Dear New Orleans Gods...

I'm leaving in the morning to go to Puerto Vallarta for a week.

Since someone is indicted every single time I go out of town, it would be really great if it could be Ray Nagin this time. If you can't swing that, I'd settle for Greg Meffert. Or Veronica White. Or if there can't be an indictment, a resignation from Warren Riley would be super, too.

In exchange, I'm willing to bring you back a bottle of tequila. And I promise that if I run into Captain Stubing, Julie, Isaac, Gopher, or any of the rest of the Love Boat gang, I'll tell them you said hi.


P.S. Anthony Jones' firing doesn't count--that happened before I left.



I went to renew our Louisiana Citizens FAIR (hah!) Plan today for wind and hail coverage. The woman at the insurance office and I got to talking, and she asked how many feet of water we'd had during Katrina. When I answered 3 1/2 feet, she got a little pissy with me. "Hmph. I wish that's all the water we'd had in our house." Turns out, she lived in Chalmette and had water to her rooftop.

Really? Is there an "I got more water than you did during Katrina" competition that no one told me about? Because, for the record, 3 1/2 feet of water did a hell of a lot of damage. And for that matter, 6 inches of water, if it sat inside of your house for two weeks, did a hell of a lot of damage. And even if you got no water during Katrina, I'm sure you felt (and possibly still feel) a little pyschologically damaged.

Let's not fight amongst ourselves, m'kay? Three-and-a-half feet of water sucked. As did 20 feet of water. As did 6 inches of water. We all had to replace a hell of a lot. And recover from a hell of a lot.

I don't know why that set me off. Is therapy calling my name?



So, I'm 40 years old now--is it time for me to have my mid-life crisis? Personally, 40 seems a little late to have a mid-life crisis. I think my chances of making it to 80 are fair to middling.

Do people in New Orleans say "fair to middling? Or is that just another Southernism that y'all have never heard of? Like "full as a tick on a hound dog?" That's my personal favorite. I'm going to go out on a limb and venture that people from, say, Vermont have definitely never heard of the hound dog simile. Prove me wrong.

So anyway, I'm 40 now. What do you, my faithful two readers, think I should do to celebrate? Right now, there are about 4 votes that I should go get a tattoo and a nose ring (kidding). Although I have thought about getting another tattoo. Yes, I have one--it's personal. But not in an "I got drunk and got some guy's name tattooed on my butt and then we broke up" kinda way. Just in an "It's personal, it meant something to me, and I did it only for me and very few people know about it" kinda way.

Thank you, dear husband, for a wonderful surprise 40th birthday party, complete with getting old friends into town and a very hungover brunch at Commander's the next day. Pictures to follow at some point, once I find the time to edit them.


Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Four

So, with all of the celebrity deaths lately (I mean, c'mon--Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson AND Billy Mays? Oh, the humanity!), the subject of death was bound to hit Emmeline's radar eventually. Somehow, Michael Jackson's death made it into her frame of consciousness this week.--I think it has to do with the fact that she absolutely loves Thriller. (I blame her father. And Vincent Price.) So, we got to have the following conversation on the way home from daycare today.

E: Mommy, why did Michael Jackson die?

Me: (Me, thinking to myself, "Oh lord, the death conversation. I'm so not ready for the death conversation. Shouldn't she be having this conversation with a trained professional?") Oh, he was sick honey. Sometimes people get sick and die.


So, what do you do when you can't sleep and end up staying up all night? Me? I could've taken advantage of catching up on my blog last night, when I was up roaming around the house between the hours of 12:00 and 5:030 a.m., unable to sleep. But that would've been too productive. Instead, I finished my book, hoping I'd get sleepy, and started a new one. No luck. So, I turned to my fail-safe insomnia method--surfing channels and watching infomercials until I was sure I'd get so bored that I'd be able to get to sleep. Again, no such luck. And I must say, when you can't sleep at 5:00 a.m., those infomercials start to look pretty tempting. I consider myself lucky that I made it back to bed around 5:30 without giving into temptation and becoming the proud owner of some Bare Minerals makeup (with a FREE compact!), a Shark vacuum cleaner (as good as the Dyson! And it comes with a FREE steam mop!) and a body shaper (drop two dress sizes INSTANTLY!). But I must confess, it's just not the same without Billy Mays shouting at me. And how big of a bummer is that, to have the Oxi-Clean guy die on your birthday?

I have lots to blog about--my trip to Peru, my insane four-year-old, my upcoming trip to Mexico, turning 40 and having my husband actually throw me a surprise birthday party. But I'm feeling sleepy. Guess it will all have to wait while I go in search of an infomercial for the Magic Bullet....