We leave The Shitty first thing in the morning.

Tim was so excited, he couldn't sleep last night. Well, OK. Maybe it wasn't just that we're leaving. Maybe it was the howling rain and gusts of wind rocking the bus. No, I think it's because he's so excited to get out of here. Me, too.

Although, sometimes, I have to admit, even the The Shitty isn't too shitty:

Especially when spending time with friends:

As in when Jim and Lisa visited. Even though Jim, upon learning I'd taken this photo, was heard to say, "F*ck that. I don't want to be in your f*ucking blog." Nice.

But... the vast majority of the time it is (shitty).

I had to go to the customer service desk (don't ask) at the local grocery store tonight. (Actually, it's one of two shitty grocery stores in The Shitty, which are right next door to each other. How shitty is that?) There's no one around (natch). So, I ring the handy little bell on the counter. Still no one. An idiotic teenage boy-clerk, in an apparent effort to rustle up someone for me, yelled across the store, "Hey! Someone's stealing from the safe!"

What a comedian!

Isn't that sort of tantamount to "joking" about bombs in an airport? Where's a Federal Marshall when you need one?

Then, earlier in the week, I went to an "office supply store". First, that there are even offices in this place amazes me, but not when you see their supply store. Anyway. They had a small, decorated Xmas tree in one of the aisles. Yes, I said, "in." Of course, while I was waiting on line just a few feet away, some poor woman brushed by it and CRASH. It had a horsy theme and all the little clay horses scattered about on the floor. The manager came by and told the woman not to worry, that she herself had brushed by it and nearly knocked it down three times that very day! (So, why in the world was it still in the same spot? That's the Shitty for ya.) I spied one of the horses with a broken off foreleg. You know me: I could not help picking it up and offering it to the idiot-manager, saying, "I think he needs to be put down." Nary a snicker. What do these people want from me? My Shittiest material?

I did finally find a place to do my hair. No, not this one:

Nor, this one:

Yes, it's also a place that cuts hair:

And, in fact, Tim did go - twice and proclaimed it not bad. As we all know, he is far more forgiving than I.

The place I went to (and thank you so much to the dear reader, Mary, who sent me the web site listing hair salons. You meant well. It is not your fault I cannot show my picture in this entry) was recommended as "the" place to go. (There's a "the" place in The Shitty?) Well... my haircut wasn't bad. Wasn't good, but wasn't bad. What was horrible was the rest of it. Yes, we gals want a great cut, but we also want to feel pampered when we go to a salon.

The stylist is a huge bear of a guy. Fine. However, he treats his customers (at least this one) as if we were Stephen Colbert dipped in the sweetest honey. I was pawed - and not in a good way. When he towel-dried my hair, I thought I was going to be decapitated. When he wanted to come at me from another angle, he didn't just turn my chair - oh, no. He slammed into it with his hips. Ask me to turn my head? Why would he do that? Nope, he grabbed my chin in his mitts and yanked my noggin around. Finally, there was a funky smell. I didn't say anything, as I just wanted outta there. But soon, one of his other stylists could not help but notice.

"I think the bean dip's gone bad." I'll say. My guy, who is the owner of the place, couldn't smell it. They kept bantering back and forth. Such gems from her as, "I'm going to puke" while actually holding a towel to her mouth. After he wondered aloud if it might be some dead rat in the back, he finally asked me if I smelled it, too. I admitted I did. Big mistake. He went off in search of. I'm not sure if he ever found anything, but I was left in the chair with wet (yes, rat-like) hair until his return.

I shall not (return, that is).

Best Restaurant in Crescent City: Bistro Gardens. (We would frequent it, anywhere.)

2nd Place - none.

Worst Restaurant - too numerous to mention.