wrote about a dream that I had of my grandfather's funeral. As I can still vividly recall this dream, I remember standing right beside, almost touching, my Uncle Bob.

Today, I escorted Uncle Bob to his final resting spot beside his beloved wife. It was a tough day for my family, but I know that the highest price to pay for life is death. I will always miss him, but I am grateful for the time that I had. I am a better person for having him in my life.

He's Getting Big

I can't have everyone thinking that Buster is still as small as he was in the pictures that I posted way back when. Before, I mentioned that I picked a fiesty puppy, and boy did I ever! Buster is all or none. That boy is either full-throttle, or he is out of gas. He is into everything now. If I'm looking in a cabinet, he is right there with me.

He sure knows what it sounds like when he's about to get a treat too. When he hears any sort of wrapper, he runs up to me and sits at my feet. (He doesn't get a treat unless he's sitting.) That's how I crack that whip. Good things are rewarded. You have to earn things. Nothing is for free.

He just turned 2 months old, and he is in the puppy "terrible twos" from what I read somewhere. I have noticed that he's starting to listen a little less, but it may be that he's in a new place. I'm house/dog-sitting this week for someone else, so he's in a new environment. Yesterday, he pee-peed on the floor, and he looked at me and took off running. He knew exactly what he was doing. He's no fool.

This week, Buster had his first play date with a neighbor dog. The dog's name is Pecote, and he's a black chiachuahua. Pecote's owners must not bathe him too often because he STUNK. Also, he peed all over the place. That was such a bad example for Buster. The funny thing is that Buster was scared of Pecote at first. Although, Buster is not scared of Maddie. Maddie is the dog that lives in this house, and she's a weimaraner. Maddie is big as an ox, and Buster is constantly giving her a hard time. Finally, Buster quit running away from Pecote, and gave him hell. He seems to always be trying to start a fight. He thinks he's 10-feet tall and bullet proof. There's the picture of Buster playing with Pecote on Maddie's big bed. Little four-pound Buster thinks he owns the bed now.

I'll end with a couple pictures of Buster, of course. Good thing his nose was clean!

1, 2 FEMA's Coming for You

After Hurricane Rita passed through the region of Southwest Louisiana, I noticed something a little strange on Atkinson Road, in Crowley. A trailer that had been previously abandoned with the windows blown out and a torn up roof was covered in tarps, after the storm. This trailer had been empty for quite a while, and no attention was given to it during previous thunderstorms.

Low and behold, now near that trailer sits a FEMA trailer. Yes, this is another example of trashy people trying to get all they can out of the government, even going so far as to post a fraudulent claim. Is there a way to prove this? I am not sure.

I have heard about people making untrue claims often, in recent times. I hope they know, the government is looking for you, and they are going to get their money back one way or another.

Stepping Out in Lafayette

By Jennifer Moses
Sunday, March 26,2006; W16

After settling into Louisiana's Bayou Country, her love of dance was rekindled by the Cajun and zydeco music all around her. But with a husband who likes to sit it out, what's a frustrated, toe-tapping woman to do?

It's a Saturday night, and I'm out past my bedtime. Way past my bedtime.

Not only that, but I'm dancing in the arms of a killingly good-looking stranger. I'm pressed up against him among the gyrating, tapping, prancing, two-stepping, sweating bodies of couples all around us here in El Sid O's, a club with the appearance of a long-disused filling station. It's tucked away on a desolate street of modest, one-story and occasionally abandoned houses near the interstate, on the wrong side of the tracks in Lafayette, La. We've come to El Sid O's ($8 cover, $2 a beer) on this sticky Saturday night to get a taste of the real thing: the homegrown, Creole-infused meld known as zydeco, a brand of music that recently has begun to leak out past its origins in Southwest Louisiana with its irresistible, driving rhythm. And tonight's attraction, Keith Frank, is the real thing. A Creole by birth, he's a self-taught master of accordion, drums, bass, guitar, scrub board, keyboard, piano and even harmonica. His band includes his sister on bass and brother on drums.

Like just about everyone else in the world of zydeco, Frank came up -- as we say in Louisiana -- surrounded by musicians: his daddy, his uncle, his paw-paw. It's in his blood.

My husband and I parked in a weedy lot and threaded our way self-consciously through pickup trucks and ancient Oldsmobiles to the club's entrance. I feel even more self-conscious now, but my dancing partner, no doubt sensing my nervousness, is going gentle with me. He is tall and muscular, and at least 10 years my junior, with skin the color of sun-soaked oak and the compact, lean build of a runner. In short, he is a god. But he doesn't seem to know that, and, holding me tight, he leads with utter confidence. It's as if he's willing my feet to move and my hips to sway in time with his.

