Okay, here's the NOLA food report. Apologies in advance for the length, but Hec did ask for a FULL report.

Let's see...

Thursday lunch: Mandina's, cup of artichoke-oyster soup and a oyster/shrimp po'boy. (Which was HUGE, but delicious.)

Thursday dinner: Um...some place on Decatur that's not Tujaques, because the pris fixe didn't really work out for the vegetarian in the group. No idea what I ate/drank. Some kind of cajun seafood thing. Drank something, I'm sure, but I'm damned if I can remember what. Probably a vodka tonic.

Friday breakfast: Cafe Beignet, traditional breakfast (scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, coffee). YUM. Grits fucking rock.

Friday lunch: Central Grocery muffuletta! Split with DH. Diet Coke.

Friday pre-dinner: Ghost tour leaving from Flannagan's Pub, which included buy-one-get-one-free drink gift certificates. Most people got Hurricane's. I tried a sip of DH's, decreed it nasty, and did not end up taking advantage of my potential free drink.

Friday dinner: That place on the corner of that street and that other street. Red beans and rice, which were nummy, and procecco, which turned out not to go with the red beans and rice very well. But still nummy.

Friday late night: Walked over to Frenchman Street, had a vodka tonic at Bad Apples, and listened to some live jazz. During the set breaks, we took over the jukebox.

Saturday breakfast: Hotel buffet. BIG MISTAKE. Not to be repeated.

Saturday lunch: No clue. Did I eat lunch on Saturday? I know we did the swamp tour...huh. We may have skipped lunch.

Saturday mid-afternoon pit stop: Pimm's Cup and cheese board at Napolean House. It was lovely and refreshing, exactly as advertised.

Saturday dinner: Cafe Giovanni's. Drinks in the bar beforehand because our table wasn't ready. I had a vodka tonic, even though I was kind of tired of them. Dinner was two courses of pasta stuffed with/covered in cheese, with shrimp on top, and some hot peppers added for Cajun-ness. And red wine. Nummy.

Sunday brunch: Palace Cafe. Coffee, mimosa, and a shrimp quiche w/ creamed spinach that broke. me. in. half. It was too rich for me to finish, but DAYUM it was good. Oh, and a cappucino with Godiva liqueur, and kahlua. Next time, maybe I'll try something off the three-course pris fixe menu.

Sunday mid-afternoon pit stop/dinner: Muriel's. We got to the bar around 5, started drinking (and enjoying the free bread that the hot waiter kept bringing us), and by dinnertime, we decided that, really, we had no reason to leave. At only 2 vodka martinis with extra olives, I was the lightest drinker of the group. But the atmosphere was so pleasant, and the restaurant smelled so good that we persuaded the remaining 4 members of our group to join us there for dinner, instead of making us go out in the cold and walk somewhere else. While we were waiting for our table, HARRY FREAKING SHEARER came in behind us. Those of us who recognized him squeed quietly and explained who he was to everyone else. I had goat-cheese filled crepes topped with shrimp (SO GOOD) and salmon in a mustard-dill sauce (ALSO SO GOOD) and bread pudding (SO SO GOOD EVEN IF I COULD ONLY EAT TWO BITES BECAUSE IT WAS SO RICH). And another martini. With more extra olives. I like olives.

We shall not speak of Monday.

I missed a checkbox on a Fed Ex Slip and got a "SEE THESE ARE YOUR MISTAKES THAT I'M TALKING ABOUT" I wanted to punch him.

Heather, I feel your pain. For some reason, I was feeling a resurgence of resentment towards a not-my-boss-but-micromanaged-me-anyway bitch at my old workplace. She pulled that kind of shit with me all the time.

I'm not so much mad at her right now as I am mad at myself for a) still feelin upset about this, and b) not having taken the opportunity at my exit interview to tell HR that I thought this person needed to have a large stick surgically removed from her ass.

but Hec did ask for a FULL report.

MmmmHmmmm. Oh, mama, dat's good stuff.

Heather! The person in charge of that stuff where I work is equally a pain.

Perhaps it's in the job description?

Thanks Anne. Thing is, I don't think he's an ass. Just clueless. At the review when he asked if there was anything he could do to make my job easier, one of the things I said was to leave me alone for 30 minutes when I get here, to give me a chance to check emails and set a tentative agenda for the day. I still get bombarded from the second I arrive with, "Did you read that e-mail?" "We need to make sure we do this" "Later this afternoon you're going to have to go out and..." "I just forward you an e-mail you need to read."

Thanks, JZ. You said what I wanted to say, but with more eloquence and less ranting than I think I could've managed.

If only Flylady were a bit less mother-as-household-martyr. I'm going to try to use the techniques and ignore the subtext.

