Notes from Katrinaville

As Gustave stares us down, memories from Katrinaville are inevitable. Today is the third year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and here in the Coastal South, you can cut the tension with a knife. The real question is less what's going to happen than is it going to happen again, and so soon. Can we handle being wiped out again, or will we become an American Pompeii after these storms are through?

What a way of life! We sit at the end of nature's natural lane in the sea; we wait like striped pins for God's bowling balls. Every generation of people who has built a life here has had one storm story, but global warming has given us the dark gift of two or three this generation. Older people from New Orleans will tell you about Hurricane Betsy in 1965, Gulf Coast residents will tell you about Hurricane Camille in 1969, but now those same people have more than one catastrophic storm in their lifetime. How are we to adjust?

As New Orleanians our families are already scattered, our recovery in its infancy. There is no end to the depth of emotional and psychosocial damage we've sustained. We are a resilient and strong people, but there is arduous and unexplored territory ahead. It's like hacking your way through a new jungle with an old machete.

Yesterday the displaced portion of my family was interviewed by a local news station in Atlanta. They spoke on memories of Katrina and the oncoming storm, and possible onslaught of evacuee relatives, of which I am one. I couldn't speak as I was seized with emotion. How strange to see relatives you know and love once in awhile, or on television, living in another place, when just three short years ago, they were seen so often we took it for granted, daily even, living around the corner. That is Katrina's greatest, most merciless theft, and Katrinaville's most haunting legacy: ghosts of memories.

Post Theme: Black Rain by Ben Harper

I am transformed!

I am transformed! I got an offer yesterday, and I'm grabbing it with both hands! This blogger is now GAINFULLY EMPLOYED! Ain't God a wonder? Right on time.

This means:
1) I am moving to New Orleans. This once seemed unattainable.

2) I am working in entertainment and publishing. I get to start a magazine! Did I mention this is my dream job??

3)I will receive a regular paycheck. 'Gasp'! This means that I can pay my bills! I can buy a house soon, maybe even this year! It's times like this when one thing changes my entire world that I am convinced that I live in a snow globe, occasionally given a good shake by a Divine Hand. Miraculous!

4) I can help rebuild New Orleans. This has become my passion. I don't have to give it up!

5) I was right. This is my year! It will be the best ever. This is proof.

6) Everyone else was right. All of those who encouraged me, supported me, listened to me whine and cry, gave me advice in my time of need, believed in me and were vocal about it -- each and every one of you is and was an angel sent to me in my time of need. I appreciate you more than I can express. I can only promise to reciprocate and to pay it forward.

That's it for now. I have a major move to execute this weekend, a lot of goodbyes to say, plans to make, and a busy week ahead at my new job!!

Lovely! Will post more later. I'm so excited I can barely type. My brain is doing cartwheels!

Post Theme: Hallelujah! by A Soulful Celebration

Racing to the Finish

Easter weekend, New Orleans. Besides all the Passion Week activities and the last minute shopping for white gloves, parasols, and anything pastel, you can expect one thing in New Orleans: the Crescent City Classic. HELL YEAH!!!! I finished it this past Saturday, for the second time! The Classic is the best race in the world, I'm convinced. Starting in Jackson square, it goes up St. Peter, across Canal St., down Poydras, right on Rampart St. across Canal again, left on Esplanade all the way to the end, and into and around City Park, where it ends at Tad Gormley stadium. I always have the best time, well worth any sore thigh muscles or minor blisters that I may nurse afterwards. It's a race that literally anyone can and does do every year. Now, I have to apologize, because at the last minute I chucked my heavy camera in the truck, which may well be the worst mistake ever. There was enough stuff for a photo essay there, so many sights to see, and I wish that I could just post a flickr slideshow and be done with it, but I now have to polish off and use my amazing powers of description, even though we know how many words a picture is worth. So here goes: a mile by mile recount of the race, and the rest of what turned out to be a fantastic, quintessential New Orleans experience...

