The Marquis’Intimate Diary

WEDNESDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER, 2000, NEW ORLEANS, LA
All right. Somebody needs to give the Marquis an ass massage, like, right-quick. Like, two-times-quick. My car is far too diminutive to be drivin’ for three days straight.

But at least it’s here. New Orleans, I mean. And so am I.

After a smashing evening with Lilith in Athens Joe-Ja, Micha and I buzzed our merry way through Alabama and the little bitty bit of Mississippi to our destination in good ole’ Looze-yanna.

And while most people from other parts of the world might complain mightily of what’s going on here, I have to say I am entirely pleased with sitting on Debbie’s balcony in the sweltering southern evening, smoking cigarettes and thinking I’m overdressed for a night’s adventure.

But let’s back up. Today was Driving Day™. Through Alabama mostly. We wrote a poam about it, but that’s in the car and I can’t be arsed to go get it at the moment.

I also took “Welcome to…” state sign pictures for y’all, but I can’t be arsed to download them and present them at the moment. Soz.

Pulled into town at long last. Ass-akimbo, as it were. (Damn wee auto I own.) To alight at the door of the amenable Dr. K__ who personifies the cliché Southern Hospitality.

He’s off in Atlanta till tomorrow, but I know where he hides the key. So — well, maybe transcribing my email to him might be more à propos…
Dear Herr Doktor:

Hi. Guess who's a fuckup.

Wrong. Guess again. Yah, me.

I pulled into NOLA around 6 this eve. The housekeeper had left, but you hadn't moved the key.

So I tried it.

And I have *NOT* a clue what your alarm code is.

And the LCD said, “Disarm or go away,” and so I opted for choice B.

And so I ran away frightened and drove to Debbie’s quickly.

I don’t know what the reprecussions of having your alarm go off are, but I thought you should know.

If there’s a charge for the cops coming or something, I’ll pay it.

Glad to be home,

</le Marquis>

 Heh. Okay, so I feel like an utter tit.

But I’m too happy to be back in N’awlins to worry about it. Popping into the Quarter tonight to see old friends.

The thoughts of finding a home, flying to Philly, packing my house, and making that ghastly drive down south again with a screaming cat is something I’m not currently entertaining until I get one healthy hangover under my belt.

More later, chickens.