Oh, that's totally how I do it. With me it's more the huggy Southern emotionality of it all that drives me crazy, as in, "I left that place in part because I never was comfortable with emotional effusiveness, people I don't feel that close to insisting upon 'hugging my neck,' and the like. So I'll use the system, while laughing at the 'Purple Puddles' and 'God breezes' and cradling my Seattle standoffishness and Philly attytude close to my heart."

The problem with my bete-noire was that once she decided I was a screw-up, it was as if she looked for things I was doing wrong.

I don't think her dislike had anything to do with why I was laid off, but it had a lot to do with why relief was one of the first reactions I had when I lost my job. One thing I've learned is that I will not work for another micro-manager or anywhere near one if I can help it.

the huggy Southern emotionality of it all that drives me crazy

Oh, I understand this completely. Whenever someone tries to cutesy life-lessons up with little nicknames or sayings, I literally start clenching my teeth. To be honest, I think it's one of the reasons I drifted away from the church I was attending. I would like my Bible studies to have more snark and less sweetness, please.

Um. Ew. I hate to even bring the subject up again, but those dildos and butt-plugs do, in fact, seriously disgust me -- and not just because they're Christian symbols; I'm pretty sure I recall hearing that they also come Buddha-flavored, and that skeeves me just as badly. I think it's because, however little we know about any of these people, most reputable historians agree that at the base of the legends and mythologies are traces of real flesh-and-blood people.

But... but... but...

You say "those dildos and butt-plugs" as if they were a bad thing.... t tearing up

(Cindy is tagless again.)

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12/18/04

12/23/04

12/26/04

12/28/04

1/1/05

1/1/05

An Indian Wedding

The whole reason we came to India was for Mehulbhai's wedding. Mehulbhai's my cousin, my dad's brother's son. He came here in November to find a wife, was engaged one Friday a few weeks later, and was legally married the following Monday. The actual wedding, though, wasn't till December 31.

But an Indian wedding lasts three days. On December 29 was the Ganapat, the prayers for blessings from Ganesha (the elephant god). Blessings which left Mehulbhai covered in yellow powder. This is only for Mehulbhai and his family; Ashabhabi would be doing her own thing. December 30 was the haatak, a larger affair with even more prayers and ceremonies and blessings. It's all very family-oriented, with much respect paid to the elders. Hold this coconut, point it this way, put it in the fire. Far too much religious symbolism for me to get into, and I don't know what it all means anyway. I figured the actual wedding would be just as boring.

Boy, was I wrong.

It had been a long time since I'd actually been part of a wedding, of someone I cared about. I wasn't an idle spectator going for the free food. This time, I'd be close to the action from beginning to end.

Around one o'clock, the jaan began to assemble. The jaan is the groom's party, his family and his friends, who travel with him to his bride's village, where the wedding is. We had a bus and several minibuses. Mehulbhai travelled in a white car decorated with flowers. Before he entered the vehicle, of course, there was much other business with coconuts and flowers and various family members.

We drove to Bardoli, near Surat. There was a hall there for the first part, the pre-wedding really. Mehulbhai sat ona thronelike chair on the stage. His closest male friends and family accompanied him. Weddings are all about sides. The groom has a male side with specific duties and a female side with specific duties. The bride has the same.

Currently, our duty was to sit and drink fruity beverages.

Now, I don't know whether this next part is tradition or not. It might be. Mehulbhai quietly slipped away, leaving one of his friends to sit in his place. No one said anything. The bride's female side (her sisters, cousin-sisters, friends) did their duty and dragged his ass back up to the stage.

Then they left and came back bearing soft drinks. Weddings are also all about sweets. They tried to coerce Mehulbhai into drinking the ceremonial Coke (the bottle slipped into a jeweled cover), but he refused, over and over. It's a playful friction, and all part of the game. He finally relented when Ashabhabi's sister sat on his lap. The groom conquered, they passed out soft drinks to the rest of us.

Next up was an older faction of the bride's female side to feed him some more sweets and some ceremonial papad. Mehulbhai's bank was Patel, and in exchange for the feeding, he doled out rupees. Weddings are also about money and gifts. Someone put a gold bracelet around his wrist.

After this, dinner. And we literally stopped traffic as we walked down the street, the mass of us covering the entire left lane. Wise motorists shifted to the right side and created a makeshift left lane, whereas rickshaws, cars, and motorcycles alike came to a stop, unable to pass through the throng of people. Some tried to push through. Zankar Beats drummed loudly, making our presence known to all of Bardoli.

We had tables and chairs! Mehulbhai had a specially decorated plate and cup. During the meal, some more of the (continued...)