I found out yesterday that the Vieux Carre cache in New Orleans has been archived. Even though I don’t have thousands of finds like other hardcore geocachers do, I love the hobby, and I loved this cache. It is probably one of my top 3 all-time favorites, both because of the wonderful nature of the cache itself, and the memories it brings back to me.

You see, I found that particular cache with my sister in New Orleans on the day they reopened the Superdome the year after Katrina and the levee breaches devastated the city. I went to the archive of my old blog from that time frame and pulled out part of the relevant post. Shall we reminisce?

September 25, 2006

The official re-opening party was to start around 3pm on the streets around the dome. The doors were to be flung wide at 5:30. We had a lot of time to kill that day. So we did what seesters do. Walk and eat. And search for snipers on the tops of buildings. Guess where the secret service men are… You know, normal reindeer games down south.

We decided to do this one geocache that someone had told me about. It was in a building. The clues said NO CHILDREN PLEASE, and to look for the two people under the artwork and ask one of them if they could escort you to the cache.

At first we thought it might be in the casino, because the coordinates took us near there (no children, right?) But, no, it was a big shiny office building across the street. We went in, looking at the GPSr in my hand, and were IMMEDIATELY accosted by an uptight woman who kept asking:

“Are you lost?”

“No -we are not lost.”

“Really, where are you trying to go?”

“We are fine, we are not lost”.

I thought she might be getting ready to tackle us (not everyone takes things easy in the Big Easy).

“Are you looking for the mall?” (This had to be because of our sparkly look!)

“No. Lady we are fine.” GO THE FUCK AWAY!

She was, literally inches away from our faces, wringing her hands, leaning in, and obviously very concerned about someone’s welfare (although I am not sure if she was worried about US or herself).

In the meantime the security guard is watching and laughing his ass off. When we finally extricated ourselves from the attention of the fruit fly, he came over and said he’d take us to it. Oooooh boy. Up to the rooftop we went.

The cache itself was up in the maintenance area of the rooftop. Since it’s archived now, I’m not spoiling it for anyone. After disembarking from the elevator, the guard took us around the corner to a storage area with what looked like a huge pirate’s trunk. To date, I think it’s the largest cache container we’ve found. It was full of travel bugs. After liberating a couple of travelers, we continued on up a short metal stairway to the best stage of this cache.


WOW! Two seesters on top of the world with the sacredome in sight! The guard was so nice, we chatted for a while and then went on our separate ways. There were some maintenance men in the stairway shaft up to the roof that were probably wondering what we were all doing out there, but hey, let ‘em imagine the best!

One of my favorite memories, ever.


I started blogging on January 20, 2006, after becoming inspired by some terrific writers shouting out from New Orleans after The Flood. The first few years of this site are archived elsewhere, for my own personal diary of sorts.

Back then, I blogged under quite a bit of comfortable anonymity; it was easier to speak my mind from behind that mask. Today, however, most people reading this blog know who I am in real life. Unfortunately, I’ve found it stifling.

There are many topics I would love to express, but they are centered around three main areas:

1) work – I value my professional consulting work too highly to jeopardize it with even the most well-deserved criticisms;

2) family – My children are both teenagers, now. They deserve their privacy, so I no longer post about my children’s antics, emotions, school hazards, or other life events. It is what I would have wanted as a teen, so I can only give them that much; and,

3) being judgmental – this just pisses off everyone else I know.

So, I believe it is time to shutter this old gal. But, before I go, below is a re-post from the first days of my original blog on what it means to be “seester.”

I’ll see y’all around. Most of you know where to find me in real life. I still use the saintseester handle on places like twitter, flickr, geocaching, and my gmail account. Come see me over there, at least for annual halloween photographs.


Many people have asked me why I refer to my sister, as “seester”. For one thing, we’ve been calling each other that for decades now; I don’t remember how it got started – it just “is”. For a long time, I selfishly thought we were the only people who used that term for one another, but when I searched the internet for the term “seester”, I found many, many other seesters out there.

So, what exactly does seester mean? For me, it is my biological sister. Here’s the best summary of seester I can come up with before my required allotment of morning coffee:

1. Your seester always thinks you are beautiful no matter what.
2. You don’t have to get along in childhood to be great seesters when you grow up.
3. Everything your seester says seems to make perfect sense.
4. Seesters find every joke you make to be hysterical, gut ripping, or just insanely funny.
5. Seesters laugh at inappropriate moments. Seesters make it impossible for you NOT to laugh at inappropriate moments.
6. Seesters never make bad decisions. Seesters never judge your decisions.
7. Seesters have issues with their mothers, but love them unconditionally.
8. Seesters are very good at board games of all sorts. In fact, they are SOOO good, most people will not allow them to be on the same game-playing team. Either they will thrash you, or get drunk and forget what the game was about.

