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7.8.98

The sun scorched down into the midst of the humidity almost from directly above.  The air was thick; muggy.  Nothing like moving through molasses in an oven.  My shirt stuck to my back, my pants stuck to my legs.  I reached over to feel my forearm.  Apparently, a thick sticky coating had developed.  It made a sound similar to that of adhesive tape being separated from paper as I unpeeled my hand.

I never did well in humidity.

This being New Orleans, it was very humid.  Supposedly, under sea level.  Thus, being the main reason for its humidity, laid a great climate for plenty of bayous, swamps, and different type of creatures also.

The temperature usually did not descend below ninety.  This included nightfall also.  Others seemed to fair well in the situation – everyone, except for Beejing and I.  I have to admit that he seemed more uncomfortable than I did.  If he could talk, I know that he would have cussed me for bringing him down here.  New Orleans in the summertime – probably not the place for a long-haired Lhasa Apso puppy.

Thank goodness for air conditioning.

There was air conditioning everywhere; cars, houses, stores, restaurants, etc..,  This balanced out a lot of the heat and humidity.  And besides this, everything else was *excellent*; mainly the people.  Yes, I finally got to meet the family.

This was a strange set up.  I was not too sure how well I was going to be received.  I was quite nervous.  Liz was in Rochester to attend school.  According to her family, this was accordingly, the number one priority in her life right at the moment.  And, any distraction of this may be perceived as a threat.  Along comes her boyfriend, me, from Rochester also to visit.  I have been forewarned.  And, one more point to add – along comes his dog.  Liz’s mom is apparently terrified of dogs and although I was reassured that it was okay to bring him, apparently, mention of Beejing coming along happened to slip the conversation at some point.

Well, as it turns out.  We do fine.  We all do.  They love me.  I love them.  It was a great emotional orgy.  Okay. probably not so emotional, but there was love in the air.  I could sense it.  Okay, maybe it was more of an appreciation.  Nonetheless, they approved of me, and we all got along fine.

Along with the parents, Liz has three brothers – all younger than her.  Long is twenty-two and pretty much strives to be independent, hangs out with his girlfriend, works, and attends school.  He is not around too much.  Nam is sixteen, and holds a laid back serious attitude.  Every now and then he cracks a smile, and pretty much likes to just hang out, play with computer games and videos.  The youngest is named Dang, only eleven, a playful shy kid.  There was an age difference between Dang and the others.  He was more of a gift later in the parents’ lives.

For the first time in months, Liz and I had to sleep in different rooms.  It was a little tough at times.  I think more so for me than it was for her, for I am the cuddle type.  As un-manly as that may sound, it is also true.

It was also a little tough in *other* aspects.

It was about Thursday when Liz and I were driving around New Orleans, and we got to talking about how long it has been since we were last <ahem> close.  Well, start a spark and grab a stick of dynamite.  The more we talked about it, the more <ahem> funny we felt.

She tried changing the subject.  I changed it back.  I tried changing the subject.  She changed it back.

There we drove on Interstate 10 heading back to her place and we wondered what we were going to do.  Suddenly, we were engulfed in traffic.  Glancing over to the clock, she noted that it was three o’clock.  That is when rush hour started.  All we could do was sit there and talk a little more.  Great – this is what we needed.  I have not felt so <ahem> attentive, probably, since high school.

The conversation drifted this way and that way, and before you know it, we were speeding back up and headed back home on route 90.  We knew that we could not head home, seeing how her brothers were there, and <ahem> tend to our needs.  So our eyes wandered around for any drugstores and <ahem> cheap motels.  [Note -- I said drugstore... that means that I am being politically correct here]
 

For informational purposes only – There is a motel called the Budget Inn diagonally across the street from The Siesta Motel.  Room rates are twenty-two dollars a night.  Exit Bartaria Street of route 90 in Marrero.

Unfortunately, this is only what the sign read as we passed by it at seventy miles per hour.  We simmered down as the car rolled further down the highway.

…That is just what happens when you get older.

 

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