Living it up in Da South

Today it's 62 degrees (but it feels like the 70's) and sunny. I just discovered something fantastic about our 100+-years-old house. The windows open!

Maybe this sounds strange to you, but the truth is that the season for open windows is very narrow in New Orleans. It's usually too hot. I'm assuming there is a time when it's too cold, but we haven't got there yet.

So, some of our giant rectangular windows have screens at the bottom of them. And wouldn't you know it? These are the ones that open, with a groan and some dust and some kicked-up little leaves that are who knows how old.

I'm cleaning the crap out of this place this weekend because the faux in-laws are coming to stay next week. They're "faux" because they are not technically my in-laws, but they fit that bill in most respects. If this were politics, they would be "Acting" or "Lieutenant" in-laws, but this is Nola, so I'm sticking with faux. 1/4 of my parental units will be here as well: Crazy Coco. She gets to stay in the man room, which will be converted into a guest room. I'll have a photo of this after it's set up. Everyone loves to stay in a room with a weight bench in the center of it, right? Thought so.

In other news, I worked at the restaurant last night. I'm a filler for when they are short. The secret to working these kinds of jobs is to only work them once a month. And then it's all smiles and this is fun and I can't believe I ever left. But really, one night is enough. No one was rude, but the drinkers were out in full force. One table drank $300 worth of vodka, including 16 lemon drops. Yes, adults out of college actually drink those. They called a cab, which was very responsible since the guy paying literally spent five minutes signing his name to the credit card receipt.

Another gentleman ordered a bottle of wine for just himself, which I found very respectable. And I found another $20 bill on the floor! Doesn't anyone ever look down? I gave it to the people sitting directly above it. They were like "Yay! More kamikazi's!"

Halloweenies

A lot of girls like to dress in sexy costumes for Halloween--Sexy Nurse, Sexy Schoolteacher, Sexy Witch.
Sexy Sheep? Not so much. I go for scary. Here's me and Kenny Powers (aka the MOST popular Halloween costumer 2010 winner) getting ready to hit the streets:

Kenny Powers and Sheep Girl

Frenchman Street is HUGE on Halloween in New Orleans. Everyone trots out in their fine costumes they've been working on for weeks and stand around and look at everyone else and hoot and holler and get drunk.
It's pretty fun. Except, like a good concert, it's hard to get out of there once you're ready to leave. Traffic is a mess and cabs are scarce and zombies and vampires and sailors and walking bananas are running amok all over the place.

Here's some pics from Frenchman:

Sailor Barbie?

Kenny Powers, Season 1 & 2

Medusa?

 

Yet another Kenny

Yoda & Maverick. Turd Ferguson is in the background.

Another. Frickin' Kenny. The middle finger is Kenny's signature move, in case you are wondering. 

For those of you who don't get the Kenny stuff, here he is: You're F*#kin' Out!

Famous Guy Alert!

Remember the homosexual guy from Mad Men who had the hot wife he didn't want to sleep with because he secretly liked sleeping with dudes in hotels? He's here! In CC's Coffee. If I liked Twitter more, I would Twitter it, but I hate that crap. And I don't have a smart phone so it takes FOREVER.

Also, the guys from HBO's Treme are here. They are production or audio guys or something. Spoiler alert: John Goodman does a voice-over in the beginning of this season's first show.

So, Mr. Famous, whose real name is  (Bryan Batt) and name on the show is Salvatore Romano, 
was looking dapper as all get out in a Texas Tuxedo (jeans and a jacket) and a bowtie. He is also looking quite trim. Rumors are that good ol' Sal might come back to Mad Men. 

Speaking of AMC, the best show on television is currently THE WALKING DEAD. It's Zombies! In Atlanta! Started last week. Somebody start watching it with me so I can text you how scared I am. I texted Elbow last time while he was at work. He thinks I'm crazy. I am. Crazy about Zombie entertainment.  

Just FYI, last week's movie filming on our street was a total bust. They drove a car up and down our street for a few hours in the dark. Then when I went out to do my journalistic duty and ask some questions, the crew acted all important and too busy to talk to me. They flat out ignored my questions actually. I will not watch that Lame-o movie, thank you very much. Good luck Putting from the Rough productions! (That is their real name, minus the "putting from" part). 