To the starting line
We started out by waking early, piling in the car, and driving to city park, where the race ends. After stopping by the table for late people to pick up their racing number and having a memorable port-o-potty experience (something I haven't done in years and hope NEVER to repeat, please God), we piled on a good ole RTA (pronounced "Rita") municipal bus, and for the nominal fee of 2$ we were taxied to the starting line. Unfortunately our definition and the driver's definition of the start line were somewhat different, as he dropped us some 10 blocks away. We, smart accomplished women that we are, decided to wait right there and not walk the route backwards, and then forwards again, just to start at the actual starting line. One of the main rules about the Classic is that there really are no rules. So we waited. Besides who wants to miss the rushing wind that signifies the group of professional racers (mostly Kenyans) actually taking the whole thing seriously? Boy, they were a sight! My mom got right beside them as they zoomed past while her friend tried to snap a picture. Of course, she missed the pic because her camera was too slow!

The starting shot... mile 1 begins
Once most of the people running the race went past, we began to see some walkers. That was out cue to slide on in. Mile one was mostly jostling for space. My mom and one of her friends pulled ahead quickly, damn them with their long legs and mobile-hipped strides! That's okay, more time to smile at the first well-wishers camped outside the hotels on Poydras to watch the racers pass. We saw lots of funny people: super tall, super short, super old, super young (even in push strollers), super ugly, super cute, super fat, super skinny. And let's not talk about people who moved strangely -- some runners actually caused me pain to watch. There were also lots of disabled people walking along... the spirit of togetherness that marks New Orleans filled the early morning air.

Mile 2
During mile two, things got interesting. I saw my favorite pizza joint (yay!) but it was closed (boo!). A little old Latina lady, who I nicknamed Tia Rosa, was handcuffed and being led away by a 5 foot black female cop. My mom pulled so far ahead that I attempted a cell phone check; this included me calling her phone and watching her ignore it and ultimately dig around in her fanny pack to pull out her phone. She then proceeded to call someone else!! This let me know that she could not be reached, and I made sure not to let her leave our sight from that point on. A group of people ran while dragging red wagons filled with beer in coolers and a giant subwoofer booming 80's tunes. They were wearing afro wigs and carrying beer cozies. They made quite a convoy. A little boy was crawling under a truck while his dad screamed "come out from there! I think you're freaking people out!" Some marines ran past singing drill songs. I saw lots of people wearing bunny ears and some wore tutus as well. A cop got more than he bargained for when he asked a lady sitting on the side of the road "you okay, ma'am?" While I passed she held forth, embarking on a shrill, whining diatribe about her cruel family which signed her up for the race that seemed to have no end. Poor guy. A cowboy man with a giant ten gallon hat stood on the neutral ground and hula-hooped with a giant rubber ring; must have been 4 or 5 feet in diameter!

Mile 3
Down Esplanade. This is a great, historic street with some of the finest homes in the city. I was all agog, especially because lately I have been fixated on purchasing a home in New Orleans for my very own, and I'd love it to be one of these (that being said, I have 25$ to my name as write this). It's impressive that I didn't bust my skull, since I barely looked where I was going. During this leg, my feet began to burn, my socks were too thin, but like I said before, blisters don't matter. People stood their balconies and waved. The smell of breakfast filled the air. Some sat on chairs facing the street and sprayed racers with refreshing water from their garden hoses, a much appreciated impromptu community service project. A bunch of old rockers, including one Steven Tyler lookalike, threw Mardi Gras beads. We also passed the first of the "free beer" stands. There were as many of those as there were water stations. A big brass band played classic New Orleans songs like "When the Saints Come Marchin' In" under the I-10 overpass. There is also a big donut shop on Esplanade and Broad. We didn't stop for donuts (like we've done in years past), but we did use that point to regroup and catch up to one another.

Mile 4
At this point, the end of Esplanade is near... but the sights don't stop. A man set up a huge sound system on his porch, blaring Creedance Clearwater Revival, and shaking his arthritic hips. A group dressed in band uniform tops, hats, and matching boxers gave out free hot dogs. More free beer stands. We passed a huge DJ station playing 70's funk. A group of people wearing crab hats got pissed when people keep calling them crawfish. The colorfully decorated Hare Krishna house is always a favorite sight. Most times they come outside and dance and chant with tambourines. I guess we were too early in the race this year. Lots of hot guys without shirts.

Mile 5
By mile five, you are entering City Park. You may think it's over, but WRONG! There's still 1.2 miles to go. By this time, the banana that I'd had for breakfast had evaporated in my stomach, causing a headache. Also, the blister on my right foot had made my acquaintance. But...City Park is beautiful in the spring, and there was a delightful breeze to stir the air and take down the heat. We passed the playgrounds and oak trees that I played in during my childhood, as well at the New Orleans museum of art.

