HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Generally it’s not nice to take compromising pictures of strangers and post them on the internet, but after last night, I feel justified in doing just that.

Lundi Gras night. William and I are sitting out on the balcony of Château Bimbeaux listening to music and drinking bad beers and shouting, “Appetizers!” hurling beads down at people walking up to St. Charles for the parades, making occasional people flash us for throws.

We were having such a jolly time doing this that we missed the Proteus parade, but certainly made it to Orpheus because Glenn Close was Queen and I have a Marquise de Merteuil fetish.

William managed to catch beads thrown by Mzzz. Close, and simply refuses to give them to me. I may have to conk him on the head one day and abscond with this prize.

During the fever of parades, you make short term friends with people around you. Last night it was this spotty drag queen, his friend, and his girlfriend. Orpheus was too crowded, and stalling too long, so I suggested we all pop back to Château Bimbeaux for cocktails on the balcony, since that seemed so much more agreeable a passtime than the thronged parade.

What ensued on the balcony was quite pornographic, very silly, and a whole helluva lotta fun. Lots of licks and kisses and titty grabs and pants and skirts wrenched off bodies. It’s Mardi Gras. The season is conducive to such debauches.

Around midnight we disbanded. I had absolutely promised to go see Patti and Katzen in the French Quarter, but opted out because I refuse to set foot in the Quarter until Mardi Gras is over.

Plus, I was wasted beyond recognition.

Plus, it is vitually impossible, short of hoofing it, to get from the Garden District to the Quarter on Mardi Gras. You cannot drive, there are no cabs to be had, and the streetcar is down.

Then it was reported to me that the Stinky Drag Queen had trundled off with a bottle of gin from the freezer. “How rude!” I thought, the evening only somewhat slightly dampened for this party-faux-pas.

This morning I was woken up at 7:30 by some neighbours playing mambo music out of their window. I was going to be angry, but then after one song, it stopped. Thinking about this, it’s rather courteous, the Mambo Alarm Clock thing, on Mardi Gras morning, 45 minutes before the morning parades start. Wakes up everyone in the neighbourhood to decide whether or not they are going to go to St. Charles Ave., but then if one decides to give it a miss, one can go back to sleep. Clever little neighbours.

I opened up my computer to do some email and things, and found that the Stinky Drag Queen hadn't logged off his yahoo account. So I jotted down his email address and then went about my business.

Soonafter, Kallistí knocks on my bedroom door.

“The Stinky Drag Queen stold my wallet,” she said, understandably dour. “It was on the table next to all his beer cans.”

“Whaaaaat!?” I said, remembering Bat telling me she noticed the gin bottle poking out of his bag when he left last night.

“I feel stupid and stupid and used and stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Stinky Drag Queens who go to impromptu house parties on Lundi Gras and decide to nick shit are stupid.”

“Can I check my online banking to see if he’s cleaned me out?”

“Of course, honey.”

She hadn’t been, but canceled her cards anyway.

Kallistí: “Are you going to the parades?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I hate Mardi Gras now. I’m over it. I want it to be over.”

“Me too, honey, me too.”

And in just a few hours, it will be, at long last.

Now we must decide what to write to the Stinky Drag Queen to try to get a wallet back since I have his email address. (The gin is his.)

Foolish thief to steal shit, then leave himself logged in to his email on my computer, then to go home to Washington and Constance, where he told us he lived.

We don’t know which house is his, but we can certainly print out some compromising pictures of him on fliers and post them around that intersection saying, “Have you seen me? Or perhaps smelled me? I am a thief, and a very stinky one at that. I stole Kallistí’s wallet and a bottle of gin. Help me return the wallet to her!”

“DJ, SAVE my life!” TODAY: Patti “Sculpt-a-Do” Labelle: “Lady Marmalade” (3 MB) (This song goes best while throwing beads at strangers off your balcony.)