It'll happen when you're least expecting it...

Had a very interesting last couple'a days. So... monday night I'm out running errands buying Armand some healing cortizone spray for a spot he (mercifully no longer) licked raw. I'm bored and don't want to go home just yet, so I stop by the L&V for a bottle of beer or two and a plate of stuffed portobellos. I figure, hey, it's monday night, place'll be empty, and I can eat, drink, and be on my way. When I get there, all the seats at the bar (to my surprise) are taken, so I sit at a table and order the drink and appetizer. I'm watching the other patrons, but my attention keeps getting drawn to this one lady in particular. She's extraordinarily animated when she talks, and everybody who walks by knows her, and she gives them all hugs. She kinda reminds me of Lucille Ball... delightfully insane, all spunky and cute with short curly red hair. Anyway, she goes to the bathroom, and when she comes back, stops at me and asks if she knows me, and then starts naming off a string of names that aren't me.

"Nick? Jim? Billy? Where do I know you from?"

We get to chitchatting, her name is Mona and she's 49, strikingly milf-y, and after about ten or so minutes (she's a very touchy-feely hands-on talker), she goes and sits back down next to her friend at the bar. She keeps looking back and talking to me, so I grab my plate and beer and sit down next to her. She introduces me to her friend who looks to be more about my age. She's sturdily built and an absolutely total knock-out named Franzi who's originally from Germany, and has the most adorable accent which comes across somewhat French at times. Anyway, to make a long story short (and against my original plans) I end up staying there and drinking a decent amount of beer, and the three of us clicked like the best of friends. I even take both Mona and Franzi out for a few dances. It was great.

They're regulars, and the guy who I guess is the second-in-command there comes over to talk. He's somewhere in his 20's, tall and skinny with straight shoulder-length hair, and super friendly. He tells us it's his birthday, and he's getting totally shit-faced (and pretty much already there). Anyway, I had been admiring the local photography for sale there on the walls, and asked how I might get a few of my own up there. He says to come by January 10 and bring my stuff. If they like it, they'll hang it.

Hell yeah!

Anyway, these drunk jackasses keep blatantly hitting on Franzi, and she wants to get something to eat (i.e. get the hell out of there), so we all pile into her SUV and go to Tim Horton's down the street. (Old school readers... remember my photos of Tim's from St. Patrick's day? It's the same one.) When she starts her car, this kick-ass techno music starts playing. I say "Now I know you're German! You guys invented techno." She smiles. Another great song starts, and I ask what CD it is. "Oh, eet's a meex of my own."

Inside, as we happily munch away on sandwiches and/or doughnuts (and where there isn't a jukebox to have to shout over), we compare war stories of our failed love lives (mine mercifully war-free, can't say that about theirs), and really just have what is nearly a group therapy session. It was wonderful. Franzi drops us off by our cars in front of L&V, and I tell Mona I had a hell of a good time hanging out with them, and would love to do it again. We exchange numbers and a goodnight kiss. More of a friendly than a romantic kiss, but it felt really good.

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But it doesn't end there. So last night I meet Angela at L&V (aka "The Leaf" by regulars) for our weekly get-together. We're there for a good two hours, and after she leaves, I stay to finish my bottle and wait for the songs I picked on the jukebox to play. Wouldn't you know, but right after Angela leaves, I'm talking about a minute or so, who walks in but Franzi, who gives me a big smile and an enthusiastic hug, and sits at table. Right after, in walks Mona, who does the same. One of the staff there (who already know me and treat me like a regular), comes over and razzes me to them saying "This guy's a pimp! You're the second group of women he's been with!"

We sit and talk for probably over an hour and the tall skinny guy walks in. I still have my framed picture of Michelle and Daniels's little one in my car (which, note to self, I need to give to them). I bring it in and show him, and he says he definitely wants to see more of my work.

My ego inflates like a balloon.

I had to go, as I really hadn't been home in two days, since the night before I didn't come home from work and stayed out until 2am with Mona and Franzi. Tonight was shaping up to be the same, so I pardon myself from them, but not without inviting them to join me at the Hobart Arena friday night, as I'm going to go skating. Franzi says that she used to play hockey in Germany, but Mona says she's never gone skating. We tell her we'll teach her, but she seems hesitant. I'll have to call and bug her.

I can't believe I've made such good friends so quickly.

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So today I drop my skates off at Hobart to have the blades ground, and run to the bookstore for a magazine and coffee. I pick up the latest "Shutterbug", and in each issue they have a reader-submitted photo section on a particular theme. The next theme is "Remembering New Orleans", and the deadline for submission (limit 3) is sometime next month. I go home and grab the negatives from my trip there, as I have only crappy scans of the photos, so I can scan them using mom's scanner at her office.

I head over to the arena for public skating, and ask if my skates are done. They aren't, so I rent a pair of hockey skates, which mercifully are more comfortable than the figure skates. Skating's only from 1 to 3 today, and it's already half-past, so I get about an hour and a half's worth of skating in, which is still ample time for me to build up one hell of a sweat, as well as a nice comforable burn in my thighs, calves, and butt.

I go to mom's and scan six negs, but single out the three wich are my favorites. At first I cropped the photos, but then had a second thought. The photos I took there aren't so much of the pretty buildings and horses and carriages and French Quarter stuff, but the texture of the city. The grit. The substance. The basic elements that comprise the molecular structure of an entire city's awesome personality. As such, I wanted to get a nice raw feeling, so I left the entire slightly off-kilter film frame the final versions. These I've already printed out, and am going to mail off to Shutterbug:









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I doubt I'll make it, as I'm sure they're looking for pretty pre-Katrina pictures, but dammit, I'm gonna try, and we'll see in February. :-) Cross your fingers for me and don't let go till then, ok?