Professionals Do It Better.

Well, Hello There! Good to see ya again. You're treated to a self-portrait to show you what $140 hair color looks like. Is it $130 better than the DIY model I've been sportin' for the past few months? Well, you may not be able to tell it from here, but yes, yes it is. It's dimensional and shimmery and not brassy and swingy and shiny. I've tried to convince myself that it doesn't look $130 better, but frankly it does. Ah, well. The price we pay to forget our reality of ashy brown hair sprinkled with grey. So this is the new shade at least for another five weeks. It feels much, much lighter when I look in the mirror, but in photos I can more objectively judge that it's really not as shockingly different. I'm good with it.

So here's a quick update on other things.

Twinkle is doing well. He's not too keen on shots, but he only growled at me once, and seems to be doing pretty well overall. He's definitely friskier. I've been aggressively researching how to correct this with diet, and am switching them all to a diet heavier in canned cat food. I still have some dry food out, I don't want to suddenly make food unavailable to them throughout the day, but have switched to a higher-protein dry (still not as high as canned) which doesn't have a corn base (Chicken Soup for the Cat Lovers Soul brand) and we'll see how that goes. They're happier about it, but it's more expensive.

I'm in full-blown getting ready for a trip whirling dervish panic mode. Sitting here blogging isn't helping matters, but I'm drinking a beer and trying to take it easy. We leave for an overnight trip to Atlantic City in the morn. I need a break from life, I am having a difficult time coping with it lately. I'm attributing it to working too hard for the past couple of months, so maybe a break will help.

Thanks to his Scooby-Senses, Kenny may have prevented a house fire! Sometime smelled amiss in the kitchen, and it wasn't the trash or dirty dishes in the sink. Timmy came up to help us pinpoint the smell and the conversation went kinda like this:

Kenny: "Do you know what that smell could be?"

Timmy: "Maybe it's the gas line?"

Kenny: "We have an electric stove."

Timmy: "Huh. I got nothing then."

It was actually coming from a light we had above the stove, some piece of shit that Keith installed for me a couple of years ago. While I appreciate his efforts, the shit he digs up out of the basement to bring over here is never of any quality and it never works well or for long. Now the kitchen is a little bit dark. Luckily I don't spend much time in there.

While there's more, so much more that I could say, I really have to go and scrub behind the stove. Now that I've seen the filth back there, I can't pretend we're just a little messy and disorganized. The behind-the-stove dirt has ruined that for me.

The end.

WWJD (what would jack do?)

The following events took place between 8:00 a.m. and 11:00 p.m.:

1. Twinkle had a full day of insulin today. He pounced and romped and wasn't trying to eat off my plate for the first time in a while. Improvement noted. Cat was kissed. I am still teary about the situation and have decided to allow myself a good long wallow if I wanna.
2. Got a ridiculous project with an even more ridiculous due-date. Wallowed about that. Still wallowing.
3. Continued my tradition of Gym & Gyro Tuesday. However, skipped the gym part and went straight to gyro. Didn't wallow about that decision.
4. Have calculated that The Misery is a couple of days behind. Could possibly be the direct link to the dramatic bout of wallowing.
5. Had a pathetic lunch of leftover brown rice and edamame, without the luxury of even heating it up. Sad leftovers in a sad little container for a sad wallower.
6. Ate one piece of fruit today. A banana.

The end.

Didn't I Just Get Off This Ride??

The Twinkle near my eye is sick. I knew he was just a little off, I've felt like it for a while now, but kept tamping down my instinct. He's only six, and pretty stinkin' cute - how could something really be wrong with him? Well, it is.

He went to the vet this morning based on his mother's hunch, he has just been a little "off" and has lost a pound. Not concerning on a person, but a pound on a cat is notable. So he had $151 worth of tests, and the results came in that he's A-Okay other than diabetes. Fucking diabetes. Again. Here we go, back to shots twice a day and keeping a close eye on him in general.