Baby you should be in pictures

A few weeks ago we got a note slipped under the gate about location scouts wanting to take a look at our house for an upcoming movie. We never called. If we owned the house or if our landlord wasn't so persnickety (what does that word even mean?) and really, if I just had more time, our house could be in lights!

WTF

Instead, it will be our street. On Wednesday.

I don't mind moving my car, but I bet everyone won't. What do they do then? I will be outside snooping in the bushes during this filming. Don't you worry. The movie is about a track star or tennis star who goes to the University of Kentucky or Tennessee and beats all the odds to become a coach or an Olympian or something. Obviously, the description was not that compelling. Oh, but I'll keep you posted.

Horses love beads

The Quarter was fun last week. We saw my cousin and his wife and the Clyesdales!

This weekend is Halloween, which is apparently the second most popular holiday here. I'll take lots of pictures.

We are still wearing tank tops and jorts down here.

We got this fire pit. For sitting around. It can be used for warmth if the temperature decides to drop below 75 again. Elbow had to work all weekend so he was home all day. I asked him if he wanted to go on a bike ride to the park and he said, "I ate too many potato chips."

Oh yeah, it's exciting down here in Nola.

In other news, my cousin and his wife are in town for a work conference and we are meeting them on Bourbon Street to watch the Clyesdales march through the Quarter. I'm trying to be positive and I genuinely look forward to seeing them, but after you live here for a while, you begin to loathe visiting the Quarter. We wanted to take them out in our neighborhood to show them how beautiful the rest of the city can be, but they haven't had time yet.Word: when you visit New Orleans, spend no more than 10 percent of your time in the French Quarter. Just enough to give the city some of your moola, because that is all they are trying to get down there.

And do not follow any new "friend" to any hidden "club," because it is likely that you will then be charged a $140 cover and not be allowed  to leave until you pay. This true horror story brought to you by my very good college friend, C.

We like the idea of coming out the front door and falling directly into the fire pit.

Blackie & Firestar perform tricks. Blackie grew out of his black spots.

We don't have to feed the fish anymore. They just eat algae off the plants. This is Redhead. Or Fancy. They look alike from this angle.

Random pond debris. 

It's going to be a cold winter. 

Well, that was fast!

When you graduate with a journalism degree, the school should force you to minor in something like Restaurant Serving, Front Desk Reception, or Retail Sales. And they should say, "Here's your diploma so you can pursue your dreams to work at Conde Nast publishing or The Wall Street Journal, but you better know how do to do these other things, too, because you're going to need to actually get paid."

I could have used the advice way back when.

But anyway, I put in my two-weeks notice at the restaurant. Like Hillary Swank's character said in P.S. I Love You, "I can't work for idiots." But that's not really true. I've worked for plenty of idiots.

To put it simply, I was starting to hate it. I loved the people and hope I remain friends with some of them. But the hours were really long, the chef was kinda a jerk, and they kept adding duties to our long list of things to do. On Tuesday when I came in, K (my favorite other cocktail server) was like "We have to polish these plates before they go out." So, when the restaurant is at capacity, and forty people are waiting for their sage juleps, and ten more ladies celebrating Annie's 30th birthday just walked in, I'll be in the kitchen, wiping down share plates. Wishing to God I was wearing special orthopedic shoes.

I'll just have to find some other crap job, I said to Elbow. Like, why can't I find a REAL job? My dream job, other than hiding away in some high turret like Stephen King, spinning out chick-lit novels, is to work as an assistant on a farm. In between deep, dark woods. Like the Black Forest in Germany. But I digress.

We had a mouse. And he tried to eat our house. Actually, he ate an entire bag of brown rice. Poor little guy. He also ate into a bag of flour so that every time we shut the cabinet door, a puff of white fairy dust would float out. And I was like, "What the?" But then Elbow found him sleeping in the toaster. So cute. Like a kid's movie. But he had to be destroyed. Sorry kids. The little bastard ate a hole in every item we had in the cupboard and pooped everywhere. It was really fun to clean.

