Queer · and · Loathing · in · America

Oh, lordy, how nice it feels to be seated at my desk. It's OH MY GOD thirty at night, and I just got home from a long day at work (I started working today at noon; you do the math). First of all, I went down to the CAN office in order to do CTR (Counseling and Testing); today was my training day on running the Lab. What that means is I sit in an office, and after the counseling sessions, the client comes in to me, I explain how to take the oral swab test, open the kit, give them the swabbie thing, and after they do it, I put it in the test solution. Twenty minutes later, we know their status. I enjoyed it tremendously; frankly, I have really enjoyed being an HIV counselor FAR more than I ever thought I would. I am good with the clients, and my anal retentive nature makes me pay lots of attention to being organized and so forth. After I was done there, I went with my awesome co-worked Ked to the Country Club, a wonderful clothing optional pool/hot tub place in the Bywater (they also have an awesome restaurant attached), where I ran into an old friend I hadn't seen in a while, who now works there as the manager. Afterwards, Marika and I went to dinner at Tomatillo's, after which I returned to the office preparatory to going out into the field to do research on the project I am working on. And twelve hours after my day began, it ended. (I am off tomorrow, praise be to Jesus.)

Tonight's research was at the Corner Pocket, which sits on the corner of St. Louis and Burgundy Street in the Quarter. The CP is primarily known for its dancers; median age 19--and some of them look barely past puberty; but that's probably because of my advanced age (everyone under thirty pretty much looks like a child to me anymore). They're all cute, because they're young, and even when they try to be seductive and sexy to coax a dollar from you--it just makes me smile; because they are so young, it's hard for me to take them seriously as objects of desire. As I have mentioned before, because of this job I spend a lot of time in gay bars; and tonight I realized as I stood there in the bar waiting to swoop down and ask impertinent questions of the next man to walk through the front door, that as I was watching the young boys dance; these thoughts running through my head: Oh, that's the straight boy just out of high school from the north shore--where's his best friend, the other straight boy; there's so-and-so, he stops dancing and starts bartending at two in the morning; this one is so-and-so, he's majoring in Pre-Law at UNO;, and so on. I laughed out loud in the bar as I realized I was spending so much time in bars that not only was I getting to know the staff in every one, I was getting to know them on a personal level. I remembered joking once, a long time ago when I lived in Tampa,when the staff in all the bars knows what you drink, knows your name, and what you do for a living--IT'S TIME TO MOVE TO ANOTHER CITY!

Whenever I discuss my job with other people, they inevitably say at some point, "You must be getting GREAT material for your fiction." And that is true; as I stand watching for the next person to walk through the door, or am asking someone impertinent questions, I do get lots of ideas for stories. I watch the patrons in the bar and try to figure out who they are and what their story is. But I have plenty of other stories to write--it's just a matter of finding the time and energy to write them.

I guess I shouldn't complain that I have too much inspiration, huh?

I have a rather long day ahead of me, and I am soooo not looking forward to it.

I need to go to the gym and the Melanoma Center this morning, and then I have to head down to the Quarter for work. After work, I am meeting Paul and Jonathon the intern at the Corner Pocket. I also have a rather long day ahead of me tomorrow, but Sunday I am free. Free! Hurray!

It looks a little overcast out there; not sure what kind of day I am going to be dealing with weather-wise, but I am feeling rather tired this morning; what else is new? It seems like I am tired all of the time these days. Christ, even I am getting tired of listening to me whine.

I've decided that, tired or no, I am going to try to get some stuff that's been hanging over my head finished today. Some icky little loose end-type things that will be quite a huge relief to get out from under; including some snarky letters I need to write. Contrary to popular belief, I don't really enjoy writing snarky letters; I just happen to be rather good at it--when I can make myself sit down and write the damned things. (Although it always amuses me when someone is snarky to me when they are in a 'customer service' situation; I always want to say to them, "Don't you realize you are being a complete ass to someone who not only makes his living by writing, but someone who worked in customer service for years?" Idiots.

I also managed to get the damned galleys done last night. HURRAY!