Drat. I don't know anymore. I had some type of a nervous breakdown crying fit and pity party all rolled into one jagged spell. I don't want HIM to be sick. I only had ONE sick-pet-free year - now I'm back to the drawing board, and he's young so I will have many years of this ahead of me (if I'm lucky!). Not to mention the added pet expense. Insulin is up to $45/bottle and it should be replaced after 30 days (I never knew this, Newf got new when it was all used up), not to mention the tests we're going to be scheduling while we get him monitored. And then there's the imposition I'll place on people while I gallivant around the globe during extensive travels.

But. He had his first shot tonight, 2 units, and never even noticed what was happening. And then he was a little more interested in things around the house, getting a little of his frisky back. The vet told me that he would have never guessed anything was wrong with him, everything else is perfect so it's caught VERY early. His little cat levels were over 500 - normal range is 80-100, with concern coming in over 200. He was on the very high even of the spectrum.

I'm drained and depressed and sad and angry. Why my pets, all the time (she rails her fists towards the heavens and weeps). I'm taking two Tylenol PMs and calling it a night. With my cat.

A Quickie

My nails are too short and my leg hair is too long. It's a rather uncomfortable day to be me. I picked my nails off last night during the movie Frost/Nixon. Just a habit, but now they're super-short to the point of being a little painful. My leg hair is long enough to be abrasive against my pajama pants. I haven't shaved them since my "date" with Jack Bauer a couple of weeks ago. I should really make "Personal Maintenance" a higher priority for 2009.

Just heard the weather's causing I-480 to shut down in some areas. Drat. We have plans to try a new restaurant tonight, but are now a "tentative, contingent on the weather." Don't need a steak that badly.

I'm going to spend some time today eking out a menu plan for myself for the coming week. Some simple planning ahead will produce some healthy, tasty lunches for myself. Since I really don't go out much for lunch anyways, might as well bring in some healthy choices. A co-worker, Kim, is into holistic eating and has given me some guidelines. Not sure how good they really sound, but I'm willing to try some of her concoctions, which include dishes such as brown rice, edamame, cannelloni beans, salmon and soy sauce. She assures me I'll have a rockin' bod if I eat that kinda stuff for lunch. She also told me that she read that if you ingest a teaspoon of molasses a day, it'll prevent gray hair. I'm going to be the guinea pig for that experiment, as soon as I get some molasses. Kim told me that it tastes pretty rough and you really have to want the benefits to get it down. I don't know how it can be that bad, they created a cookie with it. If it's good enough for a cookie, it's good enough for me.

That's if for a short rundown, I need to stop procrastinating and go to the gym.

Lame.

Six things about today, cause I know you're all very curious.

1. My friend Meggan brought me a homemade pecan tassie she brought in to work to celebrate her birthday today. I enjoyed her treat for her birthday very much! Happy Birthday Meggan - you can bake for me any day, not just on your birthday!
2. I honestly thought Meggan was celebrating her 29th birthday. She wasn't. She turned 35. Which I should have known, because we went to Vegas five years ago to celebrate her 30th and Sally's 40th birthdays respectively (but not respectably, we saw a somewhat nudie show with semi-clad females swimming around in a giant clear teacup and it was a little erotic, or something). I'm worried about my brain and how I could have forgotten that. I blame the crack.
3. My breath tasted very bad, that no amount of toothbrushing could cure. It was a lasting effect from the very ornery onions I had last night on my gyro. I gave my coworkers fair warning, however they probably still suffered. I didn't have many guests in my cube. Maybe that could be a new deterrent system.
4. I spent the evening at Kym's house, we had our first group writing session. Fully clothed, not that I want to burst anyones naughty scenarios they may have concocted. Kym served the most delicious dinner of soup with bread & butter and Little Debbie's Valentine's Day Snack Cakes for dessert. I talked too much again. And got home too late again. And was ten minutes late again. Well, at least I'm consistent.
5. Lost started tonight. I have been looking forward to it very much, but missed it since I was at my writing session. I hope it Tivo'd, but am too tired to check it out. I'm going to hope for the best tomorrow.
6. I was a bit sneezy today, which I hope isn't a sign of colds to come.

