Sunday morning started off with omeletes at some place I cannot remember the name of with Kira and Becky.
Most bathrooms in New Orleans are absolutely disgusting -- and most of them are outside from the actual establishment. Our waiter told us that the bathrooms here were former slave quarters and were rumored to be haunted. Ooooh! Who doesn't love a good N'awlins style ghost story? We didn't see a ghost but we did find they were some of the nicest bathrooms in the Quarter (that doesn't say much, belive me, as the toilet paper holder was falling off the wall).
The afternoon was set aside for: SWAMP TOUR.
Our tour guide was Ramone. He was a real, true swamp person and told us he was the inspiration behind a character on The Princess and the Frog.
If you ever have the chance to do a swamp tour, then go for it! We got to see some interesting country, hold some interesting critters, and - best of all - we were allowed to take drinks on the boat. Holla!
Now, at the time these pictures were being taken we counted six alligators. I couldn't find but two when I blew the picture up to label them. So . . . either there were six gators and four of them refused to be photographed. Or there were only two and I had already had too much tequila.
To be honest, I was pretty unsure about the swamp tour. It was pretty cold that day and I was afraid of freezing on the boat. And I'm just not really a swamp tour type of person. BUT. I'm so glad I went. It was such a good time! And I was glad I could keep it klassy by brown bagging my Mike's Hard Cranberry:
Before we talk about Sunday night, I want to introduce you to Blanca.
She is my half Brazilian Portugese/ half Filipina alter ego. And, just between the two of us, bitch be crazy.
*whispers* she drinks tequila
Sunday night started at Pat O'Brien's . . . it was actually my third time there over the weekend! What can I say? I love me some hurricanes.
On our way to Pat O's, we passed this shrine to WHITNEY:
I've passed the window of acceptability on making a post about Whitney Houston and *sobs* how I feel about her passing. So all I will say is this: "No matter what they take from me, they CAN'T TAKE AWAY MY DIGNITY."
Orrrr . . . "I'm every woman! It's all in meeeee!"
Wait. One more. "I wanna dance with somebody . . . I wanna feel the heat with somebody . . . "Seriously. Michael Jackson died while I was on vacation in Gulf Shores in 2009. Whitney dies while I'm on this trip. I may not go anywhere ever again.
Where was I?
Pat O's!
We ate. A lot.
We drank. A lot.
We had fun. A lot of it.
Afterwards, I agreed to accomany Kira salsa dancing but made it a point to tell her that I was wearing my boots because I was NOT going to dance. I was NOT going to do it. Not, not, not.
Didn't work.
The dancing place was (obviously) closing down when we got there. But we spent a lot of time talking with the owner and (sooooo cute) bartender:
The dancing place was (obviously) closing down when we got there. But we spent a lot of time talking with the owner and (sooooo cute) bartender:
We left that bar and headed to Bourbon Cowboy where one of our friends may or may not have rode a bull in only her panties and bikini top (I'm not naming names). From there, it was on to a place called Finnegan's. But not before running into this on the way:
New Orleans.is.awesome.
Blanca was in rare form at Finnegan's and managed to convince a group of guys that she was a member of the United States military (Air Force) and also that she was a high school English teacher (I believe she also told them that Kira was her cousin and Mari was a half sister. Who knows). Blanca learned the next morning that those tequila shots that fueled her "We Went Out Last Night" rants weren't such a good idea!