Okay, I am boring myself.

As I sit here, watching Date My Ex; a reality show I have absolutely no desire to know anything about or ever watch again--I am waiting for the midnight showing of this week's Project Runway, as I had to work this evening--I saw my earlier post and had this mental image of Lisa dressed in her superhero outfit as Night Nurse, and it made me smile. I wish we could make that a challenge for Runway Monday; design an outfit for Lisa to wear as Night Nurse; and then tried to imagine what our intrepid designers beckycochrane, timothyjlambert and markgharris could come up with, and that made me smile so large that it made my face ache. How about it, Heidi Gunn? Imagine the challenges we could come up with on our own!

I wish I could write about my experiences on my job, but alas, it is a confidential research study and I can't tell you anything about that. I can tell you that spending such an inordinate amount of time in gay bars makes you realize how tedious gay bar music can be. I hear that damned Bleeding Love song by Leona Lewis, which I used to love, every night when I go to work and I am heartily sick of it. I am sure by the time Southern Decadence rolls around, I will know the words to every song I will hear on the dance floor by heart--and will be totally sick of them. Sigh.

I did go to the gym today and worked out pretty hard; I was so pissed off at being sore and tired this morning I decided to just beat the hell out of my body--and weirdly enough, it actually worked. I worked all the sore out of my body. Who knew? One would have thought that I be even more sore than I was before; but we'll see how I feel tomorrow morning, won't we?

I find myself wondering why I had such horrible nightmares last night. They were so vivid and real; I actually woke myself up once because I was whimpering in fear so loud. Of course, now I have no recollection of anything I dreamt; all I remember is the feeling of fear. I am sure I dream every night; given my imagination, it would be weird if I didn't dream. But every morning when I wake up I have no memory of the dreams; unless of course I had nightmares. I haven't had nightmares in a long time, but it is quite unsettling. I certainly hope it doesn't happen again tonight.

Damn, this show is horrible, absolutely horrible. It's a spin off of Real Housewives of Orange County, apparently--a show that is a train wreck and doesn't have the decency to be at least a fun one. WHY it has inspired two spin-offs is beyond me.

FINALLY, it's over. And now, for Project Runway...

Okay, someone want to explain to me how it is possible that I did not go to the gym yesterday, but woke up sore and achy everywhere this morning? Grrrr. Even the forearms ache a bit this morning; which is even more annoying. (This sounds like a question for Night Nurse, my favorite member of the Legion of Super Heroes.) I also had some horrific nightmares last night; one so bad it woke me up. I haven't had nightmares in a long time, which is just weird (weird that I had one; not that it's been a long time). Go figger.

Okay, so I woke up this morning achy and sore, paid bills (an odious chore if ever there was one) and have to go to work later on today (an even more odious chore). I was planning on going to ye Olde Gymne and Melanoma Center this morning, but this tired and sore and achy thing has me rethinking the whole concept. I do have to run errands today, including the post office (must...mail...bills...) and go to the bank (blech). I am feeling singularly unmotivated this morning, which is even more irritating. My, what a whiner I am this morning! But at least I have my work schedule figured out for this week; and I know that I have a day off on Sunday to look forward to. Whee! Next week is going to be a fairly light work week as well, which is even nicer (I do so enjoy light work weeks). Then, the week after that we actually start the research project, and I will know my schedule for a month at a time, which is even nicer. Whee!

I haven't been writing, which bugs me to no end (but apparently not enough to actually make me write anything) and I seriously need to get with it on that regard. I tried working on the Kansas book, but for some reason I just look at what I've already written and feel nothing; no inspiration, no nothing. I have been doing research, though, but I suspect that all research and no writing will get me nowhere. Heavy heaving sigh. I hate that for me, seriously.

Okay, best to get started on the day, methinks.

