Going Out Gaudette Style

Last night, the gang got together at the Melting Pot to send a friend (Launa) back to Long Beach, California, where she can make twice the dough she does in Memphis. Launa is gay, and her luvah has been in California the entire time she has lived with us in Memphis, which is a few years. I tell you that Launa is gay only because it's relevant to my story.

As a farewell gift to Launa & because I didn't buy her anything, I did what any giving girlfriend would do. I shoved her camera down my plunging neckline and gave her a shot of my cleavage. That's priceless art. So, then Tiffany had me take a picture of her "dimples," which is really the nice, curvy part of a skinny woman's hips to her ass, and Tiffany has a great ass. So, we talked Kim into giving up one of her girls, because both of her girls would have required a wide-angle lens.

Launa stood over us cackling but that doesn't really accurately describe Launa's laugh. Launa's laugh should probably have its own name and maybe a zip code as well because that thing carries, but it also warms your heart when you hear it one hundred feet away. She pondered to us, "What is it about straight women that you can just look at each other's breasts and touch them, and it's just no big deal?" I told her she should consider going straight so she could get more (free) action.

We then passed the camera over to the other table, and all the GAY MEN came running over to view our pictures. Because my picture was taken first, it was viewed last, and then Randy said, "RENO!" I threw my hands up in rock star style with an all too loud "Whoooohoooooo!" and said, "Yeah, didn't know I had all that, huh?" We begged the boys to offer something memory worthy on Launa's camera, but all were too shy or just not drunk enough.

This picture is me looking at Launa's hidden breasts.


This picture is Launa returning the favor.


This is Sweet Sister Kim.


This is Sweet Sister Kim's girls nearly smothering poor Morgan. Isn't his expression priceless?

It should also be noted that Morgan smells really good, and I always try to hug on him now that I know that.

This is Randy. I want him to turn straight because I LOVE HIM.


This is Tiffany, who is related to Julia Roberts and has a better ass.

(I don't have the official proof she is related to Julia Roberts, but the resemblance speaks for itself.)


The guy next to Launa is Bill. He is our official party coordinator. If you ever need to throw down, Bill is your man. And two to my right, is Whitney. Whitney is sexy hot and has really pretty, dark eyebrows. She is also responsible for capturing the magic moments with Launa and me looking at each other's rack.

Another Reason to Love My Mother

Not only did my mother finally accompany me back to Atlanta, but she was willing to leave at 2:00 A.M. on Saturday morning. We both managed to get a measly two-three hours of sleep. Though I had foolishly bragged before the trip that I drive really well at night, I had not considered the after effects of attempting a road trip with a nap beforehand. At least, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it until I prove to myself otherwise. While my body didn't necessarily feel tired, my thoughts kept turning into the kind you get when you're dreaming, even though my eyes were blearily focusing on the mundane drive before me. I continued to switch my body and its extremities, shaking my head, and blink-blink-blinking. I would look over at my mother snuggled in a sea of pillows and stare at the mileage counter continuously thinking, "Just make it half way." I guess when my mother "sleeps," she is really feeling the car's vibrations with her heightened mother senses, because when I snuck it above a hundred, she would lazily open her eyes and look at me, at which point I would just remove my lead foot from the gas pedal and pretend to be coasting.

We managed to arrive in Atlanta at precisely 10:00AM, which was my goal because apartments weren't open until then. My brain quickly turned into goo after about four hours of apartment shopping. Though I had a notebook with every complex listed, armed with my digital camera to photograph each place of interest, I was just exhausted. I grew tired of looking; I grew tired of repeating myself; I grew tired of handing over my license; I grew tired of answering the same questions.

Because our time was so compact, there wasn't really time to try new places to eat. Most of our meals were fast food, but I did manage to get my mother into Vortex, which I posted about here. When the short-haired, tattooed, gut-bearing, striped stocking & tank-top wearing hostess asked us if we wanted to sit inside or on the patio, my mother quickly chimed in "The patio!" I furrowed and said, "But the patio doesn't have all the ambiance of inside." We took our seats, which faced these pictures.





