By Ashley Toland Editor

The following is a telephone conversation between two old French gals, New Orleans and Mobile, or “Nola” and “Mobie,” as they affectionately call each other.

Mobie: Hello.

Nola: Hey girlfriend. It’s Nola. What’s happenin’?

Mobie: Oh you know…. just dealing with Mardi Gras (sigh). I think I could take the moonpies smashed on my streets, the half-eaten turkey legs thrown on my sidewalks and the beads stuck in my trees, if they would just stop peeing on me. I mean, use the port-a-potties for Iberville’s sake.

Nola: Girl, try having to deal with Bourbon Street year round. Well, not so much anymore.

Mobie: Yeah, I guess not. Are things getting any better, honey?

Nola: Well, I’m still a mess in some areas and trying to figure out how they’re going to rebuild me has been interesting, but there have been some improvements. We know we’re not going to have the Mardi Gras we usually do, though. Y’all better get ready.

Mobie: My cops are pretty freaked out that we’re going to get some of your wilder Mardi Gras miscreants who will ruin our “family” carnival.

Nola: Well, if you do, expect to see three times the number of breasts, most of which will be gravity-challenged. And there will be some girls eager to show off their implants – which isn’t as offensive, well unless you can see their scars, which is kind of gross, too. And sorry to tell you this, but get ready for five times the amount of public urination and vomiting.

Mobie: Whhhhyyyyy so much whizzing and hurling? Better put the street sweepers on speed dial.

Nola: Good idea. Just pray none of the bars get into the Hurricane-making business. I must have had a thousand little red pools of puke on my streets last year – most complete with chunks of partially digested Lucky Dogs. I won’t miss that.

Mobie: Gross. People are so nasty. Just idiots. Speaking of idiots, how’s your husband?

Nola: Oh, Ray’s fine. Thanks for sending that lovely muzzle. It has really helped him keep his stupid mouth shut since the whole “Chocolate City” incident. I swear if I get one more e-mail forwarded to me depicting him as Willy Wonka, I don’t know what I’ll do. I even got one of him dressed as one of the “Chips” cops with a caption that said “Chocolate Chips.” And the Superdome as a giant Hershey’s kiss.

Mobie: Yeah, I got those, too.

Nola: Hell, who didn’t? I could just strangle him for saying that. I’m supposed to be The Crescent City or The Jazz City. I can even deal with being called The Big Easy, but if I become known as “The Chocolate City” from now on, I’ll kill him. I mean, I like chocolate, who doesn’t, but it was just such a ridiculous thing for him to say.

Mobie: Don’t worry. It’ll pass. At least your husband is, um, exciting. I’m already bored to death, and it’s only been a few months.

Nola: Uh oh. Sounds like the honeymoon’s over between you and Sam.

Mobie: Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly. He’s a good, solid provider for me and my citizens.

Nola: “Solid provider?” Oh dear, you are bored.

Mobie: I know, I know. But our relationship just lacks the fire and the passion Mike and I had for each other. Sam is just all about getting our house in order, working on city departments and capital projects and that kind of stuff. Which is good, but Mike was always like “Hey baby, I’m going to give you some sweet office towers and four-star hotels and high-speed ferries and cruise ships and terminals and stadiums.” He was always giving me presents. Even if he couldn’t afford them, he would find the money somewhere to make sure his girl got her pearls. And let’s just say I would repay him for that, if you know what I mean. (Giggle)

Nola: Oh, girl. I think I used to know what you mean. But let’s just say I really haven’t had a hankerin’ for any of Wonka’s “chocolate” lately. (They both giggle.)

Mobie: Yep, it was all pearls with Mike. So far all I’ve gotten with Sam is a frickin’ 173 page Task Force Report. Ohhhh. I’m so excited about that!

Nola: Well, was there anything good in it?

Mobie: Well, yeah. There were some good recommendations. But the real test is to see if they are actually going to do anything with them. A lot of them are completely unfeasible. I mean if we had billions of dollars to spend on all of this stuff, maybe we could get it done, but we don’t. Like in public safety, the first two recommendations alone, while good, would cost $11 million to put in place. I’m like “Okey dokey. I’d also like my streets paved with gold.” Come on! Where are we going to get that kind of money?

Nola: Well, you did say Mike could always find money for things he couldn’t really afford. Maybe Sam will be able to do the same.

Mobie: I don’t think even the master on money shifting and scrounging could accomplish all of these goals. Which I know, not all of them were ever meant to be – they’re just recommendations. And I know he thought it was a nice thing to do for me, but I just hope it wasn’t a big waste of time and ink. (whining) Ohh….Nola, I’m so bored!

Nola: Have you considered therapy?

Mobie: Yeah, I don’t need a shrink. I need some fire! I think I’m just going to have an affair.

Nola: Jesus, Mobie. With whom?

Mobie: I don’t know yet. Have you ever seen Pensacola’s mayor? I wonder if he’s hot.

Nola: No, but if you want, I can just send Ray over. He’s pretty hard up these days. (giggle)

Mobie: Oh girl. OK, but just make sure he wears the muzzle. I’m into that. Just kidding. (giggle)

Nola: Hee, hee. I promise you’re better off with Sam.

Mobie: Yeah. (suddenly serious) I’ve got to go. Look I know you’re still pretty devastated since Katrina, so you call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Even if it’s just to bitch about Ray. I’m here for you; you know that.

Nola: I know. Thanks, honey.

Ashley Toland is Lagniappe editor. Contact her at ashleytoland@lagniappemobile.com.

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