Apparently, Unzipped Monthly is interested in interviewing Todd Gregory. I got an e-mail yesterday from the publicity department of Kensington, and apparently, they are all about Every Frat Boy Wants It. This, of course, is quite pleasing to me--let's face it, the glossy national gay porn magazines have a bigger circulation than their 'newsy' counterparts; and some of their readers might actually read the articles. (When I worked for that Unnamed Publisher, I always encouraged my authors--or tried to, anyway--to suck up to the porn mags, and insisted to the Marketing department that ads in those magazines were most likely more effective than in other, more 'mainstreamy' type gay mags; not, of course, that anyone ever listened to me. After all, what do I know?)

I'd intended to work on the Kansas book yesterday, but didn't. I know, I know, bad Greg, bad Greg. What can I say? I slept in, got up, went to the gym and Melanoma Center, ran some errands, came home, cleaned for a while, and started reading Graham Green--and then got sucked into a whirling vortex of incredibly bad television. When Paul got home from playing tennis, we then watched Anne of the Thousand Days, starring Richard Burton and Genevieve Bujold. After the movie was over, I found myself having to explain to Paul the whole 'six wives of Henry VIII' thing--and the lineage of the current Queen. As I was 'splainin' all this to Paul last night, I thought, hmmm, this would be an interesting and informative LJ entry; thank your lucky stars that I am not in the mood to go all Tudor on your asses today.

I also have to work today; no big deal, of course, but man! I wish I could stay home. In fact, I wish I was independently wealthy--in which case I would never leave the house again. My grooming has kind of slid lately; I need to reshave my head and I need to shave my face. I had planned on doing all of that this morning, but I find myself lethargic and overly lazy. Big shock there, correct?

I also paid the bills and balanced my checkbook yesterday; which was a HUGE mess. It's straightened out now, but lord. It is amazing how many times I deducted the same thing from my balance twice. Granted, that's better than forgetting to deduct things, but still, it took quite a while to straighten out that mess, and dealing with finances always puts me into a foul mood. I'm not sure why that is.

Okay, I need to get cleaned up and start my day.

Edit Oh! I have been meaning to share this for a while....A&U magazine is doing a story on Saints and Sinners; one of the photos they are using is of yours truly, posing with none other than timothyjlambert and (GASP) markgharris.

Are you ready for your close-up, Mr. Harris?

I took Tylenol PM last night and am still a little groggy this morning. My body feels, however, incredibly rested. And while it is probably not wise to post before I finish my first cup of coffee, you know me--damn the torpedoes and straight ahead!

Despite yesterday being our anniversary, I did manage to be somewhat productive. I did some on-line research for the Kansas book, and then curled up with a good novella, none other than D*U*C*K* by docbrite, and enjoyed it tremendously. I cannot even begin to tell you what a joy it was to go back to the Liquorverse and spend some time with old friends I hadn't read about in a while. I'd been saving this one for a long time--I know, it sounds a little nuts, but I was hoping to save it until I knew there was another Liquorverse book coming out, so I wouldn't have to go a long time without visiting Ricky and the G-Man; but I finally cracked yesterday and read it. We also watched Juno last night, and it was quite good. Not really what I was expecting, but it was really a quality film. Ellen Page was great--the entire cast actually was--and we both enjoyed it thoroughly.

Today is kind of up in the air; other than judging LJ Runway Monday requirements, I don't really have anything that I have to do today. I do want to go to the gym and the Melanoma Center, and as its Monday with the usual garbage on television, I do want to go to the post office and start my Tudor film festival. I also have a stack of mail on my desk that needs getting through; some letters I need to write myself, and the always fun, always a blast task of balancing my checkbook; I cannot even begin to tell you how thrilled and delighted I am to be doing that. And then there's those fabulous galleys I have to do--sigh. But I think what I am going to do on that score is just do a part every day until the whole thing is finished, and then I won't have to worry about it anymore. I have until Friday; and I can email the problems in.

AH, the coffee is starting to clear yon cobwebs; hurray!

I can sense the Greggernaut starting to emerge...

