“I got shot,” he said.

Inside, a couple of colleagues told me about a fight at a school sporting event the night before where 11 of our students ended up hospitalized. The conversation drifted to guns, and I mentioned that I don’t have one and never will.

“I’ll ask you again after Thanksgiving,” one of the men said.

First period: I asked the students to tear their journal entries OUT OF THEIR JOURNALS. I may as well have asked them to tear their teeth out of their mouths. But, “WE DON’T TAKE PAPERS OUT OF OUR JOURNALS,” they said in unison. Change is hard.

Then, there was a fire. Not an “oh my gosh, we had an accident” fire, but a malicious, deliberate, asshole thing someone did. It was out before the alarm went off, and we didn’t evacuate.

Second period: planning. Someone read me a power point for an hour, and I left not understanding any of it. What I vaguely did get was that I’m supposed to fill out complicated paperwork forms so we can classify academic and behavioral problems into “tiers.” ~less than impressed with this power point and the paperwork it represents since it was sandwiched between two fires~

Third period: another fire. This time we evacuated and spent the entire period outside. At least 2 students were arrested. Since the athletic field is too close to the building for a safe evacuation, the students have to go out into the neighborhood. It was mayhem.

Fourth period: had to go to the district office to get my laptop. I have yet to get a roster of students. The laptop gave me access to the roster, theoretically, but I haven’t had a chance to print one out.

Fifth period: pretty good class.

After school: faculty meeting to discuss the arson situation. ~this is four and a half hours of meetings in two days~

7:30 pm: time for bed.  ~after i read 9 chapters of “a lesson before dying,” so i can catch up with the students~

I’m so tired. I told my husband, “I can’t believe I used to do this every day.” We laughed together about poor pitiful Taylor, who had to *gasp* go to work again.

Of course I’m glad. After we moved here, I worked for about a week before we evacuated from Gustav. Then we were gone for a week. Then we had to re-un-pack our stuff and decide ~again~ where things went since we weren’t there long enough to remember what we had decided the first time.

Then I worked about 6 more weeks, but the storm had essentially slowed business to a halt. Then I was laid off.

That sucked, mostly.

Being unemployed sucked, but being out of that shop was a blessing. Working with people ~??~ who SERIOUSLY believe they’re not human was just a bit much for me. So much for my little unconventional streak.

Getting hired in this district was ridiculous. It took three and a half weeks. I won’t even tell you how lost I got looking for all the places I had to go. ~none of the streets or buildings are labeled in this town. none of the ones i need, anyway~ I had to get fingerprinted, background checked, & piss tested. I had to take a test to prove I can do 8th grade math. I had to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for about a dozen signatures on a form just to START all this ~a process that took me to the prison complex downtown, among other horrors~ THEN fill out about a ream of paperwork.

After all that, I waited for more than an hour while they located the original form the principal had sent to the district office ~a request for hire~ TWO WEEKS before that.

Today I actually went to school.

There’s plenty to say ~the two hour meeting that made me want to claw my face off~ about the school, but this one thing sticks out:

THEY THANKED ME.

They were glad to see me. The principal personally thanked me twice. So did a couple of assistant principals. And other colleagues came by to see if I needed anything, to offer help & support, and THANKED ME FOR COMING.

Even a twitter bud thanked me for teaching. ~a non-teacher, even~

I was weirded out by this.

Then I realized, just a few minutes ago, that what is weird is that nobody ever thanked me before.

So I’ll say something of questionable wisdom instead, to wit:

New Orleans is unspeakable. I hope I can live here a long time. She’s beautiful and wise, and comfortable and flirty, and sexy as hell, but New Orleans isn’t a whore. ~but she doesn’t mind if you think she is~

She gives it up hard. New Orleans really is amazing. But it is much harder to live here than anywhere I’ve lived before. Still, I’m on the roof in my pajamas listening to music & dancing two hours after spending my last dollar to roll my tired ass back to this city after fleeing Gustav.

And I am happy to be here.