She then says to me, "I think it's got great ambiance."

I said, "Mom, I love you."

On the way home, while I was reclined & somewhere near Jasper, my thoughts drifting on life in Atlanta, a CD of mine was playing. Though my eyes were closed, I was still enjoying the music. Then those first few chords of Seether's came on in "Driven Under," which happens to be the prettiest guitar playing on the planet. She turned up the song, and I opened my eyes with my refined daughter senses noting someone has tampered with my music. She glanced over, and said, "I'm sorry. I just love this song."

And with that, my heart swelled.

Ray Romano & Brad Garrett






Who, standing collectively, should probably be able to reach God's house. They are that friggin' tall.

So It's Official

I'm moving to Atlanta. I've landed my dream job, in my dream city, with a dream salary. Someone please pinch me because I've never had this much good fortune in my life.

Bring Your Rain Again

Murphy's





Not only did I take pictures of the dogwood trees, but I also got picked up on a street corner just like a real prostitute. But unlike a real prostitute, I didn't have to put out to enjoy the best malted waffle I've ever eaten.

Thank you Jose, Whitey, and Adrienne.

“I’m losing you, and it’s effortless.”

I spent most of today driving from Memphis to Atlanta. While I dreaded this trip because I knew that I would be making it alone and starting it in the morning, which tends to be my worst time of day, it’s turned out to be a pretty good one. I found a partner in my drive a little before crossing the Georgia state line. I only wish that he had been with me the whole time. When I say “partner,” what I really mean is a “man with a plan.” You see, that’s what it’s called. You either have to follow the man with plan or you are the man with plan. We kept switching that title back and forth, and a few times, one of us got cock blocked, but we watched out for other, even when we were driving 115 mph. I first noticed my partner because he was kind of hot; then I noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt, wherein I tried to reason that he was working on his suntan because his sunroof was opened. My only other option would be because his family had inbred, and I didn’t like thinking about that one too much. Either way, as we tagged one another, and I was whooping his ass with a pretty bad beating, he finally caught up beside me. I glanced over and realized he was trying to talk. But as my brother-in-law and I just noticed the other day, I can’t talk and drive at the same time. If I couldn’t do it then, driving at 40 mph, I certainly couldn’t do it at 95 mph. So after a few attempts, he gave up, but I still appreciated his company.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this city—what she means to me and what I would be giving up to live here. I missed out on an evening of fine company, martinis, and good stories just by taking this trip. While I consider myself as quite the introvert, I don’t want to take my friendships in Memphis for granted. I’ve worked my part-time job for almost seven years, and in those seven years, it’s taken me some time to cultivate good friendships with fellow co-workers. I finally feel like I’m on the inner circle because I’ve managed to stay around and become an old-timer with them.

It’s rare that I can run an errand in my home city without seeing a familiar face, and sometimes those fateful meetings ignite such love from me, especially when it’s someone that I was once so close to, like a former coworker from my days at The Limited or something.

These certainly aren’t reasons that I wouldn’t move; I guess they are reasons that I will be leaving part of my heart behind in Memphis. For better or worse, Memphis is my past. She is full of rich, vivid memories—some great and some not so great. But ever since I laid eyes on Atlanta, she’s always whispered that she had my future.

I have visited here so much that it often feels like home when I get here. I know the smell of the W Hotel like most know the smell of their children. Despite the fact I have driven up and down Peachtree a hundred times, I am constantly soaking up everything I can on it. I read street signs like they are gospel and say them over and over again in my head. It’s as though my brain becomes a sponge the minute I cross over the time change.

I look at this city like she is my long, lost lover and I might never see her again. If I could memorize every curve of her body and shadow that she cast; where she swells and where she dips; how she moves and how she sleeps…just to hear her breathe. She is my love.