Thirteen years ago today, Paul and I laid eyes on each other for the first time. This is the day we celebrate as our anniversary (we also celebrate another anniversary on December 31st, as that is the day we started living together); although we had met through letters and phone calls before then, this was the day we actually first met in person—and spent almost the entire time laughing our asses off. It was very strange; we immediately connected with each other, as though we had known each other our entire lives. In those early days of our relationship, we used to marvel about how instant and immediate the connection was—how we immediately were drawn to each other and somehow knew that we were meant to be. We used to theorize that we’d known each other in previous lives (reincarnation is a strong part of my belief system); obviously we will never know for sure. And in those thirteen years we’ve been together, we’ve weathered some pretty awful storms together. Those storms, though, were never about our relationship—it was other, outside influences and effects on our lives. We somehow have managed to get through everything we’ve faced, either as individuals or as a couple, together.

It’s been a pretty amazing thirteen years, really.

When Paul came into my life, I was in a transitional phase of my life. I’d already lost all the weight and turned myself into a bar slut (a traveling one at that—I was well known in gay bars and at circuit parties all over the country thanks to my job at the Unnamed Airline), and had also pretty much come to the conclusion that since I had reached age thirty three and was still single, that I was destined for a solitary life. And I was fine with it. I watched the relationships people I knew were involved in—and I didn’t want any part of that nonsense. I saw straight women in their thirties so desperate for a man, any man, that they would settle for some unbelievable loser because it was better to have a loser than to be alone. I watched my gay friends date, fall in love, claim that ‘this was the one’ only to have everything blow up in their faces a few weeks later. No, none of that bullshit was for me. I just didn't have the energy for the drama; I was perfectly content to be alone, thank you very much, and having made that decision, I decided to start working on myself. As I already said, I’d already worked on my physical self (an ongoing thing), and was working on other aspects of myself. I was exploring my own spirituality, having come to the conclusion that the dogma of organized religion was a horror best cut out of my life as well. I started exploring what my life meant, what I was meant to be—because I was relatively certain that working the ticket counter for that Unnamed Airline was not where I was meant to spend my life and my energy. I had stopped reading for a while, and so I rediscovered the great joys of the printed word. I was reading primarily mysteries, and pretty much came to the conclusion that it was time for me to start seriously pursuing my writing again. I hadn’t written anything in quite a while (I think around two years at that point—and at that, it wasn’t like that previous period was this hugely productive time when I had produced all of this amazing work), but I started writing again. What I was producing was garbage (reading it now makes me cringe inside and out), but I was writing again, and doing it was the most important thing for me. I somehow knew if I kept plugging away at it, maybe I'd get somewhere. I somehow finally came to the realization that no one was going to knock down my door begging to publish me—and that if I wanted to be a writer, I needed to stop talking and thinking about it and actually do it.

It's pretty amazing what you find when you stop looking.

We spent our first weekend together in the pool suite at the Olivier House in the French Quarter—which is where we always stay during Saints and Sinners. This is why the Olivier House is so special to me; I can’t ever go there without remembering that first weekend of US that changed my life forever. I was already in love with New Orleans—and despite the insane heat and humidity, there is no more romantic place in the world to spend a weekend falling in love than the French Quarter. (I know, I’ve already written about all of this in my essay “I Haven’t Stopped Dancing Yet” in Love, Bourbon Street--and yes, Timothy, I still hate the title) This is also why I will always love the French Quarter.

A year after that magic weekend, Paul and I moved to New Orleans for good. We lived for four years in a Victorian house across Camp Street from Coliseum Square (readers will recognize that address as where Chanse MacLeod lives) before moving away for the dark thirteen months in Washington DC—where the only thing that maintained our sanity in a horrible city we hated working for a psychotic boss was each other. We moved back to New Orleans to the corner of Camp and St. Mary in July 2001—and I’ll never forget how I started crying when I saw the first mileage sign with New Orleans on it (right across the Mississippi state line from Alabama on Highway 59; NEW ORLEANS 260) I cried again when we crossed the Louisiana state line; and when I first saw the city skyline coming in from the east on I-10—I decided then and there I would never leave New Orleans ever again. We lived there for two years until the place went condo—and we moved to the property we currently reside at—two years in the carriage house, then three months in the main house until the evacuation.

For thirteen wonderful years, I have laughed and experienced the great joy of what life can be when you love and are loved with someone who you fit perfectly with.