We now have traps out and I told this whole story because this morning it looks as if one of the traps has been released and the Smucker's Natural Peanut Butter is gone. This could mean that Elbow found a little critter in the morning. Or that we have a really smart mouse. Like a nutria. Did you know that nutrias swim? They look like beavers in the water. No joke.

My Other Job--Cocktail "Waitress"

For exactly a month now, I've been working as a cocktail server at a brand spankin' new "Swank, Posh" restaurant on Magazine Street. I won't say which one, but in certain circles the chef is famous. In my circle, he's just some dude from West Virginia who spent some time in France and sports a serious Pittsburgh 'stache.

But I didn't know he was from West Virginia when I applied. I just needed a job and all the other ones were taken.

Being a cocktail server isn't that bad. I only work three nights a week and the staff is pretty cool. I'm the least smiley one there but only because my feet hurt so BAD.

Here's a typical Saturday night:
My section is the "gorgeous" side patio, where I'm serving a emo hipster dude in plaid his 7th manhattan, "with rye whiskey please." His friend is drinking a mint julep and rolling his own cigarettes. They are having an incredibly stimulating conversation. "I voted because it was such an important election year." I fall asleep refilling their waters.

Inside at the bar, three "ladies" dressed like the Olsen twins (the skinny one) are loudly discussing which of their past flings they did or did not sleep with. They are using the f-word a lot and calling each other "slut." It's super classy.

As I set down an almost full Miller High Life to throw away (It is the only thing like that we serve--I think originally it was as a joke but the hipster kids liked it, so we kept it on the menu), a guy gets all worried that we are wasting beer and says he'll drink it. Even though I picked it up off a stranger's table outside who, for all he knows, could have put the beer in his mouth and then spit it all back in the bottle. I tell him to do whatever he wants and walk away. I want no part of that. This is a classy joint.

In the kitchen, someone has started a rumor that a customer threw up on the front porch. "No, I don't think so." Then the second-in-command chef makes fun of me for stuffing beverage napkins into my shoes but I don't care. Band-aids won't cut it.

Back outside, I watch a woman in an evening dress help her stumbling husband down the steps. When he reaches the sidewalk--I am not making this up--he proceeds to ralph everywhere. Guess the rumors were true. J, the bartender from Pittsburgh, has to dump a bucket of water on the sidewalk to clean it. Once again, classy.

The most amazing thing about working at a bar is seeing how drunk everyone gets. I constantly ask someone if they'd like another drink, convinced they will say "no thank you, I've had more than enough." Instead they say "keep 'em coming" and trip over the furniture or ralph on the sidewalk. Even scarier, some of them just get up and walk out like they've had 2 coca-cola's instead of 15 martini's, and then who knows? Drive home? Take a cab? Sleep in the bushes?

Learning the ropes in city gov

Since 2006 I've applied for numerous positions in various nonprofit organizations. I thought it would be so fulfilling to combine my communications skills and experience with my desire to make a difference in my community (I probably wrote that exact line. No wonder I never got hired).

Now I know the truth. I told Elbow I don't know how he does it. It's great to work in public health . . . except for the public. During our outreach events, I half expect the scary clown and the bearded lady to come rolling through our little circus any time. There are clients, speakers and their children all over the place. And some of them don't speak English. And all of them want to tip over the chairs or run in the elevator or steal the others' door prize toys. And I haven't even started talking about the children yet. OR the big kids circus  traipsing through the corridors of City Hall.

Last week I was charged with chopping three large bamboo-like sticks into individual pieces for a presentation gift bag. As I'm hacking away with a kitchen knife, and then trying to break the sucker over my knee, I ask Ms. Toni "What is this?"

"It's for my presentation."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"I want them all to have a piece."

"A piece of what?!"

At this point she finally gets what I'm asking and I suffer through one of those "You must be the damn dumbest Yankee" looks before telling me. It's sugar cane. Duh. Well, where I come from, we would be breaking off individual portions of buck antlers and serving cornbread and beans with deer jerky. She served po' boys, pig's feet and greens. Go figure.

