Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
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!!
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Cue Mardi Gras Mambo, because it's eight weeks to Fat Tuesday. I’m heading down to
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
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
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
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
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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?