In my wildest dreams when I was single, I never imagined how wonderful life can be. Sure, we’ve had fights over the years—I can actually count them on both hands with fingers left over—but they’ve always blown over before taking any kind of root, and they always end with tears and laughter.

I’ve been so blessed in this life. Sure, when bad things happen, be it a vicious physical attack, or a hateful homophobic attack on my career, or a hurricane coupled with a horrible levee failure and flood, it is easy to wonder about life and cry out to the heavens why? But every single thing I have wanted out of life since I was a child I’ve been lucky enough to get as a gift; and I always try to remember to be grateful. I probably wouldn’t have survived all of that had I not had this wonderful base to draw strength from.

I live in an amazing city.

I know the most amazing people.

I have the most amazing cat ever.

I get to share my stories with the world.

And underneath it all is Paul, and the wonderful home and life we’ve built together that I will always be grateful for.

So, on this wonderful anniversary, lucky 13, I share my hopes and dreams for all of you; may you all find your dreams, may you all always see the joy and laughter in life, and most of all I thank you, Constant Reader, for reading my stories and sharing in this wonderful gift of life with me. I truly do appreciate the great kindness you’ve shown me and my little stories. Thank you for coming into my little piece of the world and laughing and crying with me. You have no idea how much it’s meant to me.

Never stop believing in what is possible, in what you may find when you take a chance and put yourself out there.

This week, I also got a copy of the anthology Cruise Lines, which has my Todd Gregory story "Oh, What A Friend I Have in Jesus" in it. (And yes, that is a rather subversive title; in it, my main character has a run in with a Mexican stripper named Jesus when his cruise ship docks in Acapulco. The title frankly cracked me up, and besides, the Christians already hate me.)

Last night was a Tylenol PM night; this morning, despite the deep and restful sleep I got, I am a bit groggy still, which is fine. I am hoping to get to the gym and to tan this morning before I head over to work. (I have been lackadaisical on both fronts for quite some time now; it has something to do with the blast furnace that greets me each time I step out the front door.) After work today, I am going to the grocery store to finally replenish our bare cupboards. I am trying to get a handle on everything again, return my life to some semblance of normality since I've been off track for quite some time now. (I've been saying that for some time now, I realize, but I am determined to get to the gym and start working out; get my tan going again, and so forth. AUGH.)

I have another story to write that I promised an editor friend for an anthology she is doing; I am frankly not sure what to write. I know the theme, and will most likely go through my dead files looking for something that can be rewritten and revised that will be terrific for this project. And I am making some headway on all of the other projects I am doing, which is a terrific feeling. Am I writing? Not just yet; but the prep work is going well, and maybe, just MAYBE, I will be able to start writing again tomorrow.

Last night, we watched Thank You for Smoking, a rather delightful and snarky look at the tobacco industry, and we also have Juno on deck. Monday, theoretically, starts my Tudor film festival--beginning with The Other Boleyn Girl (LOVE Eric Bana) and Anne of the Thousand Days starring Richard Burton and Genevieve Bujold. After that, next up on the queue are BBC's fabulous mini-series The Six Wives of Henry VIII starring Keith Michell and Elizabeth R starring the incredible Glenda Jackson. (No release date for Season 2 of The Tudors, which is why I am doing this Tudor film festival, trying to ward off Tudor-withdrawal.)

I am also planning on doing some more stuff (organizational) in my office this weekend. It's a never ending struggle, frankly, and a rather tiresome one. Does anyone else have this problem?

I also have to make a grocery list today. Ugh. And at some point, I need to pay the fricking bills. Total ugh.

All right, I am boring even myself now.

I did something today that I don't usually do. And I don't mean the two telephone calls I made (yes, shocking. I never use the phone if I can possibly avoid it; but today I made a political phone call, and after I called Becks). No, I decided to clean the house today, and I mean clean.

Today, I washed the kitchen floor.

