This is my one hundredth post to this blog. There’s no real significance to the subject and this fact; I just saw that I had posted ninety-nine posts already, and I wanted to take some note of this. I’m kind of surprised. I keep thinking I have not posted much to here, yet I have. One hundred posts may not be a lot compared to some bloggers, but when you constantly suffer from writer’s block it’s one hundred times I managed to get over it.


Last Saturday the spouse and I went out for breakfast. Or rather, we went to meet a group of people for breakfast, something organized by friends who wanted like-minded (aka, leather/BDSM/etc. types) to meet up. The restaurant would fit in back in New Orleans-an older building that’s seen better days, mismatched decor, but excellent food.

I was accosted by someone I know who asked I was going to a fundraiser they were working on in October. I had totally forgotten about it, and I still haven’t decided what I’m doing yet. There was a request that Zelda show up, and some not-too-subtle flattery.

Later, I was going through some photos on my phone (what, you don’t keep pictures of yourself in an unlisted directory on your phone?) and the person next to me asked who the woman was. I’ve known him for a while, but he didn’t know I was a CD. Sometimes, I just assume people know, and it kind of took me by surprise. Of course I showed off a bit-because that’s what we do, isn’t it? No matter who you are, positive attention is a good thing…

Breakfast? Good. The company was better, and afterward indulging someone’s office supply fetish was fun.

Fifteen days from now, I’ll be on my way to Atlanta for the Southern Comfort Conference. This will be my eleventh time, and it’s always an experience. Sometimes better than others. My first SCC, I got so lost finding the hotel I saw most of Atlanta. I went there only a week after 9/11; all of us who showed up felt like we were just happy to be someplace close to normal. A month after Katrina with things still undone in New Orleans I went to Atlanta and the shock of being in a normal place was hard. So was Rita hitting home while I was there. I’ve dealt with family issues, my mom’s cat dying, and other things long-distance while there.

I go to SCC because I get to see people I don’t get to see the rest of the year. I go because I get to, for a few days, be closer to what I am. I love Atlanta almost as much as I love New Orleans.

Fifteen days…