Not five feet from us, Keith Frank and the Soileau Zydeco Band is shaking the roof off the rafters with the kind of music you can't not dance too -- characterized, like most zydeco, with a down rhythm as sexual as anything in music, punctuated by the frottoir (a metal washboard typically played with spoons) and the accordion. Only this isn't your old man's one-two/circus music/polka accordion. This is a squeezebox -- the accordion as aphrodisiac.

I'm turning in my partner's arms -- step, step, step-back -- and back again, and then again. It's ecstasy.

In truth, I'm dancing with a god not because of my good luck or wily charm. Rather, when his date -- a slim young woman with long hair down her back, a cowboy hat perched pertly on her head -- appeared next to me at the sink in the ladies' room, I told her point-blank that I'd pay money to dance with her boyfriend. She said that he wasn't herboyfriend, but her cousin, and that she'd ask him to dance with me.

Which, this being Louisiana, where people are unbelievably friendly, he did. Meanwhile, my husband sat still as a rock, utterly unaware that if I didn't get pulled onto the dance floor, and soon, something profound and deep-seated and central in me was simply going to bust. (He later told me that he doesn't do zydeco -- that it's too sexual, too loud, too rhythmic. He was just as happy to let me get my ya-yas out with someone else.)

El Sid O's, which is known for, among other things, its custom of serving booze by the half-pint, is hopping. Zydeco, unlike Cajun, is mainly played by, and for, black folks, and the crowd tonight is primarily African American. The men wear cowboy hats and sharp suits or red straw boaters and matching red shoes; the women wear tall strappy sandals and sparkly slacks so tight they look poured on. Everyone is dancing: young with old, fat with skinny, ugly with gorgeous, and black with white. And why not? It was just last summer when Katrina and Rita wiped out a good swath of South Louisiana, but here in Lafayette, not only are most buildings still standing, but folks can't help themselves. Dancing is encoded in their French-African-Caribbean-Louisiana-Catholic-Native American-Baptist gene pool.

My dream dance partner's name, I learn, is Herman Stevens. He hails from Lake Charles, works as a contractor in the family business, has a wife and three kids, and learned to dance by watching his parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. "You know, I came up that way," he says.

I wish my husband and I had come up that way, too: We're both about as East Coast as you can get, with a crushing self-consciousness about anything approaching laissez les bon temps rouler (let the good times roll). There's one major difference between us, however: I love to "hear" music in my body, and have known how to dance ever since my grandmother taught me when I was 7 years old. He hears music in his ears. Shaking his groove-thing is something that doesn't exactly come naturally to him. But having experienced this kind of exhilaration, I'm determined that my wallflower days are over. The only question is, can I keep finding willing partners, or am I ultimately going to have to dance solo?

Cajun Country -- or Acadiana -- is a stretch of Southwest Louisiana roughly defined by the Atchafalaya River to the east, the city of Lake Charles to the west, Highway 190 to the north and the Gulf of Mexico to the south. It is home to hundreds of dance halls, bars, clubs, restaurants and even churches, where on any given day you can find people grooving down to a live band, enjoying a crawfish boil, or both. But, for me, it's all about the music and the dancing -- the ramshackle lounges in tiny towns such as Cecilia, Eunice, Mamou, Butte La Rose and Erath that don't always show up on maps. Lafayette, a small sprawl of a city with a pre-hurricane population of about 110,000, and a post-storm population of some several thousand more, is at the heart of the region. Viewed by New Orleans, some 135 miles east, as a kind of poor relation, a country bumpkin with rough manners, Lafayette has always struck me as the second-born sibling who dedicates his life to outshining the brother who came first: If big brother invented Dixie-land and modern jazz, then little brother would show him up with Cajun, zydeco and swamp-pop (a blend of New Orleans R&B, country and blues, performed with a Cajun accent). During the day, this dead-flat city of low-lying buildings, suburban neighborhoods, heavily trafficked boulevards, mom and pop shops, sprawling strip malls and crawfish stands seems like no more than an overgrown small town. Its historic downtown of two- and three-story, red- and yellow-brick buildings is still handsome and intact, but its outlying sections are somewhat dreary and have none of the charm of, for example, the famous French Quarter of New Orleans or the stately historic houses of Natchez, Miss. It's at night that the city comes alive, showcasing one of America's remaining folk cultures.