Mile 6
This mile isn't about anything but finishing. That and reading the funny t-shirts that people wear and chatting with your friends and random acquaintances. Some memorable slogans:
Angola: A Gated Community
In My Heart I'm Kenyan
I Can Rest When I'm Dead
In It to Win It
There's a place where the ground is painted and 3 photographers sit on a giant scaffold and take pictures of everyone. It looks like the finish line. Syke! You have .2 miles to go!

The Finish Line
This is the best part. This is where you pass go and collect 200$!! Into the stadium to get your gift bag, free t-shirt, and all the free food (tasty) you can eat! Drink all the water, gatorade, beer, and smoothie king you can handle! Stuff your guts with fresh fruit, chee wees, jambalaya, red beans, etc! There's also a huge concert in the middle of the stadium with lots of people dancing and eating. Just a great big group of merrymakers. It needs to be seen to be believed, like most parties in New Orleans.

After the race, we don't race home. We go to whole foods and use that healthy momentum to shop for overpriced but sustainable goods. Riding high on that feeling, we cruise down Magazine Street and hit the Lakefront for lunch. Sitting out on the deck at Landry's, we watch the sailboats, seadoos, and jetskis at play while gorging ourselves on seafood etc and laughing until our sides hurt as much as our knees and legs!

Still not done. We go to Metairie and hit Shoenami, then finish up at Morning Call, a beignet house established in 1870. White powdered sugar dusting my body like sand from the sandman, I doze with my mouth open the whole way home to the Coast. Good thing I didn't drive.

Sigh... there's no place like home. Can't wait to reclaim it permanently.


On another note entirely, Christos Anasti (Christ is Risen)! Happy Resurrection Sunday! Remember that IT IS FINISHED. In today's sermon, I learned that when Jesus said this, He was speaking of His suffering, service, and His gift of salvation. We are now equipped with every tool and have been given every gift we need to complete the race that is life because of Jesus's victory over sin and its death sentence. And as I keep reminding myself, this race is not given to the swift... but to he (or she) that endureth. He is risen!
Post Theme: Da Funk by Daft Punk

Blown Away... A week's recap

Boy have I been neglecting the blog... can't believe it's been a whole week! It hasn't been a particularly good week either, so there really is no excuse...

Last weekend: My brothers girlfriend (read: almost fiancee) came to town for a visit. I know that I said that I would be hard and fierce, but I can't help it -- I love her! So it was a lot of fun. Plus, she's become a friend, and I have a real dearth of those around here. I mostly live my life by teleconference these days, and for an extroverted people person like me, this is a travesty. Lots of fellowship and good eatin' ensued, and I needed that, because last Friday I got some horrible news from a place that I was interviewing with. Out of nowhere in particular, the head guy decided to put the position "on hold". This is what I was told, curtly and unapologetically, by the person that I interviewed with when I followed up. Frankly, this devastated me, because I had been certain that I was at least going to have two additional interviews.

Monday: Nothing much happened. I was pretty busy buying time until Wed, when my friend and I were meeting up in New Orleans. She was flying into town for a conference from LA, and I was making the hour plus drive from the Coast. We were planning to have dinner, go out dancing, and then stay up all night! I know, I know, who convinced us we could relive a night during freshman year? All I can say in my defense is that this friend does that to me. She's so high energy, and when I'm around her she takes me right up there with her! I also had a big breakthrough on the aforementioned job. I found someone in my network who could make a call on my behalf, and find out what was going on at this company, and why things got so weird. This was big news!

Tuesday: I made the call in the morning, spoke with my guy, and he promised he could help and that I could expect to hear back by the end of the week. That done, I twiddled my thumbs and did a lot of waiting.

Wednesday: Yay! Fun Day! I heard from my guy, pretty much first thing, and he was able to speak with the hiring manager at the company in question. I found out many surprising things, the most surprising of which is that my candidacy was never brought to his attention! My resume, recommendation letter, and hour and a half of first interview were headed to the Mariana Trench! It was only my sudden and fierce determination to NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER that saved it, and me, from being lost. I am not sure what is going to happen with this, but I do know that I WILL drive this candidacy to completion, whatever that completion may be.