You probably don't realize, Constant Reader, as I constantly talk about cleaning, that I hate doing the floors. I hate to sweep--so I vacuum my kitchen floor. But I really don't like to wash the floor; I hate the whole mop and bucket nonsense. Every once in a great while, I'll vacuum and then run a Swiffer over it, but the Swiffer just doesn't do the cleaning job that I prefer. Bear in mind, all I have ever done to the floor in the kitchen is swiffer it every once in a great while--which means, sadly, that the kitchen floor has never really been washed since June 2005, when we FIRST moved in here. Today, I got a wild hair, said fuck it, and got out the bucket, the Pinesol, and a scrub brush. I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor, and then went over it with a damp mop.

It is embarrassing to admit, but I didn't know the floor was supposed to be THAT color.

And there is something to be said for a clean floor. It feels clean to my feet, and I like that feeling.

Get help, scottynola. It's not too late.

Of course, now that I know what it's supposed to look like, and how it feels to my bare feet when it's clean, I'll probably be doing this every other week now.

Sigh.

Right now, I am sauteeing bell and jalapeno peppers in butter in preparation for making dinner. Paul's off playing tennis with Cute Little Michael, so he can just heat it up when he gets home. While dinner prepares, and after I finish typing this (the bell peppers won't be soft enough for a little while; I saute over a very low heat, as it retains flavor better), I am going to finish organizing the tiny little book case to my right--where I keep what I refer to as 'reference books'--though how some of those books rated as 'reference' books is beyond me. I mean, I love me some Asian takeout, but how did Three Fortunes in One Cookie wind up in that book case? Bizarre.

And as an added bonus, behind the cut are some photos from around the outside of the Lost Apartment! ( outside the Lost Apartment )

I don't know what the deal is, but I am very tired and drug out this morning. Maybe it's dealing with the heat; I can't say for certain. But ever since the heat and humidity descended last week, every morning I wake up feeling like something that has rolled over and died twice. Somehow, today I have to find the energy to not only make some important phone calls and answer some important e-mails, but I also have to get out into the heat and go to the gym and the grocery store. AUGH. UGH. Horror of horrors! I also have to write for a while today, but right now I just am not feeling it in the least. But at least I got the piece for the anthology done and turned in (remains to be seen whether or not it will be used or not; remains to be seen if it is a piece of crap or no). I also got the galleys for Murder in the Rue Ursulines in the mail yesterday; so I will also be having to do that at some point today or tomorrow. (For those of you who don't know what galleys are; they are the unbound page proofs of the finished book; they always ask the author to go through and look for typos, missing words, etc. etc. etc. It's an incredibly tedious and exacting chore; although the delightful Bev Marshall told me once that the best way to do it is read the manuscript from back to front rather than the traditional way; and it was a great piece of advice. Since I started doing it that way, I catch a hell of a lot more mistakes--because then you aren't reading for content, the way your brain is trained to read--which leads you to read it the way your brain THINKS it should read, rather than what is actually on the page.) I did re-read the book last night while watching So You Think You Can Dance and Shear Genius--we caught the second airing of the Project Runway premiere at ten. I am pleased with it, but again, as I said the other day, I wish I would have had more time to make it a more detailed and complicated story. But I think people will be pleased with it, although I am not sure how it will compare with its predecessor. Who knew that getting rave reviews and winning an award would make one insecure and unsure of the next one? Almost makes me wish I didn't win the Lammy.

Ah, well.

My kitchen is a mess, as is the living room. There's laundry to do, errands to run, weights to lift, cardio to do, and a tanning bed calling my name.

Ah yes, the other day I received this in the mail:

Yes, it is the Italian anthology with my story "Disaster Relief" in it. Considering the fact the book was published three months ago and I only just now got my contributor copies, I was not terribly impressed with the professionalism of the Italian publisher, Mondadori. Considering the fact I was also supposed to get PAID for the story back in December, and only got paid finally last week after having to threaten legal action--well, I think it's safe to assume I will never allow them to publish and translate another story of mine. And lest you think I was being over-reactive with having to threaten them; I am not the only English language writer who had to do so--and I also believe I was the last one to get paid. In fact, my last e-mail to them advised them that if I was going to have to sue them, I was also going to file an injunction forcing them to stop selling the book until the matter was settled. THAT did the trick. (CC'ing the email to the Italian ambassador to the US might have helped as well.)

