I just came in hungry after a vet appointment and accidentally ate about a third of an 11.8-ounce bag of the new "limited edition" raspberry M&Ms while reading my friends list. Now I feel quite sick and slightly like someone who snorted several big lines of low-grade coke about an hour ago. Milo, our most defective cat, just had $233 worth of bloodwork and has to return for dental surgery at OH-MY-GOD-THIRTY tomorrow morning. He probably needs most of his teeth pulled, which should be nice and expensive.

Yesterday I was reading a newspaper article about Rwanda in which a man said he had ransomed a friend's life with a case of beer. I can totally see that happening in our neighborhood. I already had to talk David out of getting his alleged gun and going after a guy who'd robbed him at gunpoint earlier this week. All I meant to do was buy a house. Instead I feel as if I accidentally joined the Peace Corps. All of New Orleans may be Tanganyika, and some parts of Hollygrove have always reminded us of slums we saw in Jamaica, but our little corner of the world here is definitely Rwanda.

There are perks, though. Today I called Commander's Palace to make dinner reservations for my mother's birthday. I forgot to identify myself up front as I usually do, and when I asked for a 7:00 reservation, the girl offered me 6:30 or 8:00. I chose 6:30, then said, "This is Poppy Brite, by the way, I should be in your system."

"Yes ma'am ... " [pause] "OH! In that case, would 7:30 work better for you?"

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, yes indeed, Daddy likes that.

"Yes, thank you, and we'd like the main dining room if possible."

"Of course. Does your mother have trouble with stairs?"

"No, but I do."

The really funny part is that it's only about a ten-minute stroll from Rwanda to Commander's Palace, even at my pace. That's New Orleans in a nutshell.