I went to New Orleans. I hung out with my aunt a bit. I met up with my friend. We had a fun dinner, but I didn't stay the night, because her conference turned out to a be a disaster! It was a conference for HIGH SCHOOLERS and she was a COUNSELOR! How could she not tell me that! It was awful, and my summer camp worker days are over, so I high-tailed it out of there. But not before I got a friggin ticket on my car! I can't afford to pay shit like that! I was mad.

Let's see, what else? Oh yeah... a lot happened on Wednesday. Snapshots: someone slammed the phone down in my face. The wind was so high it almost blew my car off the overpass. It also almost blew my aunt's weave off (mine is sewn in, so no worries:). I tried my first banana daquiri. I actually had three daquiris total. I got chased out of a cultural arts center by some Afrocentric granola-type sentries. I saw Brian J. White walking down the street. I danced salsa on the street. I almost talked my way into the Chrisette Michelle concert at the House of Blues for free. I got my intelligence insulted by a gay guy on the phone (not sure anything is more humiliating). I saw a fat girl in high heels trying to walk on the cobblestones (made for laughter). I chatted up the cuties at the concierge desk at the W hotel. A NOPD officer seated me at Mother's, where I almost ate dinner. I actually had a Cafe Maspero's burger at the bar.

Can't you see why I love my New Orleans? All that stuff can only happen in the greatest city ever!!

Thursday: Back to boring. I spent the whole day in bed feeling crappy. What the hell, right? It's not like I have a job to run to. I got my first of many hate mail letters from American Express. I did find out that I've lost weight, which is uplifting. I also renewed my commitment to eat right and follow the rules. Barack Obama rocked my world on Larry King, and I think he is emerging victorious on this Reverend Wright thing. His speech on race let 'em know, and I like how he's gone on the offensive as far as foreign policy and experience is concerned. I know what Obama's doing, but I don't know what Hillary is doing right now. I think she's laying low and hoping that Rev. Wright does her dirty work for him.

Friday: Well, that's today, and it officially hasn't happened yet. I think I'm all caught up!

Post Theme: Champion by Kanye West

March on...

Today I am deeply disappointed. I had the ominous feeling that I had been presumptive in my joy, and loosed-tongued in my overconfidence, and yesterday, I fear, I was proven correct. I would have loved to be wrong in this!

What am I talking about? Well, I had a great interview this week, was positive that I was moving on the last and final round of interviews, was certain that I would receive an offer, allotted less than a week for salary negotiation, and started planning my end of the month move to New updating my financial goals, mapping out a budget, and looking at homes for sale on craigslist! Whether this is a case of healthy success visualization and claiming God's promise, or gun-jumping at its finest, I do not know.

Not to mention all the people I told... people that are going to want to know what happened with the job and when do I start. People who will attempt to encourage me or comfort me when I tell them that I am back to square one. So heaped onto a crushing sense of disappointment and weariness in being disappointed is a sense of shame. No good news to report guys, nothing to see here. Let's all just get some sleep... Isn't that what the police say when they're shooing away the gawkers at the scene of the train wreck? Why yes it is... how apt.

I received an email telling me that the position that I was certain that I would be offered is "on hold for a month or so". I don't even know what that means, and it can mean so many things. What happened to the strong sense of rapport that I built with my interviewer. I thought for sure that I could have depended on her for more of an explanation than that, no matter what the outcome. A terse, two-sentenced brush off what outside of the realm of my expectations.

Of course, not all hope it lost. I have to keep on trucking, keep on looking... I mean, what else is there? It might even turn out that I will eventually be handed what looks right now to be impossible: this job on a silver platter. There's really no excuse for me giving up now, particularly with the amazing support system that I have in family and friends that are behind me, with the number of people offering themselves: money, time, favors. I appreciate you all more than I can say.

I just can't help but wonder how much longer I will have to wait. The bible says be ye not weary in well-doing, but the negative emotions and thoughts, bruised feelings, and tough circumstances weigh down on me like baggage, and it's baggage that I can ill afford. Today, with a sigh and a tired smile, I soldier on.

Post Theme: Bag lady by Erykah Badu

I'm So Excited!

Break out the 80's music! I am so excited and full of energy that I hardly slept last night or the night before! I mean I'm really soaring...it's some combination of nervous energy, excitement, and endorphins (since I went walking this morning at 5:45 am). It's the kind of thing where you jump on the bed, or run out into a hard rain yelling Shazam! The feeling of invincibility is a welcome change, believe you me!