The end.

Idiocracy.

Never ceases to amaze me, the depths that humans can go to fuck things up.

My all-girl gym is a really nice place. It's not high-falutting fancy, but the owner takes pride in the facility and adds a lot of really nice conveniences. She always decorates for the holidays, from the entrance-way down to the bathrooms. She provides clean towels, well-appointed showers, tampons and air freshners in the bathrooms, and lockers with corresponding locks and keys all free of charge.

Somewhere along the line, enough people have stolen the locks and keys, lost the keys to the locks or locked the keys in the lockers, both of the latter two instances resulting in the gym incurring a fee to get the locks cut off. Four of these instances have irreparably broken lockers, which are now rendered useless. Four instances of locks being cut off. I would ask if people can really be that fucking stupid, but apparently they are. Don't they realize they are ruining the place they PAY to attend?? Now, locks aren't provided for free. You have to leave your car keys at the desk and pay fifty cents to get a lock. Or buy and bring your own. Nice going, People. Idiocracy: Mission Accomplished.

Oh, on a last note, they gave me a lock to use for free tonight, they know I'm not part of the problem as I haven't been there in quite some time. Hmm. It's comforting to know that my time spent molded to my largeass-making recliner has had some benefit - no errant blame has been cast.

You Might Want to Clean That Thing Up

It's a sad day when one needs to fear peanut butter. Peanut butter has long been a friend of mine, and now warnings are posted across the Internet to Steer Clear. Peanut butter should never be a foe, somethings just wrong with the world when that happens.

The day started off at the crack of nine, with high hopes of doing Great Things with all that day unfurled at my feet. Here we sit, four hours later, with the only accomplishment of note being that I made some rather salty biscuits and gravy from scratch, ate it anyway, have full bellies and an unquenchable thirst as a result, and am being teased by the allure of an early afternoon nap. Kenny's succumbed to the siren's call already and is lightly snoring while he awaits the three o'clock kickoff which signals the start of his Sunday. Well, on a super-cold weekend such as this, what else is there, really, that needs to be accomplished. I may make a start being productive. Maybe.

I'm not sure if my Reader knows this or not, but one of the highlights of my last cruise was meeting my dining companion during the first week of our vacation. The Donna Birdsell was at our table, and to put it mildly I was exuberantly obnoxious about it. She's a historical romance novelist, and I dubbed her "Just Joan" since she was my very own flesh-and-blood Joan Wilder.
Anyway. To appease my fixation on her life and her career, Just Joan sent me two autographed novels, which I was beyond excited to receive. However, they were received right about the time I had gotten immersed in the Twilight series, and took a backseat for a while. Yesterday I decided that one of Just Joan's books will be the first book I read for the New Year. I started with Falcon's Mistress last night. I didn't get to any heaving bosoms or burning loins or throbbing manhoods yet, but it's still early on. I hope there's a little Adult Judy Blume in them.

On to other things. Wednesday night I fought the blizzard and forged my way to my friend Kym's new pad for a Girls Night In. She has a darling place in Lakewood, cute-ed up beyond belief and I could have moved right on in. Kym might have been afraid it was coming to that, as I stayed until 10:45, going on and on and on about ridiculous things in my life. Kym's a psychic, and I find myself always looking to her for advice on my life. Not really fair, but that's the way it is, I guess, when you know someone who might have insights to fixing the mess you're in, or preventing you from getting into a mess. People want to know things. She and I are working on motivating ourselves to move our lives forward, and are going to have some writing sessions at her place. I'm looking forward to it, Kym always seems to figure out a way to make her life happen the way she wants it to, so maybe some of that will rub off on me.

