VIVA VERSUS THE BAYOU, PART I

Viva hates Shreveport, Louisiana.

Well, not really. I mean, it could be a nice place. A nice hot, sticky, fire-ant filled place located just a hop, skip, and a jump from Texas and Arkansas. I bet it is diverse. I bet it is filled with culture. I bet they hold Pride Fests every weekend.

Why am I giving Shreveport the business? Well, Old Viva here is married to a workhorse and that, in and of itself, is a good thing. Mr. Workhorse has just gotten himself some recognition for another job well done, and now his bosses want to send him off to Shreveport, LoWeeeeziana for a week to "save" one of their operations down yonder. All this sounds well and good, but Mr. Workhorse's company has a penchant for transferring people willy-nilly.

My apologies to all the good people of Shreveport for the following rant, but there is NO WAY IN GOD'S GREEN EARTH that Viva is moving her tired ass to Lousiana. For one, I don't like heat, humidity, big weird bugs, hurricanes, or Kenny Chesney. Although I do like crawfish and voodoo IS sort of funky. But I digress. I do not want to be neighbors with Britney Spears. I will be the oldest childless woman in the entire state. I think they can lynch women for not wanting to breed, can't they? Regardless, Viva does not want to find out. Where would she get Botox? Where is the closest Pottery Barn? In flipping TEXAS, that's where.

Dear Lord Baby Jesus, please keep my child-free, cosmetic-loving, fag-haggin self out of Shreveport, Lousiana.