Happy Birthday, Julie

Julie's Birthday Cake
Originally uploaded by typingelbow.

My friend Julie threw a great party last weekend for her Thirtysomething birthday, but today's the real day. (I hope the candle wax came off the television, honey.) Thanks for throwing such a fun bash!

Weirdness in the water

I have been getting the weirdest text messages today:

"How do you say failure in Australian?"

and then, from someone else,

"Yay for albatross!"

wtf?!

I'd probably be cast as Violet

I like what the guy said about New Orleans being more of a Neapolitan Ice Cream than just plain old chocolate.

New Pictures are up!

New Flickr pictures!

To see Christmas in South Arkansas, click here.

To see New Year's weekend, 2006, click here.

Hey, it only took me three weeks to get them all posted... Like a herd of turtles, I tell ya.

click-clacking for one year

I just realized that I forgot my own anniversary. (I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, obvies.)

I've been moving all my old blogs to this site from Myspace, and I noticed that I've actually been blogging for one year.

Happy anniversary to me!!

A special winter's day

The sky is blue.
The sun is golden.
People are in love.

What a wonderful day!

Mardi Gras Mambo

Cue Mardi Gras Mambo, because it's eight weeks to Fat Tuesday. I’m heading down to South Louisiana because, as Chris Rose says, I want to be in that number.

I’ve got my favorite beads ready (all the strings that hang down to my knees and the one with M-U-S-E-S spelled out in blue) and I’m starting to think about costumes. (Would anyone give me crap if I revived Little Red Riding Hood again?)

But as I’m mentally packing my ratty suitcase, I know that I’m in for a smack in the face. I’ve been living in New York for a year and a half, so I was long gone by the time Katrina washed part of New Orleans away. From 20 states further North, I felt detached from the destruction, as the storm ran many of my friends out of town. No really, some of them had to put on tennis shoes and literally run out of the city.

Now the friends who stayed (there weren’t many) tell me that things are getting a little better down there. The mountains of trash are dwindling. Most everyone has gas and electricity again. You still wouldn’t want to drink from the tap, but why would you do that when there’s Abita Amber on tap anyway?

My buddies are starting to sound hopeful. They’ve seen more businesses open back up, and it seems like most of the bleeding has stopped. That is, the people who stayed so far might actually stay through the year. ((A friend of a friend recently declared that she wouldn’t help anyone else pack their shit to move out of New Orleans. Call her if you’re just moving to a new house, but expect only eggs on your windshield if you’re leaving town for good.))

So I’m headed down to the greatest free party on Earth to help out any way I can. I wanted to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, but the coordinator says the group won’t be building anything during Mardi Gras. I can see why a hammer in one hand and a hand grenade in the other might be a bad idea, but I really wanted to do something productive between parades. (Survivor’s guilt anyone?)

So, I’m looking for other ways to contribute to the city in some way. My best idea: Gluttony. I’m going to go shopping for all the New Orleans food and drinks and trinkets I’ve always wanted to buy. You can’t buy Hové in New York. Or Water Meter Glass for that matter.

And those restaurants I couldn’t afford when I was down there last year? Well I’m knocking on their doors this trip.

If I can’t rebuild my friend’s houses, I’ll at least buy them dinner and visit with them for a few hours. I’ll be a free-wheeling tourist, just like the ones the visitor’s center always loved.

And maybe some bright idea about how to really help will strike me as I stand by the tree at Milan Street and St. Charles Avenue.

Do I know how to pick em or what?!

My man locked himself out of his apartment in his underwear!

Click here for the story.

Is it 2007 yet?

I tried to hit the ground running this year.

I had fantasies of blogging every day and washing my dishes as I dirty them and cleaning the litter box before Pumba stages another revolution and poops next to the box in protest of the gross factor that has overwhelmed his toilet (again.)

I was going to call my mom twice a week and floss twice a day and go to the gym to bobble frantically for at least 45 minutes a day or until I can't see my tummy poking out from under my gigantic boobs when I sit down in front of my computer.

I was also going to wake up early enough to eat a healthy breakfast, wash all of my potentially stinky parts and shave the hairy ones, carefully choose my clothes for the day, read the New York Times, check some funny Web sites for a pre-work chortle and brush Pumba's long hair so that it won't clump into orange dreadlocks every two days.

Then, with all the free time I would score with my efficient model for living, I would concentrate on quitting smoking and drinking only red wine as it is best for maintaining one's overall health.

Well. That didn't happen.

Instead, I still hit the snooze bar at least 5 times before I get out of bed, leaving me with time for a spit bath and a quick scrounge for a hair barette that was trained in the art of hair flattery. I open a can of wet food so that Pumba won't starve while he pickets the litter box with an MTA sign he scavenged in Midtown. I pause to consider a bowl of cereal for breakfast and remember that the milk in the back of the fridge expired in September. So I pop two tylenol for breakfast and read the paper on the way to the train.

And no, I haven't seen the inside of the gym this year, yet. I'm sure David, the too-damn-cheerful aerobic-boxing teacher thinks I've died, probably from tripping over my own wrist wraps, again. So I'll be buying some black pants with an elastic waist band instead. Black is always in fashion, right?