One of the things that I think keep people from writing short stories is the fact that when and if you do find someone to publish them, the pay is very slight--and then you have the incredible nightmare of having to play collection agent to GET the small amount of money out of them. I personally hate having to nag publishers to pay me. (which reminds me, I have to e-mail another one about payment today. Groan.) I hate having to nag anyone to pay me--which is why on those rare occasions that I actually loan someone money, I forget about it; I consider it a gift and if they do eventually pay me back, I consider it found money.

Heavy sigh. This post has put me into a bit of a mood now, which wasn't the purpose of it.

Well, I took some pictures around the outside of the house yesterday; maybe I'll play with them in Adobe and post some to clear up the mood.

Well, I don't have to work for a little while longer, so that's cool. I also have this evening free so I can indulge in a little thing called the Project Runway debut. YAY. I am a little more excited about it then I was yesterday; I blame the complete and utter physical exhaustion I've been feeling the last few days. I now feel much better (thank you, Tylenol PM! Whee!), and so I am going to finish editing the piece I was talking about so I can get it in today. Hurrah!

My kitchen is a disaster area; I am also going to work on getting the downstairs cleaned up today. I have a meeting as well later this afternoon, and then I am coming home, going to the gym, and then relaxing in the easy chair--I am hoping to convince Paul to order a pizza from Cafe Roma for dinner as well. That way, I won't have to make a grocery store run until tomorrow. (Of course, I could just not go to the store, which, as there is no food in the house, would be a rather passive-aggressive way of getting a pizza for dinner)

I think part of the exhaustion I felt for the last few days was a direct result of being out so much in the heat last week and weekend. The heat here just sucks the energy right out of you, not to mention all of the water in your system. The heat is also so damned brutal that the last thing in the world you want to do is eat--so I haven't been doing much of that either. I am sooooo off my diet and exercise program; I am going to attempt to get all of that rolling again. I hate being off-track. It drives me insane (I know, I know, short trip, right?).

I cannot believe July is half gone already. YIKES!

I would post more of the 105 pictures I took over the weekend, but for some reason they downloaded into my laptop flipped sideways. Even though I changed them to the correct angle in iPhoto, and then again in my viewer program; they still load into livejournal flipped over. I find this to be terribly annoying; as now I am going to have to load them into the desktop and do the permanent change that only Photoshop ever seems to create. Argh. I have some really nice ones, too--I only was able to post the more interesting ones that were on the correct angle. The sun was also incredibly bright that day, and some of my pictures that I thought would be really awesome are blurry from the sun reflecting on the lens. (I think thats what caused it; I was trying really hard to reduce glare with the angles and direction of the shot. I really suck at this, don't I?)

I am very tired. I am watching America's Best Dance Crew on MTV. I really like the dance competition shows, much as it shames me to admit. I am also looking forward to Project Runway premiering tomorrow night as well; although I am not as excited about it as I usually am. I wouldn't go so far as to say the show is starting to bore me, but it's not must watch for me anymore--you know, the I can't wait till Wednesday mentality. Now, it's more like eh. I don't know if that's just me, or if other aficionados feel the same way. I know that the last few seasons haven't generated near as much discussions on my f-list as it originally did, and I didn't find myself talking about it on my own as much--or with other people either. Paul has a board meeting tonight, so he won't be home until later, and I am just in a complete vegetative state. The last few days, I cannot believe how tired I have been. I think some Tylenol PM might be called for tonight.

Oh yes, Dining for Life is Thursday. On that day, certain restaurants in New Orleans are donating a portion of their proceeds to the NO/AIDS Task Force. If you are in the New Orleans area, I certainly encourage you to go out to lunch or dinner to one of the participating restaurants. I know that Louisiana Pizza Kitchen, Eat, Tomatillo's, and La Peniche are doing it for sure; for a more complete list go to the website at http://www.noaidstaskforce.org/ and check the list for something more convenient or that you like better. There have been more federal and state funding cuts (think tax cuts and the war), so every little bit helps.

