The Winged Menace

Mostly, when I think of leaving New Orleans in a month or so, I'm sad. I'll be leaving my friends, and gorgeous, jealousy-inducing weather in February, and decaying yet romantic houses, and the general charm that is this city. However, right now, I'm mostly thinking of how nice it will be to live in a city that doesn't play host to those fucking demon termites that are swarming right now. I just saw a couple in the kitchen and it nearly caused a nervous breakdown. After last year's horrid infestation, and the resulting two weeks that I spent living on my couch (the living room was inexplicably termite-free), I can't deal with them. They induce the sort of instant, run for your life fear usually reserved for spiders. I hate them. I hate them so much. I don't want to spend the next two weeks sitting petrified on the ottoman in front of the couch, whimpering in fear while Max deals with the flying menace. So I'm sending it out into the ether: no termites this year, please. I promise to be a good girl. I'll help old ladies across the street, and I won't even be too catty. Just tell the termites to leave me alone.

Clean Livin'

I've heard a lot of really ridiculous, recycled, and overused pick-up lines in my day. Most of them make me want to ask the guy if that has ever worked. But today, I got a new one. Whilst walking back from the A&P in the Quarter, one of the dirtiest Quarter dudes I've ever seen (seriously, if he were a car windshield, you could write "Clean Me" on it through the grime) looks at me and says:

"Baby, you so fine I'd take a shower for you."

Now that's creative.

You know how the fifteen minutes or so of something always seem so much longer? Like, the last 15 minutes of a really long drive, or a really boring class, are so excruciating. Waiting for the last final of law school EVER is like that, except so much worse. 15 hours, 33 minutes, and counting.