February 18th, 2004

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

What The Hell Kinda Mardi Gras IS This Anyway?

The last time I had an entertainment-crippling flu-or-whatever was, of all nights, New Years Eve. Just after midnight, I said, "Good, that's done. I'm going to bed," and left the party I had (unwisely?) opted to attend.

So now I get all sicky-pooh again during — what, class? — freakin' Mardi Gras.

Fret not. I would never stoop to the common level of describing the intricate, fascinating details of a cold as if I were the first one to acquire said malady. I'll leave that task to 98% of other online journalists.

Suffice to say I am angry with myself. I have just enjoyed a week housing my Brooklyn Biatch, gritsnyc and, Phresh from Philly, the inimitable Miss geekwitch. What sucked donkey balls was my inability to keep the pace, and oft was the time I told my two most favoritest houseguests, "This is the cab number. Here is a key. Have a great time tonight. I'm going to lie down and pant in short, choppy breaths."

Valentine's day I did manage to get out and about, bartending the Poets Gallery opening of Flynn and Christie Kane's work. Very disparate work, but somehow it juxtaposed well. (changingthesky will cringe at the use of that word, I ascertain. Huh. I said ascertain.)

After the art opening, we returned to Château Bimbeaux for a quick break then off to the pubs. Kitty-Wittums-Wuvvy-Pooh-Butt-Ass mewled piteously when she saw me. I haven't been around much as Miss Geekwitch was installed in my room and I was staying at The Boyfriend's.

So what do we do but strap the little rodent into her blue bondage gear and take her with.

Yah, so here's me and Geekwitch and Widdle-Puddin's at The Saint, Kitty-Fluffum's favorite nightspot.



Yah, so that night aside, it's been pretty much all about remedying the golf ball in my throat with mega-anti-oxidants, truckloads of echinaceaechiaeaicia and enough C to make me pee like a racehorse. GOOD TIMES!

Further news that blows: The Boyfriend must make a madcap dash to Kentucky tomorrow for an ill-timed death in the family. Right as Mardi Gras is beginning to gain momentum.

Blows. It blows. Blow me, cruel-intentioned Fates who stymie my essays at fun, FUN, FUN!!!! I will have my little revenge upon thee.

Thou bandy-drawered dingleberry.