With the exceptionally cold weather we've had, Kenny has been preoccupied with worry about Street Widda. Again, he brought up the "we need to try and catch her" idea. Nope, still no. We don't need to catch that Wild Cat and acclimate her to indoor living. I did see her in our driveway one evening and she took off like a cat outta hell. The neighbor has her garage door opened a foot or so, I'm assuming to house outdoor critters that need retreat. I hope if she's thoughtful enough to go to that trouble that there's also some blankies for curling up in out there, and some food, too. That outdoor livin' is all fun & games when you're chasing birds, catching mice and getting into trash cans, but not so much fun when the snow is blowing up their cat asses.

So there we have another weekend of no gym activity. It's too effing cold. I think about it, and if they were open later than 1 effing p.m., I'd probably make it over there. But I can't even think about being productive before two or three. I guess that'll come back to roost when I'm laying my fatass all over Cabo in March, wishing I had bothered on that snowy cold January weekend to get the fuck up and go to the gym. Ah well. Why do today, what you can put off til another day.

I'm off to bake a cake. We're having an Inauguration Party at work on Tuesday, have a t.v. lined up to watch history being made and eat snacks. Ladies, get ready to shave your snatches, Tuesday is the last day for Bush.

January: We Get It Already. You Win.

Mid-January. What more is there to say. It's cold, everyone knows that, there's nothing new to even say about it. My house is toasty, though, despite the wind trying to push it's way in, lifting the plastic barrier off the window frames where ever it detects a weak spot in the tape. I've had to battle back, using layers of clear packing tape against some of the more forgiving edges, which seems to be taking pity on the Cold and letting it Come in, come on inside. No way, Pal. You're staying out. My most forgiving window is the one near my bed. Now the bedroom is a small room, with a king-sized bed, so when I say "near my bed", I mean a body width away from my bed. No wonder I'm always battling a cold of some sort.

The draft isn't the only force I battle with that window. It's just compounded upon in the winter, when the wind bows the plastic barrier out as far as it can stretch. That exasperates the problem I have with Grouchy Neighbor Stanley's ballpark lighting he has attached to his garage, which stays on all night long, every night, and shines directly into my bedroom window. It's my Kenny Rogers Roasters cross-eyed bear (get it??) that I've been contending with for three years now (or more, whatever, I've lost track as to how long I've lived here). Yes, I've been just dealing with the light, first battling it with room-darkening shades, which can't keep all the penetration at bay (that sounds so dirty!). They do an okay job for the most part, but in the winter, with the plastic up, the wind pushes the plastic out, which pushes the shades out from the frame, and leaves a good four-inch gap for the light to Shine On In right over my face all night long. In sheer frustration one night I used the plastic packing tape to tape the curtain (well, it's more like a roman shade or something) to the wall to keep the light sealed out. It worked for a while, but then the Wind won again. My next step will be inspired by Elvis, and I will put aluminum foil up on the window. Gad, how Hillbilly funny would that be!

I've thought of shooting out the light. Or throwing rocks at it. But haven't done any of that, Kenny seems to think it deters vandals from creeping 'round our stuff, which is probably true. So I suffer and paint scenarios late at night as to the most fitting demise of that light. Oh, in the summer it's just as bad, too. As I can shut most of the light out of the room, if the windows are open I get to enjoy the incessantly loud buzzzzzzzzzz the light makes All Night Long. Buzzzzzzzz....yeah, try to sleep through that. Yeah, another tale of the woes I endure in the name of Cheap Housing. When I do move from here, it will only have to have a few pedestrian conveniences to feel palatial since my expectations are so low.

Buzzing off to go and Accomplish Things....something of more interest later, I hope!

Another Seinfeld Moment

To quote J. Peterman, "Here's to a job, done."