Pimpin' New Fish Pad --Hope it doesn't freeze

We got some awesome new furniture for our fish pond. Water lettuce or something and a lily. The lilies need at least six hours of sun a day so we had to chop back some of the banana trees, which is fine because those things like to collect spiders that hang from the end of their leaves and scare the crap out of you. Here's the pic of our new pimp fish pond:

Water lettuce is in the background. The fish hide under the leaves.

ALSO, we don't have to feed our seven fishes anymore, because they can eat the bacteria and whatnot off the plants! It's so exciting down here on Bordeaux Street.

In other news, the temperature dropped below 80 degrees for the first time in months. This morning, Elbow asked, "Where's my fleece?" And I was like "your what?" His fleece. Really. But it is long-sleeve shirt weather.

I'm back . . .

Just had a brief hiatus due to taking on too much responsibility at once (more on that in future posts) and a broken space bar.
There is nothing that will deter you from typing an email (or blog) more than a broken space bar. I'm typing with it now and I'm already about to wrap up this post. I can either type really slowly or just type onebigword-sentencewithoutspaces.

So, we had some friends come down and we all trekked it over to Baton Rouge (our great state's capital) to lose to the LSU Tigers. The LSU fans are sorta SEC db's who dress up to attend football games but then later puke all over their Sunday clothes out back of their parents' pimped-out Tiger Winnebago.

Really, the fans weren't that bad. They yell "Tiger Bait, Tiger Bait" as you walk by which is super annoying but kinda funny. And anyway, if you're not PITT, it's kinda hard to get under a WVU fan's skin.

One of these gentlemen gave me permission to use his photo. The other doesn't know this blog exists.

BUT, we made a VOODOO CHICKEN. Here is the picture.

The voodoo chicken didn't work. Maybe because we didn't stab it with anything. We spent a lot of time walking around the French Quarter trying to find a tiny LSU football helmet and coolie to dress the chicken, where I ran into three friends from my home town. The quarter was overrun with West Virginians drinking hurricanes and singing "Country Roads."

Here are some more tailgate pics:

Tiger Bait

The voodoo chicken really confused people. "But we're tigers" they kept saying.

Weird Louisiana fungus that sprouted in the courtyard. Looks like something out of Alien.

Rounding out the minor league season in the Big Easy

There are probably lots of reasons why nobody goes to the games of the minor league New Orleans Zephyrs. One is that the stadium is technically in the 'burbs, not Downtown like glorious PNC Park. Another, and I'm just taking a wild guess here, is that because the team plays in New Orleans. In the summer. It's too frickin' hot to go sit for three hours in a plastic chair in an open-air stadium. But we went during this past weekend's "cold front" where the temperature actually dropped below 85 F and you didn't need to carry a water bottle with you just to go get the mail.

Big Time

The fleur-de-Z

The season winded down yesterday with a win against the Nashville Sounds. And boy, was it exciting. Over my plate of "Pig Nachos" I watched some fairly boring baseball, but some pretty clever attempts at fan and community involvement. Know how the Pirates have the Great Perogie Race n'at? Well, the Zephyrs have Dizzie Lizzie. Here's the pics:

It's about to get crazy

And they're off

Man down--Notice her opponent doing the Thriller dance in the background

Besides the stellar athleticism, you may have noticed something else in the above pictures. That is the New Orleans Zephyrs' mascot. He's a nutria and his name is Boudreaux (pronounced "Boo-Dro"). Bou actually has a girlfriend but she had the day off and was home cooking up some shrimp and grits. For a funny article about this mascot and others, visit http://www.bofads.com/stories/baseballmascots.htm.

The stadium is small, which is kinda cool since you can get really close to the field and the players. It's kinda not cool when said players throw bats at the fans, though. I was in the food line during the action, but apparently two batters in a row threw their bats--one went right at the Zephyr's dugout and the other into the section where we were supposed to be sitting, but chose the shade instead.