I've been laying low because I didn't want to over think it any more than I usually do, and therefore jinx it, but I had my first face to face interview in 6 months yesterday, and it went swimmingly. No details here, but I am moving on in the interview process and think that I just may have found something even better than I job I can tolerate -- I THINK THAT I'VE FOUND MY DREAM JOB, IN MY HOMETOWN!!

Do you know what this means?!? It means an end to my crisis of faith, an end to placing fear-inspired limitations on God or myself. It also means an end to the unending, foggy valley that was my mid-20's. Talk about your quarter-life crisis! I can live EXACTLY where I want to, how I want to. In other words, I am perilously close to getting my heart's desire. Hosanna!

In other news...I volunteered for the Obama campaign and he won MS last night! Another reason for shouting out (it's moments like this that I miss my giant trampoline)! You da man, B!

Also, I am hysterical with ironic, maniacal laughter at this whole NY governor situation. Methinks it was a case where he doth protest too much against hookers! The guy is the main prosecutor of prostitution rings and then leaves a neon-glowing money trail back to himself! And then the main pimp daddy running the whole biz is an IRS official! So that's why he never thought he'd get caught...it never fails to amaze me. I also can't help noticing that this scandal broke in NY, where HRC is "from".... where there's smoke there's fire. *rude snicker* It's about as much to go on as they have on Obama, and I think turnabout is fair play. I can see the mudslinging posters now: pix of Hillary shaking hands with Gov. Spitzer while Bill Clinton slides his hand up some intern's skirt in the background. The slogan at the bottom reads... "WTF?!?!" Then she can spend lots of valuable campaigning time explaining away the behavior of unfortunate acquaintances in an attempt to dispel the ludicrous and vague aura of guilt and scandal that she finds herself surrounded in. I can see the email chain letters now: don't vote for Hillary, she hangs with philanderers and whore mongers. And she's got a black person somewhere in her family tree; she will have to be sworn in singing Lift Every Voice and Sing instead of The Star Spangled Banner. People would totally believe it, too.

Post Theme: Neutron Dance by the Pointer Sisters

Access Denied

Today was a resounding chorus of ACCESS DENIED in so many ways. How did I get locked on the outside of the bubble?

I got a rejection email from a company that I didn't even want to work for, and yet I am still a bit wounded. Is this how low I've sunk, that I want to be wanted, regardless of whom is doing the wanting? I could be a heroine on Lifetime. Cue montage of attitude change and resultant success please, because I am tiring of this uphill battle. I would be so pleased if the weeks flew by to the tune of some insanely upbeat music, snapshots of me working hard, working out, losing weight, changing my image, getting a makeover, and relocating would sail past my nodding head and snapping fingers bump-free, only to arrive at me, a completely different person. A successful, confident person. Not the disaster I am today. Right now, that is my fondest wish, to be in a fairy tale. What does that say?!?! I need a break.

My wishes are very simple, actually. A renovated double shotgun in New Orleans, and an uncorked writer's brain to write my stories and sell 'em to whoever wants to read 'em. How did trying to get there come to involve rewriting my resume fifteen times and searching ardently for jobs in Atlanta or Washington DC? I feel like I'm in the center of a tornado, all turned around and holding on for dear life. What happened to true North? Is that why this isn't working? I'm so blown off course... was it heeding the pushy chorus of helpful voices, or my deafness to them? It occurs to me that there is only one voice that I need to heed, and it is not the voice of the crowd. It's a still, quiet voice that speaks to the broken, listening heart.

I wish that listening and waiting were as easy as typing these words, but there is the small matter of what I might hear when I finally do hear something. Hearing a no might break my heart, and would certainly hurt my feelings -- another access denied. Courage is scarce today, and faith locked away in a mustard seed, but tomorrow brings the dawn and joy cometh in the morning.

Post Theme: Open Up My Heart by Yolanda Adams

I Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans

I went to New Orleans yesterday with my mom to return an expensive purchase and visit some of my relatives who remain there. It was a great day, and I returned home with memories of laughter, smiles, and of course beyond delicious food, but my heart was heavy with wistfulness. I miss New Orleans, deeply, in a way that a bi-monthly weekend visit cannot remedy.