Okay, I am posting this from the balcony of Casa Mysterioso Junior. I have discovered that if I bring the laptop out here, I can pick up someone's wireless signal. The problem is, of course, that the balcony isn't covered; so once the sun clears the building across the street, it will turn the balcony into a blast furnace. (Paul of course would love it; he'd sit out here and fry like bacon every day.) Me, not so much.

Around my job yesterday I read Blaze by Stephen King/Richard Bachman, which I enjoyed tremendously. It was very noirish; always a good thing for me. Next up: Christa Faust's Hoodtown.

I also wrote for a while around my job as well; although I am starting to think I could write the companion piece to Stephen King's On Writing--only mine would be Not Writing (but I would actually have to write it, which would make the entire thing a contradiction, right? Sigh.). I hate that for me. Anyway, after I finished the King/Bachman, before bed I read Robert Elsen's The World of Time Inc 1941-1961, which is one of my comfort reads whenever I stay at CM. I enjoy reading about a time when journalistic impartiality (although Time and Life weren't always impartial; but it's fun reading about the conflicts behind the scenes regarding impartiality vs. journalistic integrity--which you know has never happened behind the scenes at Faux News...) outweighed propaganda, as well as the struggle behind the scenes during World War II between reporting the truth about what was going on at the fronts of the war vs. patriotism and giving 'aid and comfort' to the enemy. Here's just a suggestion for all the right wing mouthpieces: read this book. (Not, of course, that Head Rush and St. Ann could be considered journalists by any stretch of the imagination; I consider them to be fantasy authors--and not particularly good ones, at that.)

I did not comment on the death of Jesse Helms--and now Tony Snow lost his battle with cancer. Hmmm. The haters are dropping like flies. Pity. At least Snow won't ever have to testify before a Congressional investigation; but with all his practice with lying...

I am determined to make it to the gym today. It's amazing how not going to the gym can create the psychological mentality that my body has gone all soft and flabby. Just stupid.

Okay, back to the writing.

Ah, Day One at Aunt Julie's was a success.

Well, it's really not Casa Mysterioso. The central air at CM is on the fritz (as it is every July when Lee and Julie go to Connecticut and I stay there), but this year the landlord has decided to overhaul the entire system and put in a completely new style of central air; which could take up to a week. There is a vacant apartment on the second floor, which is where I am staying with Rambla and Camy (Remy was given to a new home). I actually like this place better; all day yesterday and this morning I've been fantasizing about Paul and I living there. It has three full bathrooms, and three bedrooms. The one bedroom would be a perfect office for me (it's actually where I've gotten myself set up), and then we would still have a spare bedroom. I also really like the kitchen.

And there's a balcony on Frenchmen Street. Sigh.

Eh, I am sure it is completely out of our price range.

The only drawback to staying there is I do not have consistent wireless access. AUGH. Yes, so yesterday before and after work I was forced to (shudder) entertain myself without cruising the Internet--and I had never realized how much I depend on the Net for entertainment. YIKES. But in other exciting news, I started writing a piece for an anthology Lawrence asked me to contribute to (and it will be finished and read' to go either today or tomorrow); I went through a book of Tennessee Williams plays and picked out a brilliant quote to start Murder in the Garden District (aka Chanse V), and I even thought about how to start Chanse V. I also edited some short stories, and I am writing a piece on spec for a REALLY IMPORTANT MAGAZINE. The pay's not great, but it will look good on the CV if they take it. Wish me luck.

Marika and I went to dinner at Tomatillo's last night, and a good time was had by all--our waitress, Margaret, was really sweet and nice; she's a recent transplant to my hood (Lower Garden District) from New York--and much hilarity ensued when I ordered a side of rice, she thought I was ordering maize (pronounced ma-ice) and both Marika and I thought she said mice.

Okay, I am off to the gym. I am taking the camera with me to shoot pics of the Quarter, which will eventually be posted. I also took a great shot of Rambla this morning. Whee!