I Heart You Again

Dear Jack,

We're off on good footing once again! It's been a blissful four hours we've spent together this week. You've titillated and excited me beyond reason. I think our break was good for our relationship. I appreciate and love you more than ever. I'm tentatively hopeful that you won't let me down again. I hope I do the same for you (legs are still smooth for you).

I heart you.

An Open Love Letter

I've missed you. It's been far, far too long since we were last together. And our parting wasn't on the best of terms; you let me down, disappointed and confused and bitter about the years we'd spent happily together. Was I wrong about all those good years and the man I thought you to be? Or was our last year together just a tangled confusion of "where are we going in this relationship?"

We needed some time apart to really realize what we mean to each other. We took a nice healthy break from each other, and while I've been lonely and have missed you greatly, my hope is that our time apart has given us both a chance to reassess ourselves and bring the best to our renewed relationship. I'm looking forward to seeing you again, on a more regular basis. Our last tease of a meeting together left me yearning for more. I've shaved my legs for you.

Soups On

Sometimes my grouchy 88-year-old neighbor Stanley snowblows our sidewalk. Today was one of those days, Bless His Heart and his 88-year-old stamina. As I stayed holed up all day cooking and whatnot, I thought it might be a nice idea to take him a big bowl of steamy homemade chicken soup and a couple of Sophie's Recipe homemade potato pancakes (which I made for the first time ever today and they were fantastic!).

He seemed surprised to see me when he came to the door (I've never taken him anything before) but he heartily accepted it and said, "Thanks, Michelle."

You're welcome.

Oh, no, I couldn't...but thanks for asking.

From Christopher Hitchens:
“The four most over-rated things in life are champagne, lobster, anal sex and picnics."

Huh. Doesn't sound too far off base to me.

Downsized

A few months ago Work started offering a salad bar feature with the promise to toss your salad for you. Well, what girl wouldn't enjoy someone tossing her salad for her right there in the middle of the workday?

The salads are a large portion, and can include a plethora of goodies including fresh mozzarella, feta cheeses, cranberries, walnuts, etc. - a far better deal than our large cafeteria that charges by the weight, these were offered for $4.49, regardless of how much was stuffed in the 2" deep bowl.

They are delicious and have been my lunch selection of choice for the past month. And then over Christmas I noticed the bowl seemed decidedly smaller. I thought maybe I was imagining things, so I took it to task and measured. The original bowl for $4.49:


The new salad bowls. They have been downsized, by more than an inch! The price remained $4.49.


I found out on Friday that they have been given their pink slip. As of next week, I won't be able to get my salad tossed at lunch, at any size or price. I shoulda known it was too good to last. Goodbye, Delicious Salad. My afternoons won't be the same without you.

Helping The Rebuild Efforts

Rob gave me a hopefully lucky $10 to spend gambling. I took it to Vegas last month, but didn't spend it as our luck was SO BAD (audience shouts: "How bad was it??" It was SO BAD, it made Lupe stealing our dry rub our best luck of the trip!"), I held off on spending it.

The Murdoch Ten went to New Orleans. Luck was bad, per the usual standards of 2008. I held off spending it until 2009, but I still didn't see a really good machine to play. I ended up putting it in my favorite slot machine, even though it hadn't been particularly lucky. I hoped that streak was about to change with the coupling of the Fonz and the Murdoch.

For Chrissake, doesn't that JUST SCREAM FUN??!! Fonz is there at the top, hitting the juke box and grunting out "Aayyy" at random, increasing the "spin multipliers" all the while One, Two, Three O'Clock, Four O'Clock Rock belts from the speakers. Then the game plays, where the Cunninghams GO WILD!!

The game played up and down, eventually ending on down with the Murdoch Ten. It also ended on down with the Baldwin Five-Hundred (yes, that's a conservative estimate of what I pumped into that crazy machine over the course of the trip). It was too much fun to resist. I heart Fonzie, even though he betrayed my dedication.