And I had to go inside to put on more clothes because I was cold. Our apartment is surprisingly cool. ~which really kills my plans for running a brothel of exhibitionists around the city. we’d cater to voyeurs, of course~

And I’m happy that when we got here it felt like home. ~for a while up in arkansas i was afraid it wouldn’t. only four weeks here and then gone for a week. that was three different states/homes in six weeks~

I’m pretty sure that H.I. McDonnough Nicholas Cage can see me from somewhere in that mansion of his. He’s so close that I could probably hit the widow’s walk of his house with a pebble if I tried.  But why? It’s surprisingly boring to look at Nicholas Cage’s rooftop. ~i’ll be discovered soon~

Daily life is so different from just a few weeks ago. I can’t list the things that are different ~although i love lists, and tried like hell to make one~ but I’ll offer these as representative examples: shutters AND windows, sharing a back porch with a neighbor, airflow management, walking to the grocery store, discerning the difference between river boat horns and train horns, washing dishes by hand, washing CLOTHES by hand, $20 daiquiris, parking tickets, tarot card readers, carrying every blessed purchase up and/or down 59 steps and consequently being much more selective and short-term about the foods we buy, seven keys to get into my house, prostitutes of every stripe, sushi in jackson square, cops on every corner, and movie stars being pulled along in wrecked up cars by camera crews, ghosts and people who see ghosts.

Just off the top of my head.

Oh, and spending a week in Little Rock, Arkansas with some friends because we had to leave heave out of our apartment late at night. We did this so we wouldn’t die hacking our way out of the rooftop. Our mayor advised those who stayed to have their axes handy. I don’t even have a chain saw or a jack hammer, much less an ax, so we decided to leave.

We went to Baton Rouge, but that wasn’t far enough. Before we left, we had time to corrupt my friend’s 5–year-old son and his equally impressionable friend by leaving a tiny single-serve bottle of Tangeray in the outside fridge at 2 in the morning and and leaving it until 8 in the morning when we woke up. ~~why in the hell do kids wake up so early?~ I had to explain to my friend her son drank my gin. Then she had to explain it to another mother. Each child took a sip, then they poured it out.

So that was impressive.

Then we spent a really fun time in Arkansas, ate like kings, and came home.

And I’m singing on the rooftop.

Still, I look out of my window and this is what I see:

I’m happy and having fun. I have a job in a little shop I love on Bourbon, and I walk everywhere. ~i know i’ve lost some inches, if not pounds. due in part to the fact that there are 59 steps leading up to our apartment, which stays surprisingly cool & mosquito free, considering it’s new orleans in august. the people who built this house are absolute geniuses~

I don’t know if Taylor the Teacher will continue to exist or not. ~if anyone wants to buy it, make me an offer~

But I am starting new blogs as soon as Cox Communications sees fit to bless me with Internet. ~apparently installing cable in the french quarter is too much for them. third try has come & gone~ When they’re up and going, I’ll post links here for anyone that’s interested.

But I still wish I was seeing Nicole, Kaelie and Nick every day like I used to.

Yesterday, the hibiscus was looking especially fine.

One thing I’m thrilled about is the back patio in our new place. When I lived in Baton Rouge my oppressively controlling ex husband made me get rid of all my plants before the move to Greenville. Since then, I’ve divorced and re-married the man I should have married back in the mid-90s.

But we’ve had too much shade to really plant anything.

This summer, I’ve been starting some plants for my NOLA patio.

We also want to grow some useful stuff, like catnip for the kitty, ~so maybe he won’t eat my other plants~ scallions and peppers. What’s good to grow and eat in August?

When I got home after the Wal-Mart/Denny’s experience ~at 2 in the morning~ I found that Renberg*, our cat, had puked the ENTIRE ~half digested~ contents of his stomach directly on my spot in the bed. I know he did it on purpose, too, because he had already had his puke for the day. He had puked on the rug in the living room, and I had angrily told him he was wrong for not doing it on the hardwood floors instead.

Renberg just wanted me to know he didn’t appreciate my opinion. So I got to change the sheets in the middle of the night, and now I get to wash them. Again.

So, that was fun.

*Renberg is a horrible name for a cat, by the way. My husband named him after this hockey player years ago.

Only two days left in Greenville: one more left to pack, and one to load the truck. Then we’re leaving as early as possible ~we say 3 a.m. but that remains to be seen. need to try though because atlanta traffic is a bitch~ on Friday.  My anal-retentive side wants to stay at the apartment and oversee every atom of matter safely into boxes and onto the truck. But I’m really going to miss Kitty Cat, so I went to dinner last night with her instead of making absolutely sure that the lids to all three kool-aid jugs were packed in the same box as the jugs themselves TO MAKE IT EASIER ON THE OTHER SIDE. And I’m glad I did. ~despite the fact that there may be a delay in the kool-aid drinking department when we get there~ 

We had so much fun, and I had an awesome dinner of seared tuna and Mr. T Rolls.

Then, hubby and I had to wait up really late to snag some free boxes at the Wal-Mart. Paying for moving boxes is bunk. While we waited up, we went to eat at Denny’s, where they let you smoke inside between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. I guess they figure anyone that’s at Denny’s in the middle of the night must have a reason to smoke.