take the dog to Mardi Gras

There is something seriously wrong with my life when the only way I had a clue what the "ft" reminder on my calendar meant was through some late-night bloglines perusing.
(Thanks, Wordnerd and J.)

I was relieved but admittedly a little sad when I realized what it meant. Relieved that it wasn't something important that I'd spaced in my stress-induced forgetfulness. Sad because I got no reminder from anyone else.

After spending a few Mardi Gras in New Orleans, the tradition of celebrating Fat Tuesday continued with some of my friends. I even met one of my favorite exes out one ill-advised Fat Tuesday celebration.

Maybe even as recently as last year, my friends* used to send me cute Mardi Gras e-cards on Fat Tuesday. I used to reciprocate. I got nothing this year.

Who am I kidding, my friends also used to remember what I looked like. But I haven't seen most of my friends more than once since before the holidays.

Because I've been holed up in my office/hotel room (for months, it seems), I was really excited to hang out with some friends last Saturday at a friend's birthday bash.

As I was leaving work Saturday evening, I started feeling not quite right. So I called J and S and told them I was skipping dinner so I'd feel better for the party.

After my nap, I actually felt worse, but started getting ready anyway. The boy came over to pick me up, and we were about to walk out the door, when it got much, much worse.

So instead of praying to the porcelain goddess after too many hurricanes, as perhaps I've done a Mardi Gras weekend or two, I was doing so because of the nasty flu.

And my friends got no reminder of what I look like.

Happy Mardi Gras!! I have to go find some silly e-cards, now. And maybe a hurricane.

*The same friends who are the only people that would get the title to this post, who unfortunately don't read this.