In Celebration of Made Up Words

I present you with the Widdaphant:

Kenny dubbed the little black elephant that I purchased in St. Maartin "Widdaphant" as it's little and black like the Widda. Like the Widda, it photographs poorly. So far it hasn't scratched me or thrown up on my pillow. So far.

Take 2

Kenny re-took the pictures, we don't want to miss out on our tradition. The cats probably have a different opinion....

Stanley asks "Why?"

Girlie is disgruntled and probably disenfranchised somehow, since that seems to be the word people spout nowadays.

Caesar is resigned. During the holidays I answered the phone "Caesar's Greetings" instead of Seasons Greetings, in his honor. Well, I did when I could remember my own joke that is. Most of the time I forgot to say it until it was too late.

Twinkle just flat-out cannot be bothered.

Widda scratched the piss out of me when we tried to put the crown on her head. She's going to have to miss out on the fun. She'll probably go puke on my pillow now. Wait, already did that.

Wha...??

Can't find the pictures I just took of the cats in their New Year's hats. WTF (where the fuck, variation on the commonly known what the fuck) did the pictures go?? They're not on the disc. I'm perplexed.

Kenny: "Do you want to just take 'em again?"
Tracye: "No, it's too difficult. Fuck 'em."
Kenny: "Fuck em..eh...er...what are we fucking?"

Pin, Your Table Is Ready

Happy New Year, 2009!

Kenny and I celebrated the turn of a new year in The Big Easy. It was a trip filled with lots of great food, cold drinks, interesting sites and smooth jazz - everything you'd expect from New Orleans, in fact. Below are some random pictures, much better than a lengthy blog about it all.

We stayed at Harrah's hotel, which is across the street from the casino and close by the Riverwalk, a nice path along the river that'll take you right down to the heart of the party zone. Dotted along the Riverwalk are places to stop and buy cold beers or mixed drinks. They make it very convenient to drink in this city.



Twinkle was of course all packed up and ready to go with us. I love his little cat face!!

The notable part of this picture is the suitcase itself. Since the airlines have imposed those checked bag fees, I've made it my mission to not pay them. I purchased this carry-on for our last trip, and managed to pack four days worth of clothes and beauty necessities into it, despite the limitations with toothpaste and hairspray. We made due. I've even succumbed to using hotel hair products, which are really not so bad anyway - especially for just a few days. So I - who normally takes two huge suitcases for all trips - have learned to pack light! I even had stuff in here that I didn't wear. Kenny wants me to challenge myself to use just this bag for a cruise. Now that probably can't happen, as they don't provide any bathroom products outside of soap.

On Friday we took a guided city tour that made a stop at one of the cemeteries. It started to drizzle and while everyone was poking around in a grave where some bones and teeth had risen to the top, I blurted out, "Look! A rainbow!!" The tour guide was happy that I was paying attention to him.

The tour guide was very accommodating despite my incessant questions about the filming of Benjamin Button. He made it a point to drive us by the house that was used in the movie to appease my curiosity. Or end my questions...

We also toured the Lower 9th Ward, the area most affected by Katrina, and saw firsthand the lack of progress being made towards the rebuild. We did see the five houses that Brad Pitt has had built. He had planned on building a couple hundred, but there's a whole bunch of politics going on and he's only been able to complete the five so far. It's a shame. We toured Musician Row, which is an area that Harry Connick Jr. is rebuilding. Seeing the devastation, and hearing a first-hand account from someone who lives there (our tour guide) makes it clear how our country can be in the in the financial disaster it's in - FEMA has paid out billions, and there's not much to show for it.

Harrah's hotel is only a couple of years old, and was quite fancy. We've stayed in really nice rooms before, but this one had a few features that I found to be blog-worthy. Most importantly, the bedding was encased in fresh sheets, top and bottom. No common bedding was touching my person - that skeeves me out after working in the hotel industry. I can't even sit around in the chairs in hotel rooms, I have to touch fresh changed bedding only. Our room had double beds, and you know you've been in a relationship for a while when you're excited to see that! We were both happy to be able to sprawl out. Kenny likes to fuck in my bed, and then move on over to his own bed after he's messed mine up. I seem to not make out in that deal as much.

