New Orleans Keeps on Keeping On


Remember when I said I was afraid to come to New Orleans since every time I did so, the estimate for the completion date of the renovation of my house here slips back a little farther?  Well, if you paid a little attention, you’d remember.  Anyway, sure enough I got here last night and less than 24 hours later, Sister Mary Legs in the Air broke the news that the newest deadline is May 24. When I was here in January, it was “the end of April.”  Adding an element of specificity does not fool me; this house will never know my loving touch.

Again, it’s my own fault for slipping into town, but honestly I had to.  Our dearest old chum, Magda, is ensconced in the hospital right now with his blood chemistry all whacked out.  I was trying to be helpful at a delicious lunch today with Magda’s boyfriend after we had spent the morning with the old thing and saying how important phosphorus was to the body’s function, which might or might not be true, but what I was trying to say was “potassium” not “phosphorous.”  Yeah, that’s what you need girl, get your phosphorous up and we’ll light you like a torch.  No wonder no one takes me seriously.

Truly, though, it’s troubling to see someone sick who’s closer to my heart than the riff raft I’m related to by blood even if we did share an amusing afternoon swapping stories about phlebotomists and catheters.  If ever there was a convincing argument for euthanasia, it’s two old queens who have a connoisseur’s insight into emergency rooms.


So is this the kind of shenanigans that are holding up the renovation of my house?  

If so, they’re going on without me and I RESENT IT.

17 responses »

  1. True story: Some years ago, I had to have blood drawn at the hospital’s outpatient department. The phlebotomist was a young blond woman. She kept telling me to turn my head away while she stuck the needle in me. She also kept noticing I did not do so.

    It soon became clear phlebotomy school taught her all men either scream or faint at the sight of blood (in which case, how do they explain warfare, male butchers, etc.?). Obviously frustrated and with tears swelling in her eyes, she finally asked why I insisted on looking.

    “Because that’s MY arm you’re about to stick with a needle,” I said. “Besides, I want to see if the blood comes out its normal shade of green. By the way, live long and prosper,” which was complete with cocked eyebrow and formal Vulcan hand salute.

    The phlebotomist got up and took off out of the room at warp factor four. A few minutes later, another phlebotomist came out, introduced herself, and proceeded to draw blood while making muffled giggles all the while. She explained the first woman had locked herself in the restroom, and that I was sure to be the talk of the hospital before I even left the building!


  2. End of April plus three weeks – that’s not bad ! There’s a real chance that the building will exist in the reals then, the dream house you are phantasising about all the time …


  3. This all vaguely reminds me of Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House and or the Money Pit. Those movies ended well, but they we’re movies and this is the South. Keep on top of everything and get used to hearing, “In about two weeks” for the next two months.


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