Katrina Ate My Sex Toys: From my journal. Written January 2006, 5 months after Katrina.

Hurricane Katrina ate my sex toys. It seemed like a good idea to store them in a fabric-covered hat box beneath my bed. Discreet location with easy access, I thought. My big concern was that they would be found under the bed by a visiting toddler, not that they would be damaged by flood water. We were kept out of the city for 30 days. By then my cloth and cardboard box of toys was blooming with black mold. My titclamps were corroded in a way that didn't look like ordinary rust. Chemical corrosion from the toxic floodwater? The same for the batteries and electrical parts of my vibrators. Every item in the box was covered with an odd powdery sediment that remained when the floodwater receded.

On my first day inside the house, in early October, I kneeled next to my bed and rummaged through the items while wearing rubber gloves and a respirator mask. Even if I wanted to boil the silicone items until they were sterile, where would I do it? In the kitchen of the house where I'm staying? That would really freak out my hosts. Me boiling a pot full of dildos. Ha! I sealed my toys in a plastic bag and then put that in another trash bag and buried everything in the pile of debris on the front yard. It went off to the landfill-my own little time capsule of lust. Evidence of life in New Orleans as an "over-educated" 30-something white woman who has a low tolerance for Republicans and alcoholics.

Since Katrina it's been goodbye privacy, hello air mattress. It's terribly frustrating. I haven't been able to replace my toys. One, I don't have the cash. Two, my mail is often opened "by mistake" here. I miss living alone.

At least I have solid walls and door that locks. How are people going to have private space for pleasure in those flimsy FEMA trailers? I see much frustration ahead. Do urban planners factor sexual frustration into their calculations? Rows of FEMA trailers next to each other can't be healthy.