Cajun Country continues to be like no other place in the United States, with an ethos and culture unique to itself, primarily thanks to Mother Nature. The region is set apart from the rest of Louisiana geographically as well as culturally and linguistically (with Cajun French still widely spoken), with its landscape of bayou, swamp, riversand coastal marshes. All this is courtesy of the Atchafalaya Basin, the largest freshwater swamp in the United States. For better or worse, the swamp is rich in natural resources, particularly oil, and, over the decades, more and more of the wetlands have been destroyed for profit. The wetlands are shrinking at the rate of two football fields every hour: Over the past 50 years, an area the size of Rhode Island has become part of the Gulf of Mexico. Until Interstate 10 was built across the basin in 1973, the region was almost entirely isolated, protecting its indigenous culture and allowing it to flourish without outside influences.

The original Acadians were French Catholic colonials who, having been kicked out of the Acadia province of Nova Scotia by the British in the 18th century, wound their way down to Louisiana, which in those days was still held by Catholic France. Most of the good land along theMississippi and farther east in New Orleans was already claimed, so the settlers headed west, directly into the swampy lands of bayous, crawfish, muskrats and alligators. Today, the area is still largely Cajun (the word is a corruption of "Acadian") and, unlike North Louisiana, primarily Catholic. There is also a large Creole population of African Americans who were brought up in French-speaking families and are of Caribbean descent. Cajun French is still widely spoken, and if you tune into KRVS Lafayette or KEUN in Eunice, you'll get an earful of Cajun, zydeco and swamp-pop, with French-speaking deejays. One way or another, the culture of music is so pervasive that chances are good your hairdresser, dentist or air-conditioning repairman works nights as a musician. The music -- which goes hand in hand with the dancing -- is as much a part of the culture here as the heavily seasoned, flavorful food: hot and spicy, down-home and delish, nothing fancy, and everyone's welcome.

When I tell my friend Durwood in Baton Rouge about my plan to get more dancing in my life, he immediately says I have to meet Hadley Castille -- an old-time Cajun fiddler. Castille has been keeping people in Cajun Country dancing for most of his life, and maybe he can give me some insight into why this music is so irresistible. So one day I drive from Grand Coteau up Interstate 49 -- 18-wheelers, billboards, pickup trucks, wildflowers -- until I get to the town of Opelousas. There I hang a right on U.S. Route 190, another right near the sign advertising same-day surgery and a final right on a quiet road threading through woods and surrounded by the buzz of a million insects. I reach Castille's comfortable, neo-Acadian cottage, which is propped up on arise. At the door, he greets me with the kind of smile you usually reserve for long-gone children. Castille, who has a wonderfully expressive face under a mop of thick white hair, brings me inside, where my eyes are immediately drawn to his collection of fiddles, one in the shape of the state of Louisiana.

Like just about every other musician in South Louisiana, the 73-year-old Castille never had any formal instruction; he learned to play the fiddle from his uncle. He walked to dances in his bare feet so as not to ruin his one good pair of shoes, grew up speaking French and one day, when he was young, experienced a revelation. "I must have been about 11 or 12 -- my father brought home a radio," he says. "I tuned in and heard something I'd never heard before, Texas swing. I couldn't believe what I heard. I stayed up all night listening to that radio and wore the batteries out." Castille took the mischievous sound of Texas swing, with its teasing fiddle, darting melodies and -- unlike traditional Cajun music -- swaggering hints of cowboy, and turned it into what's now Cajun swing. It's played on two strings with a back-and-forth, wave-like movement of the bow, and produces a fuller, richer, more complex sound. Today Castille -- who for years earned a living as a plumber -- performs with his son, Blake, and teenage granddaughter, Sarah Jayde Williams.

His bow glides up and back over the strings in a demonstration for me --a black bowler on his head, his entire face alive with feeling. He keeps time by the slow tapping of his foot. "The melody? You see -- it's carried by just the one string." The room fills with a wild, playful music that's so alive, so vibrant that it's as if the small instrument in his hands can barely contain the big joy inside it.

My feet are tapping, too. I long to inhabit that music, to start dancing right there in his living room. But I'm too self-conscious to get up off the sofa.

Next I head to Louisiana State University's "leisure school," on LSU's leafy green campus, under live oaks and magnolias, past the university lake, fraternity row with its big, Southern-style brick buildings, the wide expanse of the parade grounds and the massive neo-Gothic law school. In the student union, up on the third floor, is the Atchafalaya ballroom, a large, unfurnished, characterless room surrounded by dirty windows. Roland Doucet is teaching Cajun dancing to yet another group of people who somehow missed out earlier in life, and I want to see if there is anything I can glean that might help me light a fire under my husband. What I find are about 30 couples, at least half of them with a willingness to learn but no natural ability. The class is a godsend because, as Doucet says when I explain my struggle to loosen up my husband, who is a professor at LSU, "The hardest people to teach are professors and engineers, because they want to learn how to dance with their heads, and half the time don't even know where their feet are." Whereas the majority of Cajun dancers learn not by memorizing the steps but rather by copying what everyone else is doing, which is how Doucet learned to dance. Only his story has a twist: Like just about everyone else in Doucet's hometown of Vinton, his father, Haywood Doucet, played the fiddle in a Cajun band, which meant that if his mother wanted a dance partner, she had to ask one of her four sons.

