Mind how you go, flower

Doctor Who was marvelous yesterday, and it was a perfectly timed bit of marriage counseling before my wedding in three weeks.

Driving to the Marigny should not have been so convoluted, and we should not--repeat, should not--have driven through the French Quarter in order to get there, but we were giggly women and made it so. As the masses of drunk white people swarmed around the car upon approaching Bourbon, I giggled less and rolled up my window, sinking lower in the seat. We could not penetrate the sea of drunkards to cross the street out of there. But then, a black drag queen dressed like Tina Turner flashed in front of the car with a whistle in her mouth, arms outstretched to stop the pedestrian traffic on either side of her. She proceeded to dance, turned around, and slapped her be-thonged azz plumb onto the hood of the car, much to our delight. We hooted and hollered, gave her a dollar, and were granted the right to cross. Totally worth getting lost.

We went to Lost Love Lounge and ate hot Vietnamese food under red lighting. I had a noodle salad with battered and fried tofu on top, plus shrimp spring rolls, highlighted with the cool aromas of cilantro and anise.

We had iced coffees at Flora Cafe afterward. A large, old, cantankerous cat sat in one of the chairs, and I took a seat next to him to say hi. He sniffed my hand for a minute, promptly jumped down, and sat by the front door, looking out, wanting so little to do with me that he actually wanted to leave the building. The staff just laughed at him and said he sometimes swats at you for no reason, so at least I had some dignity intact. I saw a sign for a cat phrase I had never heard: "If you want the best seat in the house, move the cat." Whether through physical or psychological means, apparently.

We walked by Venusian Gardens, where I'm getting married, but the blinds were drawn, so we couldn't see the neon jellyfish.

Next was my first Mod Dance Party, tonight celebrating both its twelfth year and the departure of one of its deejays, Kristin. We got there early and were able to chat with our friend, the other deejay, Matty. We were also the first on the dance floor and let loose. The place quickly filled with kids dressed in mod-inspired garb, each holding either a PBR or High Life, knees bent and twisting. The next day was the first Saints game of the season, and we saw a lady wearing pretty much nothing but gold glitter and a feather headpiece. Once we found it so crowded that dance moves were vertical only, we left.

Wendy Destruction was having a birthday party at d.b.a. with Quintron and Miss Pussycat. We arrived just as they started playing my favorite song of theirs, "Waterfall." They are loads of fun. We hung out, and I drank a Skull Splitter.

We swung by Circle Bar to see if we could catch any of the bands we knew, but they were finished. We got hugs for showing up, anyway.

The breeze was nice at that point in the night, the first real shot of coolness for the impending autumn, my favorite time of year. My birthday is in one week, my wedding in six. It is a good time. Except that the Saints lost today 'cause they can't tackle worth a darn, but oh, well.

run your ladder up my tree
here, kitty, kitty; here, kitty, kitty, kitty!

Some days, I feel as puzzled as that little girl watching her tortoiseshell kitten dragging bloodied legs behind her as she emerged from the woods, only to recover and later become pregnant. Spooky (named for her Halloween colors and my love for the Beetlejuice cartoon) was unable to deliver the kittens because of that crushing pelvic injury. Despite our poverty, Momma brought her to the vet, and she got a C-section. She returned with a few kittens in tow, but she was so groggy and unwilling to nurse them. Still, I encouraged her, though I didn't really know what to do but had the greatest desire to understand.

shake the branches carefully
here, kitty, kitty; here, kitty, kitty, kitty!

Yesterday, after three years of practicing at a kitty-cat hospital, I officially purchased it. That little girl from twenty years ago finally has some grasp of animal medicine and welfare, particularly for cats, and has her very own little hospital for the Spookies and Little Ones and Ambrosias and Mephistopheleses. It's a whimsical yet respectable thing, believe it or not.

looking danger in the eye
here, kitty, kitty; here, kitty, kitty, kitty!

I attended the local vet association meeting last night and was the only general member to stay for the board meeting, since I was interested in eventually being on the board and wanted to observe and maybe participate a little. Turns out they needed another board member, so guess what? They elected me. I treat cats, but now I also run a small business and volunteer to protect my profession and to help it flourish.

rescue kittens hypnotized


Me and Spooky, somewhere between 1991 and 1993.

In less than two months, I'm even getting married. I never really thought that adorable, rogue seventeen-year-old would end up as my husband, but so it goes. Marriage is a result of love and loss and discipline and fantasy and dedication and growth. I'm a big girl and also getting a prenup. I could deal with the loss of a house or money or whatever, but my cat hospital? Just a precaution. However, I only foresee an excellent partnership.


John and me, circa 2003

Plus the Mayan apocalypse, hopefully Obama gets elected, or some combination of the two, the Olympics were pretty cool, and that is 2012: the pinnacle of my life. After the wedding, I'm cutting off all the hairs. Because this is a fresh beginning.


Last time I cut off all the hairs, I was a sad cat. Check that bejeweled tear and black hoodie. Now, it will be the opposite.

Where are my allergies? They arrive in late February and make me miserable for 6-8 weeks. I've only had one bad day, though. I sneezed roughly every five minutes, and of course, the in-laws were in town to hang out with us, and I'm just this mucous mess. Since that day, I've had mild sniffles, but that's it. Oh, maybe an asthma spell or two, but really: not much of an allergy season. Maybe it's because I'm keeping the windows up in my car and pretty much refusing to be outside.

