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I was walking the girls this morning and crossing the Magnolia Bridge when I saw S with his two dogs. He said he had read my blog and was wondering about it being so personal in nature. I told him about my full disclosure rule. If I am not writing about the truth then what’s the point.

Meanwhile, I’ve been avoiding the bayou because the dew makes it messy and the grass hasn’t been cut (remember it’s all mowed by volunteers) and Arlene’s nails stay short if they get filed by the concrete. But I wanted to chat with S so I stayed on the bayou. Around the bend, by General Beauregard’s statue, S noticed black dots all over his ankles and first thought it was bugs then realized the grass seeds were sticking to us.

Later, at my desk, Loca jump on me and wanted some pets and when I touched her fur there was a sticky coating all over it. Yuck. But it made me think of something S had asked earlier that had stuck with me – “when you write about not needing love, is that a defense mechanism?” He said a lot of women he knows undersell their desire because they are scared they wont get it. Is it just women who do this, I wondered.

Try as you might to figure out whether you are in the midst of self-deception – sometimes it’s hard to know yourself. But can someone else know you are deceiving yourself? Another conundrum to explore.

I think I mentioned that Flower and I bought identical necklaces at Thomas Mann. Well then we made our way to the Quarter and went into French Connection and bought the same top. We were laughing so hard in the dressing room that I came out and spied a customer looking for a dressing room and asked him to take our photo.

Later I talked Flower into wearing our identical new purchases out to Emeril’s. And we did – and we had a blast. We walked in and I swear it wasn’t one bleach blonded head that turned, but ten. David, the cute as hell bartender, who by the way is in Blue Marble, which is playing Friday at Howling Wolf, made us wonderful cosmopolitans and Flower turned to me and said “I’m having such a good time.”

A friend called me and said he can’t believe how hard it is to date – is it just me?, he asked. I told him I don’t have much to offer on this subject. I never dated in my life. I married. And now single, I’m not quite sure what protocol is exactly. I know people who date but I would not say they are “successful” in love, whereas I do know that I have had success in my relationships. So maybe dating is overrated.

He thinks we should head uptown and scout out new territory, new faces – a different tribe. I subscribe to the belief that if you do what you love every day, then someone will come into your world who loves the same things.

Again, I’m no expert. But I’m happy trying to figure it out. I don’t know if we need to leave the hood to meet people, but I think you do need to proceed with eyes open. I also romantically subscribe to the belief that you might have already met who you love, but timing is in the way or geographical relocations haven’t happened, or the one who you might love is just about to turn the corner and say good morning with a sweet smile that pulls you all the way in. I’m an optimist.

But for now – have fun – proceed with eyes open – have a fearless heart – and subscribe to romance. Everything else – like applying arcane rules for dating, trolling in distant waters, and waiting for someone to complete you – seem tedious and boring.

I’m having such a blast right now in my life there would have to be a damn good reason to let someone share all the fun with me.

Loca is such a good dog that it is easy to forgive her puppyness. She goes in her kennel by herself after just a little biscuit training. She lays by my feet while I work. And she asks to go out. She seems to have formed a bond already with me as if we were meant to be together. Even Arlene doesn’t mind her that much – although sometimes she does.

She’s that something something, you know. If I had played my hand in my next dog – she would have come after Arlene had passed, she would have been another Welsh Corgi, not a lab. She wouldn’t have been black – I actually prefer black and white dogs. She would have been small, instead Loca looks like she will weigh about 70 lbs when all is said and done.

But we now believe that someone “dropped” her off at Swirl seeing all those people that were hanging around. And I now believe the fates brought her right into my arms. Arlene suddenly has a little lift in her step as if to say, hey, I’m not done yet. And my dog love just got upped exponentially.

Loca and I and Arlene now make three – none of us are probably what we were looking for – but we are more than we thought to ask for.

Late yesterday afternoon, I was exhausted and much in need of a respite, so I drew a bath of cool water and put in a bath bomb – these bath salts things that O had given me for my birthday – they are either about sex or love or lust – and each bomb is different – last nights was an orange blossom and cardamon scent with real orange blossoms that floated disconcertedly in the water and a love poem which appeared after the entire thing dissolved. It was a poem by Lord Byron about wanting.

I tried to make myself be very still so that I could find my center gravity – I think since I orbit so quickly around my center that when I slow down it actually feels like I get further from it. I thought I might be getting there when I closed my eyes but then the phone rang, then the doorbell, and within the next twenty minutes there were visitors sitting on the porch drinking wine (I kept to my ice tea) and chit chatting.

