Incensed, Wine, and Candles

Saturday night me go to reception at Historic New Orleans Collection for New Orleans Gulf South Booksellers Association. Me tired of literary events. Me want to know when NOLAFugees send me to grand reopening of Club Ritz. But anything beat hanging out on stoop with Chris Rose. He depress me.

No red wine at Historic New Orleans Collection, god dammit. They not want stains on floor. Me not know how John Biguenet tolerate it. Me tempted to leave blue stain on carpet, but me respect historic preservation, as it always involve bored bitches with money.

Me see familiar faces from last week. Sarah Inman there whoring small press effort. Me also see Josh Clark once again, though this time he bring pretty bitch Karissa Kary. It all come back to me now. Flirtations. Lies. Accusations. Betrayals. While Clark sneak out to take piss, me make move. Try to revisit Pontalba magic.

Me talk Tennessee Williams Festival with Karissa and Executive Director Paul Willis. Me want to get on “Me Remember Tennessee” panel. Me have special story to share from mid-70s. It involve Tennessee, two Kennedy assassination conspiracy fags, and eight ball. Story never been told. Many questions answered. Change me life.

Clark return from men’s room so me munch on Christmas cookies and try to chat with Beaucoup Books owner Mary Price Dunbar. She refuse to speak to me or take picture. She not take me serious. Me try to be noble and not mention Beaucoup Books Last Uptown Independent To Open Post-Katrina. What, she wait for Emeril to return? Or maybe she not able to staff store with enough Sarah Lawrence bitches who could pass 12-page employment exam. Me not put hot link to store. Beaucoup Books dead to me.

Tom Lowenberg of Octavia Books much friendlier. When me finally get around to buying Piazza book, me get it at Octavia. Lowneberg mention me just miss Times-Picayune society photographer Steven Forster. Me speak of determination to track him down. Me not get in pages in over a year. Forster ducking me.

Sunday me take Marigny socialite bitch Kellye Deel’s invite to go caroling in Washington Park. Me pissed about lack of invite to parade party two weeks ago. (Forster there! God dammit!) But me realize she wait for deep sea diver husband Greg to go back underwater before having me over. It all come clear to me now.

Deel too busy with official duties as caroling queen to give me sufficient love, but she introduce me to bitch saxophonist Rebecca Barry. Me have to get to one of her candlelight gigs at Banks Street Bar and Grill. Me like candlelight. Me like when hot wax burn me blue fur. Me get excited like William DeFoe in Madonna sex movie, especially when surrounded by lesbian couples singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.” But kids here, too, so me have to behave. Me all about the children.