It's been two years since catastrophic Katrina, and I am literally still exploring the wreckage. I feel in turns a developed bitterness, a shocked shame that I'm not "over it", especially considering how well I made out compared to so many others, and a frustrated and futile yearning to turn back time, which is a completely hopeless (and therefore pointless?) desire. With every corner that I turn in my struggle to cope, I encounter another part of what has become, quite obviously, a maze. The question is, am I navigating this maze with purpose, or wandering aimlessly, blinded by tears and a mind full of the unhelpful detritus of a full life abruptly destroyed like a fussy toddler's block tower? I must admit that tonight I am the wanderer; purpose is hard to find.

When Katrina hit, there was no thought but of the immediate survival of myself and others. It was in the wake of the storm that damaging epiphanies buffeted the shores of my consciousness like residual storm surges, continually destroying my ability to understand how my life had changed, was changing, and would continue to change. I realized that my career was over, as was my home, my community, my routine, my possessions. In essence, my situation in life, a tangible construct resulting from the execution of plans, realization of dreams, and achievement of goals, was immutably annihilated. This has translated into: not holding a job for more than a year, long bouts of unemployment, loss of health benefits, living in communities to which I do not belong, starting over financially an average of once a year, changing addresses every six months, scattered family members across the country, seeing my grandmother once or twice a year instead of weekly or more frequently, and just plain old missing my hometown like a phantom limb.

I told my mom yesterday that New Orleans fits me like a pair of old pajamas. I've never meant anything more. This is something that I should have known. I've been around the world, and never understood how fundamental that home base was to me until I'd lost it. I left for months, years at a time in pursuit of an education, of cultural immersion, of adventure, but also counted on it to be there when I was ready to return. And it always was there. It still is there, a testimony to the fact that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Something in me aches, and the irony of living an hour and a half away and being forced to move farther away to support myself does not escape me.

Sadly, I am not unique in this. So many people know what it means to miss New Orleans, and so many will not return despite that. I just can't stand the fact that returning is not beyond my reach, and yet it is. I won't waste time trying to articulate what makes New Orleans special, describing the sights, smells, sounds, events, and the like, because greater writers than I have done that for literally hundreds of years. I'll end by saying that I want to go back, and am determined to do so eventually. It's like a piece of myself is missing, and I know precisely where to find it.

Post Theme: Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans by Louis Armstrong

Zulu Ball Tonite!

Going to do the Zulu tonight! I'm bought to get my jocomo fina neh on some too!

Okay, enough Louisiana patois. I frivolously spent the whole day getting ready for a ball. That's right. Deep down south we still do truly formal occasions. I will be attending the 2008 Mardi Gras Ball of the Zulu Krewe! It's my first time, and that's saying something considering I'm New Orleans born and raised. At least I still remember how to get my Nola party on. I can't wait!

Being as poor as I am, I had to fall back on the formal gowns I keep for just such an occasion. I even surprise myself with just how much of a Southern belle I can be. I will be, regretfully attending minus the long gloves and tiara that I am envisioning and will have to make do with the old and borrowed. I am comforting myself by telling myself that I am so NOT the focus of attention, it isn't funny, and no one will be paying me any attention whatsoever. There's the king, queen, and court to be worried about.

I will, however, eat my face off, imbibe too much free liquor, and then dance off the calories to the sound of the famous local DJ Captain Charles, and Doug E. Fresh. Lodi Dodi, do we like to party!!! Maybe I can squeeze an invite to the Nomtoc parade on the West Bank (one of my faves, and I am sure that I can find at least one block party full of old familiar faces). It turns out that the friends I expected to be there won't be here until next week, so if that's a no go, I'll probably be leaving in the morning.

Well, gotta go... the readying for a ball is a long and drawn out process. I must:
1) Give myself a spa mani/pedi. (normally I would just go to a salon, but $$$ is a BIG object)
2) Take a Deluxe Shower. This is the type of shower that wets the windows, even in the room down the hall and hikes up the water bill. I must exfoliate, depilify, and wash and condition my hair. (which, of course looks like a schizophrenic rooster's)
3) Deep condition, spa facial with hair removal.
4) Put on pantyhose and foundation garments.
5) Style hair. Deluxe makeup.
6) Glitter powder on decolletage.
7) Steal best scent in house (no matter who it belongs to) and spritz on.


Wish me luck!