Dearest Sister

Surprise! I'm not only going to talk about you, but I'm going to TALK TO YOU right on THIS WEBSITE and the WHOLE WORLD CAN SEE IT. You know, the world, right? Oh man, the words that must be coming to your mind. "Oh My Gawd!" I'm not going to mention to the world about that funky growth you asked me about or recount the nitty gritty details of your sex life*. See? You should be proud. Are you sweating yet? Remember, your coworker referred to me as the Spawn of the Devil. I have a reputation to live up to now. And I would like to personally thank you for influencing your coworkers to have such a high opinion of me as well. You're a swell sister.

Okay, sarcasm aside. Since I'm leaving on your birthday for a semi-life-changing potential job & you STOLE Mom from me, I wanted to make SURE you felt extra special on your birthday. You kind of tend to hold grudges like the jaws of life, so I thought if I couldn't be a part of your day, then I would have to show my love in a new, dramatic way, even though I already baked you a cake, which I personally delivered, and I was the first person to treat you to a birthday lunch, I know you need more. Because who can ever give you too much attention? No one, that's who! See, I know you well.

Internet, I might as well address you at this time, something I'm not sure I've done in this blog's history...probably because you tend to be my imagination. Don't go thinking I need to be admitted to the looney bin, at least not for what I just said. It's just that when you keep a blog, you don't often think about whom you might be communicating with on the other side. Side notes aside, I do love my sister. She would probably tell you otherwise, and I would probably tell you otherwise too, but yes, I do love her. I love her for many things, and I know at this point in the reading she is saying, "Yeah, right? How do you love me?" So, this is where I have to really apply my English degree and pretend that my concentration was in creative writing. (Sarcasm Stephanie) I love my sister not only because she's my sister, but because she makes me laugh or maybe it's because I make her laugh. My sister has the prettiest teeth on the planet, and even when I look at our family tree, I'm not sure where she stole them from. They are gigantic and could easily land her a toothpaste commercial wherein she could pull in more dough in 45 seconds than I will make in a lifetime. I'm not going to comment on her nice rack or her stilt like legs that allow her to wear those Fuck-Me boots with zippers. Brittany fucking Spears can't even wear those, even in her skinny-before-she-married-that-white-trash-loser-who's-going-to-take-all-her-money days. See, you have plenty that I'm jealous of. I know you're now thinking, "More, more, more."

I love that as much as you claim to despise me, I know that you love me, too. You still value my opinion even though you would go to your grave before you admitted that, although I kind of just busted you out in front of the WHOLE WORLD, didn't I? I will always be your number TWO, after that hot husband of yours, and that's the coolest place I think I could ever be. But if something unforeseen should happen to him, I will probably only grieve for about fifteen minutes and then my eyes will glaze over with drunken-like happiness of realizing I have moved up to the Almighty, All-Knowing position that your husband has occupied for the last 16 years. Even though I grew breasts in that time period, obtained my driver's license and college degree, I still can't have his place. I can ship things too you know.

All kidding aside, you have been a good sister to me. There have been times when the parents became particular unbearable in the teenage years, and it was awesome to know that I had one person on the planet that truly felt my pain. So much so, she gave up her car so that I could get to my part-time job, because my car somehow just became the sole property of my father and was somehow disconnected to ensure I wouldn't be "crafty" and steal it to fulfill my responsibilities in life. You know, lesson learning. It was cool that I could call you crying and bitching about the 342 rules we have to live by and how retarded they were, and I could hear understanding in your voice.

I hope that you look back on growing up with me as fun, after you get past all the memories of frustration. Remember when you moved out, and I feared that you might starve to death, so I raided the pantry of canned goods for you? I stole for you, woman. I pounded my fist down on a packet of ketchup at a gym because you encouraged me. Even though a nice lady in a white tennis skirt walked by at precisely the wrong moment, and didn't find my trick so amusing, and decided to tell me so in a really, really loud voice, I had amused you, so it was kind of worth it. Your laughter is priceless to me, but what is more priceless to me, is you. You can be a lot of things, but you are and will always be my big sister.



Happy 33rd Birthday, Stephanie. I love you!

*Okay, she never actually mentioned any growths to me and she would never, ever, ever give me any details of her sex life. I've only been asking for about 18 years.