I have been *wracking* my poor puny little overworked brain for something good and original to blog about, and let me tell you, I am just out of topics. Damnit. Every once in a while I think of something and then it just flies out of my mind and I can never remember it. But, today, I was reading Larry's post on her Mardi Gras celebrations and it reminded me of the last time I went to New Orleans...so here's a fun story I like to call "The Time I Almost Got Killed Dead By Jack Daniels."
I can't even remember what bar we started at, but it was a place that had 3 for 1 shots of Jack. I had no less than 4 of those in a very short time. 12 shots of Jack. And that was just my foundational drinking. From there we went to many, many, many bars...very much Jack was ingested. And hurricanes. And hand-grenades. And something called a sweet-tart. And God only knows what else. By the end of the night M. was dragging my ass back to the hotel. The highlight of this journey was me pointing at a group of hookers and screaming "I THINK THOSE PEOPLE ARE SMOKING CRRRRRRRAAACCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!"
When we got back to the hotel M. starts begging me to throw up because she's afraid she's going to have to take me to the hospital. I am apparently singing, calling people up on her cell phone, wandering around the room in my underwear and a black feather boa, and passing out intermittently. Finally I just passed out...it had to be around 4am, and my plane was leaving at 7am, so I flew home still totally drunk and I think I didn't sober up enough to even start having a hangover for two days. When I got my film developed from that trip there were like three pictures of M. and I looking halfway normal, and then about 20 pictures of girls with their tops off because apparently I asked some guy to hold my camera since I was wearing a dress...hence, no pockets and too drunk to keep track of the stupid camera without it being somehow affixed to my person. Also, I had tons of beads from that trip and I distinctly remember trying to pull my dress up over my head to flash someone before realizing that then I would essentially be totally naked in the Disneyland of Filth. Thank God M. had a terrible hangover from a couple of days prior and so wasn't really drinking or I'd probably be dead or on some kind of Girls Gone Wild video.
All of this beats the first time I ever went to New Orleans though. Four couples went, we were all Air Force lieutenants...I had just started dating Ex#2. There was vomiting in ice buckets, a couple making out fell through a door they thought was boarded up and knocked over two people from a band that was playing in a bar, and the next morning, in effing JULY, we all took a swamp tour. Hot, steamy, humid, dank, putrid water plus eight hungover cranky people plus one swampboat driver who thinks it would be funny to get someone to puke so we can all see some 'gators. Not really the best morning of my life.