As befitting his second-job persona as a dance instructor (his day job is installing and designing custom rugs; he also hosts a Cajun radioshow on WXCT here in Baton Rouge), the 55-year-old Doucet addresses his mainly middle-aged students as "ladies" and "gentlemen." As in: "Gentlemen, remember that the most important thing you can do when you're dancing with this lady is to look her in the eye and say, 'Honey,I'm sorry.'" Or: "Gentlemen, make sure you're stepping back with your left foot, because she's going to be stepping forward at the same time with her right, and if your big old foot is in the way, she'll rupture you."

The secret of his classes is that he breaks the dancing down into small, manageable steps, segregating men and women on either side of the room, and repeating each move over and over until his students feel confident enough to try with their partners. At first the method seems like overkill. I mean, how many times does it take to learn how to move your right foot two inches farther to the right and then bring your left foot in to join it? On a cue from their teacher -- the formerly separated couples are floating around the dance floor, the men guiding their partners in large, graceful circles, the women accommodating the husbands' and boyfriends' leads as if they've been doing it all their lives. As for me, when I see Doucet cutting in to dance with a pretty older woman with curly white hair, and the woman, in turn, relaxing into his embrace, as if she'd been waiting for him her entire life, I feel abolt of pure envy.

Unlike zydeco, most Cajun music is sung in French -- and danceable even for oldsters and young fogies. So even my husband will dance to Cajun music. Or so I'm hoping. We've come to Randol's, a big barn of a place with red-and-white checked table cloths and a commodious dance floor in Lafayette. There are numerous other good, family-style restaurants in Acadiana where you can dance, as well as enjoy excellent high-end dining-- Catahoula's in Grand Coteau and Cafe Des Amis in Breaux Bridge, with its zydeco brunch on weekends -- but we've come to Randol's because we heard that the band alone is worth the trip.

Cajun music, which tends to be played by and for white people, is typically slower-moving and sweet-tempered, having evolved around the turn of the 20th century from fiddle music played at house parties to an accordion-based sound big enough to fill up old-fashioned dance halls.

All around us diners are feasting on huge platters of fried fish and potatoes, jambalaya, gumbo and spicy-hot boudin to the sounds of Kevin Naquin and the Ossun Playboys. The food of South Louisiana has a French-Creole accent: crawfish bisque (prepared in a rich roux), sauce piquant, boulette (hush puppies seasoned with onions and crawfish tails), cracklins (fried pork skin), etouffee (various kinds of seafood simmered in a rich spicy stew), dirty rice, maque choux (highly seasoned corn).

These days the place is filled with FEMA and Red Cross workers, insurance adjusters and National Guard members. But the regulars are here, too: Long-married couples, little girls with their daddies, and women with their best girlfriends dance gracefully in the typically circular pattern of the Cajun waltz and two-step. "Maybe they'll order a beer, or a cold drink, but most of 'em come for the music and dancing,"says Rusty Randol, the head chef. "We see the same couples over and over again."

As usual, no sooner are we seated than I'm filled with a kind of yearning. How could it have happened that I married a man who can't dance? Doesn't he notice that my feet are tapping on the floor and my fingers are drumming on the table? How can he just sit there, when all I can think of is finding one of the many elderly gentleman who might not mind ditching his wife for a minute or two in order to dance with me?

But then, just as I'm about to burst at the seams, my husband turns to me, takes my hand, asks me if I'd like to chance it and leads me forward. And a minute later, the two of us have joined the circle, dipping and swaying to the accordion and fiddle as best we can. The other couples glide like swans around us. "That's it," I'm saying. "One, two, three, one, two, three." Actually, the Cajun waltz is about the easiest dance in the world to learn -- you just move your feet in a simple left-right-left, right-left-right pattern, pausing slightly on the third beat for emphasis.

The song comes to an end. It's time to quit. But then something happens. As the band launches into another tune, my husband takes my right hand in his left, puts his left at my waist and begins gliding me backward. Only this time there's no need for me to count out the beats, or jump away from his feet or even make sure we don't crash into another couple. Something about the tune -- its sweetness, or perhaps its pace -- seems to have embraced my husband, leading him out and away from himself and landing him right smack in the middle of Acadiana. When I glance up at him, I see that he's smiling. Around and around we go, in time with the other couples but lost in our own time, too, until I no longer know where I am, how I got here, or how I got by for so long without this.

Jennifer Moses is a frequent contributor to the Magazine.
© 2006 The Washington Post Company