The hotel has replaced old-fashioned "Do Not Disturb" signs with these fancy electronic devices. You set it from inside your room, and a keypad on the outside lights up accordingly. There is even a doorbell on the outside keypad, which I rang enough that the people in the room next door came out to see what the hell was going on. I was quite fascinated, and apparently the bells are a little louder than I realized.

The floor tiles even had nice attention to detail, with inlaid glass joining the tiles. Very pretty and uncommon in a hotel room floor.

The hotel was across the street from the casino, not directly connected. They had built an underground tunnel connecting the two, which Kenny was dying to explore. He was quite fascinated; I, less so. He went over to get us Starbucks one morn and took the tunnel, and came back to our room disheartened. I asked what it was like and he dejectedly replied, "Just a walkway." I asked, "Well, what were you expecting?" "I don't know, maybe some caves and neat stuff." You'd think that perhaps the builders who put such thought into the hotel rooms could have stuck some caves and mystery down there in the tunnel.

The hotel had a display outside, Miracle on Something Something (I wasn't paying close attention, apparently). It was set up to "snow" every hour on the hour, and I wanted to see it. Kenny was a little surprised to hear this request, as we'd just left a real snowstorm at home and I wasn't eager to stand out in the middle of that. Why would fake snow be of interest? I rethought that idea and we left. He did manage to see it himself on his way back from spelunking in the tunnel.

It wouldn't be a trip to New Orleans without a drunken crawl on Bourbon Street. We walked there from The Riverwalk, where we partook in the offering of the beer and mixed-drink stands. By the time we made it to Bourbon Street Kenny had consumed four beers and I had heartburn from a lemmixy Hurricane. I think I'm 20 years too old for New Orleans. Anyway, we made the stops along the way, buying 3-for-1 beers and seeing the sights.

By 2:00ish, Kenny was well on his way to being a hotmess, and I insisted we go find food. He was grudgingly accommodating. We put our names in with the host, who mistakenly heard our name as "Pin" rather than Ken. So we were "Pin, Party of Two" that day. That might be my new fake name. Pin. Huh. So Pin sat down and we ordered fried alligator, which was delish, Pin got a blue-cheese burger (he was a little tired of spicey by now), and I had a shrimp po boy. One beer and a coke later, and our bill was $64 for that little bit of grub. Prices were a little steep most places, but we did eat at a really cheap and fabulous place the first day, Cafe Mesparo or something like that. Our bill there was only $27 and included beers, appetizers and huge platters of food. It also came with a lengthy wait to get in there.

With a belly full of food, Pin came down off of his buzz and was ready to walk back to our hotel. So much for our crazy wild life on Bourbon Street!

New Year's Eve was a mash of people crowding and pushing and shoving. We're not really sure why this rates as a Place To Be, but it does and we were there.

We came home Saturday. Sunday morning I awoke to find Widda had hocked up a giant hairball right next to my face on the pillow. Welcome, 2009.

Pass The Hat. Please.

The man couldn't have been any happier than he was the night some drunk passed this foam taco hat to another drunk, who in turn passed it to the inevitable drunk owner featured above. Hands off, Ladies - this one's mine.

Who doesn't love a man who's confident enough in his masculinity to wear a giant foam taco on his head? Or is this yet another case of too much alcohol getting mistaken for confidence? I might normally agree with that, yet he wore it while waiting for our ride to pick us up outside of the airport today, and he had nary a drop to drink.

Tim, arriving at the airport to pick us up: "Let me know when you see 'em."
Lisa: "Oh, I think I see 'em."

Confidence, Man. Unbridled and Real.