Y'all come back now

Dear Tourists,
Hey, what's up? Nice to have you here, helping out the economy and whatnot, but before your drinking and disaster tour begins, a few words of wisdom.

- On drinking: New Orleans probably has more bars per square foot than any other city in the US. Therefore, we expect you to party while you're here. But please, try not to throw up on the sidewalk. Yes, it happens occasionally. Sometimes you just can't make it back to your hotel. But before you get to that point ask yourself this: would I be happy about if someone threw up in my front yard? No, you wouldn't. It's gross and smells funny. So please, if you can, try to hold it in. We'll thank you for it.

- On traffic: It's not acceptable to cross the street, anywhere, anytime, with no regard for the traffic patterns, and then look scandalized when someone nearly runs you over. It's just not. This is doubly true if you happen to have a stroller with you. A stroller, to me, says "hey, be careful. You're responsible for not only your own life, but someone else's as well." So, if you step off the curb without looking, right into oncoming traffic, don't flip me off. You have no one to blame but yourself.

- On flashing: no, I'm not going to show you my tits. No way, no how. Give up. Yes, your beads are shiny and pretty. They're also $1.50/dozen next door. Thus, your dangling string of plastic baubles isn't nearly as exciting as you think it is. Seriously, stop asking. Only other tourists will flash you anyway.

That's all for now folks. So have fun, sample a daiquiri or two, take some pictures, enjoy your stay here in the Big Easy. And just remember, the Hurricanes are much stronger than you think they are.

Flippin' termites

Imagine a woman on the edge, half yelling, half crying with frustration, waving the vacuum hose around frantically in the air...

...and you have me, tonight. I fucking hate termite season.

Lazy Sunday (and Monday, and Tuesday...)

As many of you know, my current employment situation is, shall we say, nonexistent. It appears that good grades and a willingness to fetch coffee just to have something to write on your resume don't exactly go as far as they used to. So, currently, until I give in and decide to work for free serving the legal needs of other unemployed persons, I have titled myself a woman of leisure, which sounds fun, but I have a low tolerance for boredom. A rundown of my post-finals activities so far:

Tuesday: Superior margaritas by the pool
Wednesday: Superior margaritas. Drive friends home after said margaritas. Pool closed for the day.
Thursday: Hmmm, don't remember actually. Ah yes, now I've got it. Shopping for post-finals party costume, followed by Grey's night with the ladies.
Friday: post-finals party. May have had a wee bit too much to drink, followed by a cab ride of which we shall never speak again. Lose phone, and sunglasses.
Saturday: wake up, still partially intoxicated. Email all friends to apologize for behavior of the previous night, or what I remember of it. Friends assure me that I am still loveable. Eventually cab myself to uptown to retrieve car and phone, which someone kindly found and babysat for me. Vow never to drink again, and nurse hangover while watching most of the first season of Ugly Betty.
Sunday: Mother's day brunch, although not with my mother. More Ugly Betty watching and lounging.
Monday: lounge by pool until chased off by rain clouds. Email with friend who is gainfully employed about her first day of work. Go out for sushi. Bake cookies.
Tuesday: drive friend to car dealership (being the only one who is both an early riser and also unfettered by obligations like working). Take cat to vet. Come home and think about cleaning. Nap for an hour and a half instead. All entertainment options appear to be exhausted. Compose blog post.

So, there you have it. One week, and I'm already bored with my busy schedule of lounging around doing nothing. Shopping is out, as unemployment doesn't carry with it much of a salary. The weather is conspiring against my tan. Eating out every day is also out (again with the salary issues), and cleaning my apartment is boring.

Anyone need to have their coffee fetched?

Workin' on my fitness

7:00, French Quarter, morning run

Decatur St. Tiki Bar: run by bar. Am greeted by the smell of stale smoke and beer. Peer inside as I run by to find that, yes, there are actually people in there, drinking at 7:00 in the morning. Wonder if they've been there all night, or if they just got off of work. Wonder how much I'd have to rearrange my schedule before I considered it normal to start my "evening" at 7:00 a.m.

Decatur St., Jackson Square: run by horse carriage docking area. A bit funky, but not a big deal. Keep running.

Royal St. and Jackson Square: nearly run into man ambling down the street. He takes this as an invitation to hit on me. Decide that he must have been up all night, since I'm not exactly at my most attractive when all red-faced and panting. He yells that he likes my shorts as I run by. Suspicion that he has been up all night is confirmed.

Bourbon: strange homeless woman laughs at me and says something like "well aren't you funny." Would laugh, but lungs are about to explode.

Frenchman and Chartres: stop running briefly to catch my breath. Nose is violently struck by the fact that it's trash day and it's already 80 degrees outside. Am forced to start running again in order not to choke on the fumes. Suppose that this is one way to get in shape.

Note to self: this is so much more interesting than the elliptical.