New Orleans is smokin'!

This city is so hot it is literally smoking. Actually it's a "marsh fire" that has been burning for a few days and has blanketed the city in smoke and a nice cigar-ish burning smell. Here's a news article, if you're interested, which I am not really: http://www.wwl.com/DEQ-issues-air-quality--precaution--over-smoke-fro/10772017

So last week Elbow and I went up North so I could get my Earthquake badge. It was awesome. We were in the airport and everything was shaking just like in the movies. I thought a plane had crashed into the building.

So when Elbow made fun of the people who started running frantically as the tremor started, I hated to tell him that I would have been one of those people had he not grabbed hold of my wrist. He knows me well enough to keep me anchored during something like this. My plan was to run down the next tarmac into the Southwest plane headed to Albuquerque.

Which brings me to my next big scare of the week. I don't really like flying. Unless I've had like four glasses of wine and then it's "exciting!" After the earthquake, BWI made everyone exit the airport, stop halfway, back up, move toward the doors, stop again, yell at each other, and then finally line up to get RE-SCREENED. Everyone in the entire airport had to go back through security. Which I'm sure took about eight hours. But I don't really know since we left and spent the day on the Harbor listening to passerby's "Where were you?" stories.

The next day we were back on the same flight, sans tremors. But Irene was moving in and creating strong winds so, after one of the bumpiest flights in recent memory, we were finally about to land. We were eye level with the trees. And just as the wheels were about to touch the ground, Whoooosh we took back off again!

I'm sure this was incredibly exciting to some of the preteen boys on the plane. But I pretty much passed out with fear. I figured the landing gear wouldn't come down and we were going to have to do a water landing in Lake Pontchartrain.

An oft-repeated phrase in public relations is "tell it first, tell it fast and tell it straight." Southwest modified this to "tell them nothing for a good 10 minutes." It's really scary when something like that happens and the pilots aren't on the mic jibberjabbering as usual, so they must be concentrating.

This story is getting long. Finally the pilot came on and said the tailwinds were over 100 mph and therefore too strong to land, so we had to turn around and come in from the other side. And Elbow was like "That's what I figured." Um hmm. I bet.

Anyhoo, we're back save and sound in the burning bayou.

Staycation!

Elbow hates when I write about him. At least I don't use his real name. And it is a very small audience. My readership varies from 0 to 10 viewers tops. Awesome!

This week Elbow is home on a staycation because he originally planned a trip to the Orient (no one says that anymore) but couldn't go because he decided to buy a house instead. So this week he has made no fewer than 17 trips to Lowe's. Fruits of labor include a grill, a pressure washer, a small trashcan that he modified with a kitchen knife to fit in the pull-out drawer, a workout "cage," and a second grill to replace the first one that was returned for being not-quite right.

He pressure washed the entire house over three days, and drove the stay-at-home neighbor ladies wild by running around shirtless. But enough about Elbow.

I'm not supposed to post pictures of the house up yet, so I'm attaching a photo of a house that may or may not be the one in which we are residing. Once we finally get all the boxes of textbooks (really!) unpacked, I'll post more photos.

A house that love built

For now I have to get back to work. I am currently proofing a document that includes the phrase "sphincter-saving procedures" several times.

Timing is Everything

Today I opened the door of Avenue Cafe directly into the head of a blond toddler. I was like, what is this hard object that is coming between me and a turkey BLT (TLT?)? Before I could give the door another good heave-ho, the kid started wailing and I immediately felt like a child abuser. I didn't know! Why was he taking a nap in front of the opaque wooden door?

I apologized profusely and the mother ignored me while she tended to her little darling. But it ended up being fine. Just bad timing.

Which brings me to my 6:30 a.m. discovery: A tree has fallen on our new house. I'm being dramatic. The branch is actually straddling the property line between our yard and the neighbor's. It took out a large chunk of their brick wall, which is now strewn over our grass.

This is a matter of good timing, though, because we don't move in until next week. The former owners are "leasing" from us (for free) until the 12th. So the jerks better get that mess cleaned up by next Wednesday or we're crackin' skulls and not inviting them to barbecue. Just kidding! (No I'm really not.)

And here's my final point about timing: it's TIME for me to get a stupid i-Phone. I need to take pictures of things like fallen trees and you can't do that with a $30 GO phone. FYI, the GO phone is awesome for traveling. You only have to charge it every fifth night. But it does not take pictures. And it doesn't pull up google maps or Facebook or angry birds or whatever it is everyone plays. Elbow gets these messages that pop up on his i-Pad that say something like "The dark tower on the ninth floor is ready for summer inventory" which is apparently related to a game that he play for six hours straight at work.