As long as I don't become allergic to cats. GOD. I'd die.

You know when cartoons are fighting and their forms are simply a whirring ball with squiggles and wind? I had a cat like that today. It was fun to get repeatedly bitten while wearing hawk gloves. Also, a tiny kitten died of pneumonia. I held it in my palm and briefly attempted resuscitation with just my thumb pumping his chest, knowing it was hopeless and his death to be expected.

That kinda week.

I always feel a little sick after eating sardines. I rarely eat them, since I decided that I was tired of them many years ago and eating them made me feel sick. I do not learn. I just want those omega fatty acids so bad.

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A nice boy was helping me at the Lush counter. ("Nice boy." Am I that much of an old lady that I regard effeminate, black-haired, goth-lite, late teen boys with smooth skin helping me purchase cosmetics as "nice boys"? Yes.) As he was ringing me up, I was checking out some tester cosmetics at the check-out and decided to try some lip tint. I thought, oh, a lip gloss with a touch of color. So I globbed some red paste on my finger and rubbed it all over my mouth. Without batting a pretty eyelid, and without much pause in his suggestion of washing with a clarifying shampoo before using the henna dye in my hair, Nice Boy politely mentioned that they have a mirror over there. I turned to my sister, "Do I have lipstick on my face?" She was less graceful and more honest in her expression. I then turned to the mirror and felt like a drunk toddler beauty pageant reject.

• Drawers of chilled satsumas, lemons, and grapefruit in the fridge, perfect for juicing into spritzers by adding cheap seltzer. They were picked at my aunt's hay farm the day of my grandmother's burial. Satsumas create a brilliant orange drink.
• Demanding my fiance to make more lemon meringue pies from said lemons. They will rot if not!
• Having a fiance.
• Renewed interest in Meat Cake and Dame Darcy. I want to buy mermaid paintings or pay her to make art out of me.
• Dying my hair for the first time. But with henna, which has a subtle effect on dark hair. The marvelous thing, though, is that my grey hairs are now golden.
• The Saints progressing through the playoffs. Football is pretty fun and everything, but I mostly enjoy the camaraderie, especially with my family and notably with each New Orleanian.
• Driving home to New Orleans and seeing the little skyline. The tallest building is One Shell Square, where my parents met.
• Silly vampire movies that shall remain unnamed. They prove a great distraction from reality.
• It is king cake season.

I anticipate disappointment whenever I shop for shoes. I always pass a fancy shoe store on my daily commute, so today, I decided to stop in. I scanned the shelves of shoes and quickly noted that the size range ended at 10. Determined, I attempted to slip some on, but they were tight, and, uh, never fit.

I asked the young lady if they had any 11s. She said, "I think we do!" and proceeded to squat at the column of 10s and point to roughly eight pairs of shoes in my size. "There's usually a sign here, but I guess it got pushed to the back." She didn't bother to fix that problem. I did like a cute pair of leopard print shoes with a slight heel. (I pretty much only wear flats because heels are against the nature of anyone's spine, or according to a friend of mine of average height, "Ugh, you don't have to wear heels because you are so tall! You don't have to try to compensate in order to go out with a guy!" With disgust.) I did not like them for $100, however.

The older lady in the store commented, with a bless-your-heart air, "It's so hard, isn't it?" Yeah. Girly pink glitter shoes were always too small for the childhood feet that desired them, and as a teen, I had better luck with boy's shoes. Airwalks to go with my JNCOs.

The third lady in the store, however, helped me to regain my joy and love of life:

I went with John and my sister to visit a castle (yes) in Louisiana (yes again) to check it out for a wedding venue. Needless to say, I was impressed with it. While walking the grounds, I pointed out some Gulf Fritillary butterflies feeding on a bush of flowers. I explained that they are my favorite butterfly and usually start to come out around this time of year, in the early fall. I often "tamed" them as a child, coaxing them to light upon my fingertips.

My sister is preoccupied with signs lately, premonitions and omens and the like. On the drive home, I mentioned how I initially saw a pair of Gulf Fritillaries float across the road together just as I was driving up to them on the way to the castle. They were the first ones I'd seen this year. I surmised to her that, perhaps, this was a sign that the castle is where John and I should get married.

Right after I said that, a Gulf Fritillary ricocheted off my windshield with a splat.

I really don't think a higher power would waste time with such things.

I watched the final episode of Doctor Who with the tenth doctor, and boy, did I blubber. I haven't been this attached to a television show in many years.

Some co-workers and I went to a talk by Marty Becker, a veterinarian who is on TV sometimes. He is a genuinely nice guy and had some inspirational things to say about interacting with pet owners in the vet office. His focus was on being heartfelt and compassionate. I mean, he wrote Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul.

One tip he suggested in order to connect with pet owners is to ask them the origin of their pet's name. He asked us if we wanted to share any memorable ones. I shot my hand up like that smart kid in class. (Oh, wait, I was that kid.) Marty Becker acknowledged me with his warm, Christian countenance, and I yelled, "Dragon Slayer!"

The room was silent.

I went on, "He was a huge Maine Coon cat, silver with stripes..." Silence still.

Marty Becker immediately proceeded to share tales of cute and endearing pet names, such as "Nobody," so the owner could proclaim, "Nobody loves me!" and "FLEA," which stood for, "Fun, Loyal, Excellent Animal" or something.

None were nearly as metal as mine.