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So I was telling my friend that I’ve had an overabundance of married men coming onto me recently and it was really starting to make me sick. Of course, my friend didn’t take the news too well either since she’s married. I thought I had some sort of scarlet A emblazoned over my left chest that was providing some sort of cue for these men, but a friend who says she suffers from the same plight said it’s normal. Good grief.

Yesterday a friend and I were discussing her husband about whom I was saying he’s a great guy and she said, yeah he is, but he can be so mean. I said what is up with that? Why are men so mean? Makes me kind of sick.

Granted these are sweeping generalizations – not all married men come onto women. Not all men are mean. But I just seem to be in the midst of a disproportionate number who do both.

Yesterday between my neighbor R and I, we prepared way too much food for a small gathering to christen the new grill. So we both picked up the phone and within an hour we had seven people joining us for grilled green onion sausage, brown shrimp, maux choux, gazpacho made from Creole tomatoes, not to mention a watermelon basket filled with fruit and blueberries with zablagione. It was like family supper on Sunday only no one was getting pissy or feeling put upon because we are a family of a different sort – the sort that seeks each other’s company because we want to be with each other – not the obligatory family ritual that makes you feel somehow inadequate against the tide.

I rode again this morning with Beth – who pretty much kicked my ass. She does a 1.5 revolution to my 1 and basically leaves me panting. And she wants me to be captain of the MS team she is assembling for an October ride. Why me?

Because I love a challenge. And this is the first year in a bunch of years where I haven’t set a physical goal – I was supposed to do the half marathon but my foot issues got in the way. So instead I’ll do this century and a half and whew, I’m already tired thinking about it.

Sallie Ann Glassman was on the Magnolia Bridge yesterday with her entourage of white linen clad devotees chanting and dancing to a voodoo beat to ward off the hurricane gris gris.

We sat on the bayou down this a ways and I told my friends I won’t evacuate and again was admonished about needing to be prepared to defend myself against chaos.

My brother was visiting from Atlanta – he came in with his friend to look at investing in renovating houses. There were some areas that he said were hard to visualize because there were blocks and blocks of nothing. And in the areas that weren’t as bad as that, the prices were too high to make it worth their while.

Meanwhile, he loved my house. He said from top to bottom this house is you – it’s got you written all over it. Everyone says that – this house is me. It got me to thinking that Steve designed a house that is me. Which got me to thinking how when I was buying the house sight unseen I asked N to come look at it and he called me and said, “I get it.” And he said, “You’ll get it. But Steve won’t.”

Turns out Steve did get it – he got the house, he got me, he designed a house that was me. Seems like he did get it. And seems like N didn’t – doesn’t – won’t.

How come you know what you know after you need to know it – sometimes – kind of like those great comebacks that land on your tongue way after the situation calls for that pithy retort.

I’ve been on the hunt for a gas grill for the last two months but everything I read and have seen is so goddamn big and shiny and ridiculous. I like the convenience of a propane grill, the taste of a charcoal, and the size of a Coleman stove. But I looked high and low and couldn’t find anything like what I had in mind. Finally I drove out to Kenner yesterday late afternoon to Bassil’s Ace Hardware in Kenner and found the solution – a Weber charcoal grill with a propane starter. Perfect.

Last night I stayed in – I had a lot of work to do and was trying to get caught up since I had to leave my desk early Friday afternoon for a hair appointment. So I’ve felt the weight of work hovering and also just needed down time in general. But that’s almost impossible around here. G called, T called, B called, J and B and K were barbecuing on the bayou, and everyone was wondering why or why would I be staying in.

I made gazpacho with Creole tomatoes instead of tripping the light fantastic. And now today, my neighbors are going to come over along with a few others to enjoy it. I also picked up some green onion sausage from Terranova’s and some blueberries. This morning, I made zablagione for the berries.

I saw a neighbor doing the walk of shame across the bayou this morning – flanked on one side by a new beau, and the other side by an old beau, and knowing last night was yet a different beau.

In a matter of hours, the smallness of New Orleans was tranparently efficient – the subject: a man. Here’s a guy I’ve seen around town for two years but never met. Turns out a friend knows him – well his first name. Turns out another friend knows him better – knows name and number and has a scheme to fix me up. Turns out this is all getting set up when I happen to Google the guy. One domestic violence arrest appears. Hmmm. Then a friend stops by and I mention this man, and she immediately stages a resounding intervention – he’s bad news – and actually there were three domestic violence arrests. Abort mission. Next.

These herons that live around here really are the bomb.