I am missing out!

Our own little piece of floodzone

Yesterday Elbow and I closed on a house. I know this is supposed to be a momentous occasion for us, so we skipped out of the building, chugged a bottle of champagne and hitched a ride on a horse buggy for a "romantic tour of the historic French Quarter" while tossing rose petals at the passerby.

Psych.

What we really did was go eat Mexican food with our realtor and her husband and compared memories of our economically depressed hometowns. Ha ha. We scoff at the people we grew up with who buy bigger houses than ours at 1/6 of the price, like you can in parts of West Virginia. They don't get to carry their open beers on the streets or ride the streetcar to the strip clubs like we can. Of course they don't have streets because they all live on back roads in the "holler" and have mailing addresses that start with "Rural Route . . ."

I'm only poking fun because I'm sorta homesick. Summer time is lovely in West Virginia and the surrounding area. I'm envious of all of my friends who are enjoying nighttime Pirates games and swimming at Mule's Hole or camping at High Falls of Cheat. That's the best.

It's great to camp in Louisiana, too. Mosquitos that draw blood and heatstroke are awesome. And you can only go October-March. The only people who sleep outside this time of year are the ones who passed out on Bourbon Street.

Once we move in, I'll post pics of the new house!

Van Gogh or Picasso?

My friend A. and I drove all the way to Metairie two nights ago to do these totally awesome paintings:

Sorry. Not for sale.

I did the boats.

Basically these people sit you down in front of a canvas with a faint sketch on it. They display a finished version of your painting, give you a paper plate with the colors they think you'll need and give you a skinny brush and a fat brush. Then you go to town.

Imagination Required

We sorta thought there might be more instruction. When I asked someone working there where she thought I should start, she said "the outside," then the next lady to come by said I should have started with the blue inside. Whatever. The original actually used brown and orange for the water but I liked blue and green better.

We got to drink wine while we painted and I only dipped my paintbrush into my wine cup once!

When I got home, Elbow said my painting was "okay" or something like that instead of encouraging my new hobby. It's pretty sad since I was planning on creating paintings for all my family members for their birthdays this year.

I don't see so good!

I broke my glasses. You have to see them. This is what living in New Orleans does to you and your possessions.

Seriously?

There is a benefit to bars closing at 2 a.m. It prevents the following from happening: sitting around with friends on the patio, having some cocktails, maybe some shots, getting some food from the pork truck parked outside (it's better than it sounds!). Then hitching a ride in a mustang (yep and the driver blares techno music) to another bar for some more patio chillin'. And then somebody saying "Holy crap. It's 4:30."

Like 4:30 a.m. Like normally I wake up in 1 1/2 hours from now. An incident like this can really ruin your next day. And your glasses. I guess I slept on them. And then Buddy! chewed them. But honestly, I really don't know what happened.

This is not a usual Friday evening for me. I would much rather go to happy hour, eat dinner and go to bed by 11. I like to be productive during the day. But when the lights never come on in the bar and the bartender never asks you to close your tab, bad things can happen. You've been warned.

In other news, here is another example of how bosses everywhere are trying to turn their office employees into chunk-sters:

I want a Nutty Buddy REALLY bad

Instead I ate plain crackers and snap peas. It tasted about as interesting as this blog post.

Gotta run. Tomorrow I'll show you my masterpiece I painted at the drink-wine-while-you-paint shop. Guess which painting I picked: Painting Gallery of Choices No it was not "Fan Nation."

We saw Vince Vaughn!!!

It's so cool to live in New Orleans. Well, actually it's really frickin' hot. But you get used to it once you remember to never wear synthetic fabrics.

My sister came to visit last weekend. And we passed Vince Vaughn on the street walking in front of Jackson Square in the French Quarter (the locals just say "the Quarter" or "that place we generally avoid").

I was trying to be all cool and just elbowed my sister until she looked up. Subtlety didn't work so I had to add, "Look at this guy." And then she finally noticed and excitement got the better of us and we both were all, "That's Vince Vaughn" at the same time and then we giggled. Because it's fun to see famous people. Also he totally checked us out over the top of his aviators as we passed. I'm sure we're not special in this regard, but I'm still gonna claim it!

The funny thing is he looks exactly like he does in his movies: Pic. Only chubbier. And his hair was sorta crazy.

After that, we felt so Hollywood that we went to the French Market and bought fedoras and big sunglasses, like the Olsen twins. Except we're smiling.

Mary-Kate and Ashley