New Orleans: A review

It's fucking HOT.
The End.

Being that I had 26, give or take, years to get accustom to the humidity, all it takes is moving away for a few months for all that tolerance to disappear. I was sweating like a Northeastern tourist all weekend (well, technically, I am). It rivaled the subway- except there was no getting on a train with AC. Monday on the way to the airport, my Betta Chedda Jetta (that's my car, btw) said it was 105 degrees outside. And New Yorkers freak the fuck out when its 95- they call it a heat wave. psh! But at least I successfully dropped 20 pounds of water weight.

Friday night I ventured down to Tchoupitoulous (try saying that one like a local!) for a going away party that was in a private room in my favorite bar ever (anyone else clueless to F&Ms upstairs lounge or am I just an idiot?) As I got close to the bar, I noticed the street was blocked off, cop cars everywhere and swarms of people hanging out. I called Fred (who I was meeting) and these were his exact words "Oh, yea. There was a shooting 2 blocks from the bar. Just take back roads". And what did I do next? I took back roads to the bar. That's how we roll in the country's murder capital, ya heard.

Once I got to this secret upstairs bar area, I had to double check I was still in nola. I thought I had gotten transported back to Brooklyn in some hipster bar in Williamsburg. I didn't even know hipsters existed in New Orleans! It was like their entire population had a secret meeting in this dirty old bar and I was invading. Not that there is anything wrong with that, I was just expecting a way different crowd. It was fantabulous. There was a keg, a drunk Fred and a Jared Leto look-a-like. What could be better? If every night could be like that one, I just might consider moving back.

Saturday night I was supposed to go out with my Daddy (see previous blog about the daiquiri) but instead I went to a Beer Pong Tournament- apparently the Cajun Alarm did knock him on his ass. First time ever playing and I can honestly say it is seriously lacking. Gay, I tell you- the game is gay. I made my partner drink all the beer (I had polished off a large White Russian before the game even started), only made it in the cup twice and the one game we did win was against my sister. I decided I was too drunk to finish playing, so we left. When we went to see what was going on with the male counterparts (my brother and his 2 best friends) they were drinking 40s and playing- get this- go fish. We tried to end the night in the hot tub, but I ended up crawled up on the bathroom floor, in true I -drank-too-much fashion.

Sunday morning I woke up at the ass crack of dawn (9am- that IS the ass crack with the hungover I had) and went to the French Quarter with my parents. We had beignets and fan-fucking-tastic strong ass coffee at Cafe du Monde. We walked around the newly vamped French Market where the rest of the alcohol from the night before seeped out of my pores. After this heated torture, we decided to cool off in Harrah's, where all the damn slot machines did was eat my money. I think I got one lousy bonus after $50. That's crap.

That night, we had a fabulous fondue dinner at The Melting Pot. That place is really sneaky. You're eating these small little piece of bread dipped in cheese or cooking a bite of food and you think "I'll never get full on this" but once the chocolate and strawberries come out, that's all she wrote. You end up rolling out of that restaurant swearing off food for a week. It was awesome.

Did I mention JetBlue is on my shit list right now? I'll start with the checked baggage line that apparently always takes an hour to get through. You already made me go to a machine to get my boarding pass. What could possibly take so damn long to tag a bag and throw it on the conveyor belt? Putting aside that they now charge you for legroom and checking a second bag, they apparently don't understand the concept of a schedule. We were an hour delayed on the runway from JFK AND coming back- plus we flew in circles for an hour or so over Virgina because JFK was so congested. This is a Monday night people. Get your shit straight. You have a whole 2 weeks to do this before I fly out again or I feel really bad for your manager.

I took my life in my hands as I got into the cab to take me home (A 5 hour flight- that should have been 2- then another 2 hour commute to my apartment on the subway? You are out of your box). I decided to take a car service because the taxi line was 2 hours long (again, it's 1am on a Monday night. seriously?) I really wanted to ask the driver how long he had been in America and if he had his drivers license, but that would have distracted him from driving the wrong way on one ways, flying through red lights and making 2 lane traffic three. I was already scared he was going to rape and kill me, so I figured not to press my luck. But, I did get home, so all is well.

Now I need a cigarette just thinking about that.

Oh yea, and I got BANGS! (think Legally Blonde's Serena when Elle calls her friends b/c she misses them- oh yea. BANGS)