I just took another deep breath and went with it – Loca was being loved on, Arlene was being kissed on, and canines and humans were all trying to stave off the inevitable – Monday morning.

Flower said on the way to the airport that she is going to miss me and my neighbors. Ha. R took us to Roccobono on Pinola this morning for breakfast. It’s a funky cute place tucked in a residential neighborhood. I think it used to be the Bluebird – a satellite of their Prytania Street restaurant, but without the line. R told one of his Katrina stories – losing his cool Japanese speakers and J finding them on Ebay, still in the box, and surprising him. Made me welp up.

Flower and I were both on crash and burn from work overload and our social agenda, we decided to make Saturday unstructured play time. We got up and began the process of readying the bike mom won in a raffle for her to ride. This took most of the morning. Then we finally went for a ride in City Park and around the bayou. When we returned, we saw J and decided to go to Camellia Grill for breakfast.

Camellia Grill was the usual bustle of activity and the guys behind the counter were in rare form. I asked Mervin who wrote House of the Rising Sun and they put it to the whole restaurant and it came back Eric Burdon and the Animals. Although that is the best known rendition, the song is an old folk song and no one really knows who wrote it.

We left J and went around the corner to the Canine store to buy Loca – the puppy – a leash.

And then we started our jewelry tour of New Orleans – first stop was GoGo’s – she said she had just seen Levin and told him about my party. Then we stopped at Mignon Faget – Flower has been the recipient of different items from her. Then we went in Anqelique for Baby – where rumor has it Angelina herself shops – and bought items for Abby and Jake and for Flower’s niece Maya.

Next stop on the jewelry tour was Katy Beh – I loved her ad in Gambit where she lined up earrings made out of pastel colored precious stones and called it Ear Candy. She’s a little doll herself. Flower saw lots of items she wanted but the price tag here was more serious. Well not much more serious than the silver red bean bracelet she had wanted at MF, but we were definitely on the upper end of the scale.

Then we made our way down Magazine to the my icon – Thomas Mann – Flower had arrived wearing the heart earrings I got for her there a while back – she has definitely been the recipient of his wares and we ended up walking out with identical necklaces. Two circles with Time Passes, Love Grows, Time Passes, Love Waits, Time Passes Love Stays. Tom was there and I reminded him of my party – he’s turning 60 on August 1st, and might I add, he’s looking pretty damn good for 60 runs around the sun.

Friday night began as it is wont to in these parts – this “Italian village” as Flower refers to it – R&A came over for a glass of wine, then M walked down with A. The sky turned dark black and suddenly a storm passed through. We watched and waited for the rain to lighten up.

Then we walked down the bayou and across the Magnolia Bridge over to Swirl, where Flower was further indoctrinated into the neighborhood.

The Turks were out in full regalia, old and new – Moosey was there having been absent for a while, the girls were there, and it was Friday night in the hood. Towards the end, B walked in with a gangly black lab puppy in her arms and said the dog was lost, so suddenly I became its surrogate mother.

We brought her home and decided not to leave her, so she stayed in the car, behaving herself.

Then we went to Lola’s and had two large tables with musical chairs of people coming and going. The two young Turks – the imported hotties – were holding court while the rest of us went through our usual ritual of wine and conversation.

J had a kennel so she brought it over and we put the dog in and she screamed and cried for about 45 minutes before finally falling asleep.

Flower came in for a seminar and to help me sort through the morass of work issues. And of course, to see New Orleans. On Friday we took mom to Commander’s for lunch and it was the usual type of lunch for both of us where you can’t really relax and enjoy because work issues are breathing down your back at a breakneck pace. I told a friend, lunch sucks, can’t do it, not too long ago, and it’s true.

But Commanders was its usual regal self – has been redone top to bottom and the cosmetic finishes are so eccentric – the wallpaper in the main dining room has stuffed birds that come out in 3-D from the painted surface. It’s really kind of odd and cool at the same time.

We ended with the bananas foster flaming flourish and all in all it was a grand old time.

I sit on my front porch and marvel how it is that knowing everyone I don’t know everyone or every place – a man who I’ve seen often running by, saw me on the other side of the bayou, and said “come to my Jamaican restaurant” – CoCo Hut on Bayou Road – I’m all over that – open Tues through Saturday 11:00 to 7:00 PM.