If you don’t have a biological seester,think of the other potential-seesters in your life such as in-law seester, cousin seester. Just make sure you have a lifelong connection. Remember to stick to the rules above and you will have a comrade forever.


This is for Terri…

The Most Embarrassing Mascot in the NCAA Edition

A couple of weeks ago, while on vacation, I noticed my Mom had her laundry in a pillowcase that looked familiar at first glance. When I looked closer, I realized that it was my old pillowcase from my freshman year at college. My first thought was, “Damn! That thing has held up quite well over 25 years.” My next thought was, “Damn, we had a sorry ass mascot.”

So, I took a picture of the pillowcase, with the intimidating Tulane mascot of the ’80s. Seriously, it’s bad.



Do you believe me?



Really? Do you want to see it?





Here’s a closer look:


To make matters worse, at some point during my college career, the powers that be decided that we needed a “live” version of this guy. So they commissioned one of those costume designers to create it.

The fact that the student body nicknamed him “Gumby (dammit)” should tell you something. It was the most idiotic suit. It was tall, and green, with wave crests on its feet and head.

Newborn kittens were more intimidating than that mascot.

This is the only picture I could find in an old yearbook. If anyone has a better one, please let me know!


Once at a huge basketball game in the arena (against UNO, perhaps), a little kid, of about 8 years, sitting behind me exclaimed, “What the heck is that? He looks like a Big OLE ‘Sparagus!” Ever since, that is what pops into my mind whenever I think of the mascot. Or, see asparagus.

Things are better in the 2000′s. Tulane has a new mascot. Gumby and the mean wave were dropped in favor of a fierce pelican.


But, he’s no Gumby, dammit.


Miss Tense was talking about the low water pressure in her area recently, and how she’s worried about being able to flush the toilets. Gotta have water to flush, no?   It reminded me of this post from my former blog.  (Originally posted on 5/13/2006).

It was a dark and stormy night (REALLY), and my seester and
I were to meet up at the Doubletree on the lake in Metairie; we were travelling in from different states. It was November, we had a great rate, but boy, was it storming that evening. So badly, that something happened to knockout water service to the whole parish out where we were staying. So, the clerk is explaining this to us, see, in the Doubletree – “There is no running water, but we hope to have it back in a few hours – IN the MORNING at worst. Here have a chocolate chip cookie and a bottle of water.” The Doubletree gives you cookies – have you seen the commercials?

“Ummm, thanks. Is it just this hotel? ”

“No ma’am, it’s the whole parish.”

Ummmm, …, OK

So we head up to the room, mainly to escape the annoying Raiders Fans in the lobby. But,a nagging thought sends us back down to the lobby.

“Ummmm, so… how are we going to flush the toilet?”

“Ma’am, we have someone to take care of that.”  At that very moment, we see some tired dude with a bucket go by, I suppose for the purpose of  pouring water into toilet tanks.

“Ummmm, so, if we find another hotel to stay in, you aren’t going to charge us, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.” We head back upstairs to get the phone book and start searching for a new place to stay. It would have to be other than Jeff parish, so we decided to bite the bullet and go downtown.

We call the W Hotel’s listed number. Woman answers, seester says, “Do you have running water at that hotel?” Very confounded woman on other end of phone, says of course we do (in a what the hell are you thinking or are you really some sort of yokel tone of voice). Then we realize we had been connected  to the national reservation line, and were asking them if their  hotels had running water. She must have thought we were about as dumb as a box of hair.

We relocate to the W downtown. It was cool, in a very scary mobster/gansta sort of way. Decor is all black, white and red.

Next day, game day. Saints are playing great; seester and I are enjoying some primo club level tickets (I am not sure the yankee suit sitting next to us was enjoying *us*enjoying it so well). THEN, It happened. Jeff Blake (QB) got broken. Literally. Left the game, left the season, left forever with Aaron Brooks in his place. Sniff. We lost. We were on such a high; then it all came crashing down in one pivotal play.

Trudge back to the W. Decide traffic is much too heavy to leave. So we go to hotel bar to cry a little and wait out the traffic jam.

Bar has a menu (I like bars with menus).

Barkeep says, “What’ll you have?”

Afterperusing said menu, we discover they have MILK and COOKIES! We were really, really down – bummed, in dire need of warm cookies. “We’ll have the milk and cookies.”

“Milk and cookies? Milk and cookies? What? Are you sure?”

“Yes, it is right here on your menu: Milk and cookies, please.”

“OK. Do you want chocolate chip, sugar, peanut butter, or white
macadamia nut?”

“Wow what a selection. Can we get one of each?”

“Sure. Ok what kind of milk: skim, whole, 2%,chocolate or soy?”