I missed those two but I did see the third bat throw. This girl saw the bat coming at her and tried to turn and flee, only to be smacked right in the lower back. She screamed and all action stopped on the field, except for the some old stadium worker who ran over to her. At this point, Edgar Snyder, Pittsburgh's finest personal injury champion, began surfing kayak.com for cheap flights to Nola. Hee hee.

Anyway, turns out the girl was fine. Her little brother even got a souvenir bat that he could use to whack her again later at home.

Assessment

 

"Come with us. We need you to sign away your rights."

All in all, I recommend attending a Zephyrs game. Beer is cheaper than at PNC Park and you get a souvenir cup. The season starts April 15, 2011. Season tickets are cheaper than attending one Saints game. By the by, their season starts on Thursday. Let's see how the Who Dat gang compares to Steeler Nation and their merry band of delinquents.

Hello from City Hall!

I'm doing an unpaid internship with the city of New Orleans. This disgusts my republican-for-life dad more than he'll ever admit. But I think it's cool. Here's why.

I can't tell you what department and with whom I work Monday-Thursday (Friday is sorta a "half day" for most of NO City Hall's employees) but I can give you some inside glimpses of what it's like. Here's a story of what happened to me on Tuesday. We are walking through the first floor of City Hall (the mayor is on the second). I'm trailing my boss, we'll call her Ms. Toni, who stomps around and calls out "Hey, there's my baby! How's my boo-boo?" to every person we pass. And they love it! Everyone, from the front-door security guard to Mayor Mitch's personal security guard to the maintenance people smile and tell her Boo-boo is alright! But I digress.

I'm walking. I see a $20 bill on the floor. I pick it up and feel guilty because it's not mine. So I ask a gentleman who is walking a little ahead of me if he lost his money. He's in a nice suit and talking on a blackberry. He sees the money in my hand, ends his phone call and immediately puts his fingers on the bill so we're each holding an end like a "Chinese finger trap" or whatever those things were called. I say "Did you lose this money?" He says, "I don't think so." And I am thinking, hmm, this is where I get lucky and get $20 to buy lunch for myself and Ms. Toni at Subway. But no, this is actually where the big-time city politician takes the money from my hand and mumbles that he'll "give it to somebody" and turns around and walks off.

Who do you think he'll give it to? Images of Elliot Spitzer and for some reason, the facebook page of that very pretty "escort" Ashley Dupree come to mind.

So I have to hurry to catch up with Ms. Toni at the end of the hall who saw the whole thing and is already bitching about what we could have done with the money and she's right, of course. But NOW we are going for a ride in an official City Hall van to Zea on St. Charles to pick up items for a surprise retirement party we are planning. Our driver is a lively, happy boo-boo of Ms. Toni. Those two are yucking it up all the way to the van. When I ask the gentleman for his name, he turns around and points to his NO City polo shirt where "Mr. Cousins" is neatly stitched. So I say "Nice to meet you Mr. Cousins." And he says, "No, it's Coo-zan!" Like I am the dumbest yankee he has ever met. Because I am.

So Ms. Toni, Mr. Coo-zan and I pile into the front seat of the van and before we are even out of the garage, those two are reading prayer cards that Mr. Coo-zan keeps in his cup holder. He says he goes to church every morning before work. I admire that kind of devotion. But I do not admire people who stop their vans at the exits of parking garages to read the prayer to St. Jude and St. Andrew and whoever else and chat like we are sitting on a park bench. So the honking from behind starts and we are eventually on our way.

During the drive I'm treated to a little tour of Downtown. We pass the Hyatt, which Mr. Coo-zan tells me had all of its windows and most of the structure of the top floors blown away during "the tornado." I'm assuming he means Hurricane Katrina, but there were probably twisters, too. We also pass through a not-so-luxurious neighborhood behind St. Charles Avenue where Ms. Toni tells me I should buy a house because the government will give me money to fix it up. This is where Mr. Coo-zan entertains us with the story about the money he owes to the IRS and whoever else. He hasn't paid taxes since 2005, his reasoning being that he hasn't been helped by the government since then so why should he pay? I do not even dare to point out who paved the road we are currently traveling on or even, who signs his paychecks. New Orleans has some federal money pumped into it . . . but this is not that kind of blog. These people are so fun and so nice, that I don't even care. I just look out the window and smile.

