Yesterday I did several loads of laundry. Cleaned the kitchen (Eddie and the kids were home allllll day Monday by themselves. It was actually cleaner than I was expecting but still needed a good "Brandi" cleaning). Folded and put away laundry. Went grocery shopping.
Today I have a sore throat and sinus pressure and feel just slightly better than I did on Monday morning when I woke up and realized by half Portugese/ half Filipina alter ego had been slamming back tequila shots the night before. The lesson in all this is that reality just sucks. I do all that real life stuff and get sick! My case of the ickies could NOT have come from walking in the rain to throw it down on a sandwhich last Friday.
I obsess way too much over the best way to convey this trip to everyone. What is the way that shows even a tiny bit of the WAY TOO MUCH FUN we all had? Imma break the trip up into days then I'll fill in later with posts about food, men, etc.
Let's start with Friday. Our first couple hours there were spent trying on tutus, checking out Kira's deck of nudie (male) playing cards (naked men are disgusting, FYI, especially when they have Achy Breaky Heart hair and are . . . posing. Naked men should NEVER, EVER pose), and getting a head start on the whole drinking thing. Oh, the drinking thing. We had lunch at Mother's and when we walked out we spotted . . .
Not quite a parade, but a series of floats.
I WAS SO EXCITED!
Way too excited considering they were only floats. But, mayne, I've been so concerned about seeing a parade the last two years and this is the closest I've come to one.
From there it was on to . . . slushy drinks!
For Friday in New Orleans I was sporting the Drowned Rat look
The bartender (slushy drink maker? Is he a bartender if he doesn't mix anything? Hmm) left us with the quote of the trip: "it's not how you eff it up. It's how you fix it."
On the way back to the house, I made the mistake of trying to sneak a picture of a street performer. I KNEW it was a mistake. I even said to my friend, "Imma just try to get his picture without him seeing." Yeah. He saw.
After being mildly inappropriate and pretty damn rude, he requested $2 each for the pleasure of taking a picture with him. Good luck with that, dude.
We stopped and talked to numerous men (BRUCE!) on our walk back to the house. My personal favorite was this guy:
He looked like T.O. and he had the deepest, most glorious dimple.
In this picture, I'm sticking my finger in it. Yeah. I know.
There were more house shenanigans:
We headed to Bourbon Street fairly early in the evening. I know it's all tourists. And I know it smells like a special mixture of pee and puke. And I understand that you better hope and pray you don't have to go to the bathroom while you're down there. But, man, I love that place.
HELLO! What's NOT to love?
We ended up at Mango Mango.
Do you know what they have at Mango Mango?
Slushy drinks - that one's a given.
But they also have shots. Oh, boy, DO THEY HAVE SHOTS.
This is, quite possibly, my favorite picture from the entire trip. It says a lot. A LOT.
The guy in it -- I have no idea what his name was but he and his friend (in the background, we referred to him as Jersey Shore) bought two trays of shots for us. And one of those was split between me, Becky (pictured), and Kira.
Ouch. My head.
I'm still not 100% sure we were being forcefed these by a shot girl
After Mango's it was onto Bourbon Cowboy where we got a little view from the balcony:
Vanessa and Tina both rode the bull:
I may not think I'm too old to party like a 21-year-old (*clears throat* we left Bourbon Street before midnight that night) but I KNOW I am too old for that mess. No bull riding for me. No thank you.
Ahhhhh. Good times.
We left Bourbon early because our friend Dana was flying in around midnight-ish and we wanted to be at the house to meet her. We hopped in a cab on the way back and our cabbie was this guy, Joshua:
HE TOTALLY DID IT!
Class act, that Joshua!
