Tuesday, January 13, 2009

New Year's Eve trip to New Orleans, Part 1

Ok, not a lot of time to post but I'm about to shoot someone in my office if they put another stack of papers on my desk or send me more reciepts for expense reports or ask for another passport form to be filled out or a conference call to be scheduled or a meeting to be set up or a catering order to be done. Phew. TM has heard my ranting about asshole coworkers all day. So, to take a break from the never-ending work on my desk, I'll give you a short synopsis of our NYE trip to Bourbon Street:

* BF and I arrived the day before NYE to get our drinking tolerance up before the big night. Not the best idea. It's about a 6 hour drive from Houston to New Orleans, and we had been together every day for going on two weeks. We normally see each other two, three times a week. We didn't speak much on the way, he had his iPod on and I was listening to the radio... the only time we really conversed was when someone needed to stop to pee or get a drink or something. The second we got in our hotel room we got in a fight. About nothing, really, we were just sick of each other. Already.

* I should mention that BEFORE we got in our hotel, BF lost one of his tennis shoes somewhere on the way to the room. We think it fell out of his bag in the elevator, but when I went back to check it was nowhere to be found. This didn't help his irritability level one tiny bit.

* We call a truce, change clothes, then head down to Bourbon. Luckily, we were staying at a hotel right on the street, so we didn't have to walk blocks and blocks to get back. It is TOTALLY worth the extra money if you ever go, take my word for it. Plus we had an icechest in our room and kept going back up to pour free beers in our cups. Score!

* First stop: Across the street to Tropical Isle, home of the Hand Grenades. I swear, if you haven't had one, you must book a trip immediately to NOLA to get one. It is awesome. Potent, but awesome. Seriously, I had one and as soon as I got off my barstool I was deee-runk. And I'm not a lightweight, I can outdrink grown men. It normally takes at least 6-8 beers for me to feel a buzz, but one of these babies got me a one track ticket to hammered-ville, no stops at buzztown first. Did I mention Everclear is one of the ingredients?

(This is me and one of my besties a few years ago... consuming the infamous hand grenades. See the glaze in our eyes?)
* After I was sufficiently inebriated (I might mention that it's only around 6pm-ish), we head to another bar, and I realize that I need to slow my roll, it's not even dark for Christ's sake, and I need to make it all night. I go to the bartender, and being the responsible girl that I am, order a beer. (You thought I was going to say water, huh... HA! Whatever! I needed to lay off the liquor, not all alcohol!!) The girl behind the bar comes back with not one but three beers. I look at her, puzzled, and say, sorry, only meant to order one. She replies, oh, it's happy hour and beers are three for one. WHAT!? New Orleans is the devil!! I'm trying to be all responsible and slow down and I can't even do that!! You know when you have three beers in front of you, you have to drink quick so they don't get all hot. So this did not help me out a bit.

* While BF and I are hanging out on barstools by the bar, some guy with aviator sunglasses comes off the stage where the band is setting up and orders a drink. I ask him if he's with the band (because I get all chatty with strangers when I'm drinking, plus I'm a big groupie), and he says yes, he's the lead singer. I introduce myself and he tells me his name is James and then I ask if he'll take a request. Mind you, the band isn't even set up yet, and they don't go on for a while, but he's all, sure, what do you want to hear? I take a step back, and start singing "Sweet Child 'O Mine" by GnR, and do the Axl Rose-holding-the-mike-swaying move that I'm famous for at hometown parties. He looks at me kinda crazy, laughs and says ok, I'll see what I can do. Flash forward an hour and the band's on, James is singing every song to me (and BF doesn't seem too happy), then he says, I have a very special request, points to me and launches into "She's got a smile, and it seems to me...." and I start singing (yelling, whatever) the words drunkenly along with James. It. Was. Awesome. I was a rock star. (mmhmm yeah right)

* By this time, we're ready to go to a dirty Bourbon Street strip club. We're on our way, and some random couple comes up and starts talking to us, and we invite them along. We make it to the first one we see, pay our cover, and head in. It took us a full 5 minutes to realize we're the only white people in this club. I was quite happy, since the strippers were all dancing to booty music. Our new friends don't look too comfortable, but who cares, I was having fun. One of the strippers did the booty pop (you know what this is, watch any rap video), and I'm looking all amazed, shaking my head, wishing I wasn't so white bread and could do that. One of the strippers on the side sees my wishful looking face and comes over to me. I start chatting with her (I told you, everyone's my friend when I'm drinking), and I say something like there's no way I can do that, I'm so jealous. Then she gets in front of me and does the booty pop and I touch her butt and BF's eyes get all huge, like, SCORE, my girlfriend likes chicks (and I don't, but I'll appreciate a good booty pop). I never learned how to do it properly, but I got lessons to practice at home in front of the mirror.

Alright, boss keeps coming in here... I'll post more later. Believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg... :)

1 comment:

calicobebop said...

Oh My Gawd, how are you still alive?!? Sounds like a rocking good time, gotta love New Orleans!