When we get dropped off on the corner, Ms. Toni calls out to another Boo-boo in a gray suit as he's walking out the door. A lively back and forth ensues until the gentleman turns around and smacks right into a light pole. But he's smiling, and he walks away whistling to himself.

The Power of the "P"

First a disclaimer: I think all boys are gross except for Elbow.

Having said that I now have to tell all my single lady friends about the secret I learned today. No, not that lame-ass book that everybody went crazy for in 2008. But the real secret to meeting men. Ready for it?

It's Pittsburgh Pirates gear. Wear it and they will come.

Today I went to the coffee shop at an absurdly early hour to study (I'm a student now) and because I'm taking the whole college thing way too far, I didn't shower. Instead, I wore my green Pittsburgh Pirates ladies cap with the ponytail sticking through in the back. I thought this look maybe said "soccer mom" or "unfashionable" but apparently the guys at CC's coffee took this to mean "wants to chat about PNC Park for hours."

The first guy waved at me when I walked in like we were friends. I ignored him until he stopped me midway to a table to tell me all about his trip to Pittsburgh and to PNC Park and to the Heinz History museum and he even bought a frickin' trivia book about Pittsburgh. "Most bridges in the world. Venice is second." We could have gone on like this forever, because the conversation had somehow switched its focus to the Saints and boy do they like to talk about them Saints boys down here. I had to sorta back and away and look busy.

Then when I was leaving, I was all strapped down with my book bag and my coffee and yet another gentleman calls out "you from Pittsburgh?" And I'm thinking really? I'm just trying to ride my old beat up bicycle back to my house. And it was more PNC Park and Penn Avenue and beautiful city and kickball league and yada yada. If I were single, I would have loved the attention. Since I am not single, and I was un-showered, I did not. BUT, my point is that it's a great ice breaker. Men and sports; girls and ball caps. Give it a whirl.

Now obviously this tactic is not going to work if you are currently in Pittsburgh. Because then people know you really haven't showered yet when you're wearing that cap. And you don't stick out in the crowd, because every person in the building is wearing either Steelers, Pens or Buccos gear. Do not try this in Pittsburgh! Do it on vacation or at your sibling's place in Denver or Massachusetts.

In other news, this city is truly the friendliest place I have ever been. And smiley! They love to chat and to smile. Come visit.

Red Dress Run aka Pass Out At Three p.m.

Saturday was the Red Dress Run, a big benefit, used-to-be-a-real-run, bar crawl held by the Hash House Harriers, a drinking club with a running problem. Their words, not mine. Apparently, the running group is really fun. You drink a beer and go run. Then you drink some more. They also give each other ridiculous nicknames like "Skin Whistle" and "Blind Dog" and "Sleeps with the Fishes." We may try it out.

But, what we did try out is their annual giant run. And I got some good pics. Please see below. Tomorrow I'll tell you all about donating to the thrift store as part of my junior league obligation. This story is way more entertaining than it sounds. I cleaned out Elbow's closet. And there are some real gems in there. I also have a volunteer shift at the store tomorrow, so I'm wearing my helmet.

Your hostess. Dress: $5, lace leggings: $7

Tailgate

Sardines

Scottish Hashers

Hey Man, I saw your picture on the internet

The first bar we entered

Hipster Police! He's here to make sure no one is wearing GAP

Show us your . . .

Some people actually looked cute

Do everything you can to avoid this station

chillin'

A very popular dog at a gay bar

Some dude's butt

He waited his whole life to show the world the "real me"

Loving it

Did you spot Elbow?

Coy is really spelled "Koi." Oops.

My mother was nice enough to point out that I spelled the fish name wrong. Coy=coquettish. Koi=the four fish we have swimming in our pond.

We bought three more fish on Sunday. Blanco, Red Head and Pimpie. Guess who named the last two? Well, it's sad but Blanco already kicked the bucket. He got sucked into the fountain tube which we had no idea could happen until Elbow pulled his little body out of there after tinkering with the fountain to figure out why it wasn't working. Case closed.

I had another job interview today!!! I have to admit that interview #2 is the one I really want. Number 1 already rejected me very politely (losers) but 2 and 3 . . . we'll have to see. Number 3 would be fairly satisfying, as well. They are very different. One is health care related and one involves shopping!!!

The New Orleans Bingo Show was frickin' fun! Go if you get the chance. There was a hot chick and lots of good music and of course, Bingo. Someone in our party won the game and then the dance contest. If you win, be prepared to celebrate in an unexpected way. That's all I'm sayin'.

Red Dress photos will be posted tomorrow. It's worth the wait!

Emergency Fish Rescue

The thing about New Orleans is that it floods.
Tropical Depression 5 hit big time today and went right for our jugular: our new pets.
Blackie and Fire Star were nearly swept right out of their pond today when rising water levels came close to sweeping them into the tiny rivers and ponds forming all over the courtyard.

It was raining cats and dogs so I thought, "I better check on the fish in case their water level gets too high and they can just swim--whoa! Holy crap!" Blackie and Star Fire were literally eye level with the top of their pond walls, peering over like, "What's out there? Let's go see!"

The pet store guy warned us this could happen. He said, "They could just swim right out." In New Orleans, people must lose their coy like this every day.

I had to run out in the pounding rain and lightning and fill up bucket after bucket of water until the level was back down. I didn't waste it all, though. I used one bucket's worth to water the indoor plants who looked might jealous of the shrubbery outside. 

Flooding here is no joke. It rained the night before last and Elbow said it was crazy trying to get to work the next day. Whole streets were under water and people were walking in puddles up to their waists! Even crazier is that he said no one really knew what to do about it. They all sat in their cars, all dammed up waiting for God to come down with a huge vacuum or something. You would think that here, of all places in the U.S., they might have a plan. But that's N'awlins.

Our genius fish trying to eat rain drops

The puddle that B and SF were eyeing

Tropical paradise

This is Crazy! TV salaries . . .

Did you know that frickin' Jon Cryer makes $550,000 per episode?! of Two and a Half Men? Have you ever seen this show? There's a laugh track, for pete's sake. I have never not enjoyed an episode of television as much as I did not enjoy Two and a Half Men. Terrible. And Charlie Sheen, wife beater and alkie, makes 1.25 million dollars per episode!!! That's reasonable crazy.
Nothing to do with New Orleans but I just had to rant about that. Everyone's favorite mystery man Jon Hamm makes $100,000 a year and my personal favorite Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin) only makes $75,000 a year. Arie from Entourage pulls in $375,000/year, which I think is completely fair because that man is funny!!!
Here's the list of salaries: http://tv.gawker.com/5611209/how-much-do-your-favorite-tv-stars-get-paid?skyline=true&s=i


Tomorrow is the Red Dress Run and the New Orleans Bingo Group--I'll have a full report on festivities then.

Fishes! Dresses! Steelers!

Pick your favorite of the three. We got 'em all down here.

First, one of the great things about New Orleans is participating in quirky, fun events, like the Red Dress Run this weekend. Everyone (all 7,000 participants) don a red dress and run through the French Quarter. And the best part: you run from BAR to BAR. Apparently it used to be a real run with real runners who signed up but it sounds like this year it's more like a bar crawl on Bourbon Street. But we'll see . . .

Elbow's Sunday Best

I just went to a store called "Citi Trendz" and got our dresses. Here's the one I picked for Elbow. Do you think he'll like it?

In other news, we got fish! Three of them. One of them died, though. Poor little fella. Here's his pic:

R.I.P.

 

 

 

 

Here's the live, happy fish:

Blackie and Starfire

The finished Pond:

One last thing. We stopped into the resident Steelers Bar on Sunday and received devastating news. They are closing. In the fall or winter. What?! Can't you wait until after the Super Bowl? The bartender is from Point Breeze and he was three sheets to the wind. Here's some pics:

Outside. This area is called the Irish Channel. This bar is sorta like Gooski's but with fewer hipsters.

Ubiquitous sticker-ing.