My Trip To New Orleans Pt. 2

January 1st, 2005
3:00pm - I just woke up with a mild case of paralysis, and I think Rich is dead.
4:00pm - Rich is alive, which is nice to know. I'm still on the couch.
7:00pm - Still on the couch. Rich on the chair.
8:00pm - A pizza comes. We sit up and eat it.
8:30pm - Back lying down.
10:00pm- The cab is here, and we're back to Bourbon street.

By the way, have I mentioned that the Sugar Bowl was taking place
in New Orleans that Monday? Tons of college co-eds down for the big game.
In the immortal words of our cab driver, a charming young man from a country
who's name I'm sure ends in 'Stan',
"There's so much college girl pu--y in the air you can taste it".
There's no way to follow that sentence, so this paragraph is over.

A half hour later and we're out of the cab. The bad news? I've left my wallet
in my pants from last night, all the way back at Rich's place. The good news?
We're in New Orleans, and apparently laws don't apply here.
You know how some bars have UV lights they shine on your ID,
and some bars ask you for backup ID? Nope, not New Orleans.
The guy at the first bar we went to just said "eh, come on in". Seriously.
The second bar's bouncer stared at me for about five minutes
before he decided I looked old enough. The only real problem came from
the bartender at the third place. Since I unfortunately didn't catch his name,
we'll call him "Jackass wasting Chris' time".
Jackass..: You got some ID?
Chris: Oh shit, I left it in my other pants. Can I come in anyway?
(Any other city, and that's literally the dumbest question on earth)
Jackass: Nope, sorry.
Chris: C'mon, I've got other stuff, school id, credit card.
Jackass: Nope, needs to be government issued
Chris: Okay, what else could I give?
Jackass: Passport?
Chris: Man (gives look that says "That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard"),
why would I have my passport?
Jackass: Hmm...I dunno
Chris: Yeah.
So I gave him a health insurance card with birthdate and no picture,
and my college ID, and we were in. So just to recap,
I got into every single bar I wanted to. There are some I didn't mention,
and that's because some didn't even check, or even have somebody at the door.
Once you're in the Bourbon St. area, you can go anywhere.
It's like Disneyland, with probably more sex and booze.

Now believe it or not, Jan. 1 was actually crazier than Dec 31st in New
Orleans. Everybody was out partying: A man with no arms, a man with no
legs, even a man with no face. Well, about 1/3 a face, But when you're that
close you're not really trying to do fractions. And at the same club as my
buddy without the face, I saw two guys on a double-date with two midgets.
Easily the "car-wreck" moment of the week. The whole club was staring. And not
because the guys were double dating with midgets (okay, that had a lot
to do with it) but because they were getting really nasty. And let me tell
you, it takes a LOT for a club full of people in New Orleans to be like "oh
come on, have some class". Ever heard (or made, although I'm far too high-brow
for that sort of thing) a joke about a midget girlfriend being a perfect
height? Well, rest assured it's apparently no joke. I wish I had an explanation
for you as to how this whole thing went down, but I don't. Rich and I had a
theory that they rented midget whores for the night. If you've got a
better theory I'd love to hear it. But before you chime in with something like
"Maybe they're just nice people who met nice girls who happen to be
midgets, you asshole", I'd just like to add that we ran into one of the guys
later in the night with an even smaller midget, carrying her down the street as
she hung around his neck like a chimp. So, you were saying?

I was supposed to head home on the 2nd, but my flight got cancelled.
With all the VA Tech and Auburn fans in town, all flights are booked.
So I was stuck in New Orleans for a few more days. But really, it's not
quite fair to call it "getting stuck" here. You get stuck in traffic. You get
stuck in quicksand. You don't get stuck in New Orleans.
Unfortunately Rich is back to work in his graveyard shift, so all I can do
is hang out, watch tv, and try to stay out of the way. I call Mitch to tell him
I'm not coming home for a few more days, and he says the 5 words I least needed to hear:
Scotty P's in New Orleans. When I heard that, my liver cried a little bit. Or
maybe I've got cirrhosis.  Regardless, on Tuesday night I was back on
Bourbon. And I stayed there. And drank. We drank until everything shut down. That's
very late. Rich picked me up when he got off work at 6:30 am. My only train
of thought on the ride home: "How do I get out of a jeep wrangler to puke
as quickly as possible? Open the door? I can't unzip this dumbass plastic window
on time, can I? Eh, the seat's waterproof, maybe I'll just do it in here".
Luckily I fought through, and didn't learn a single lesson from the
experience.

It's the next morning and I'm on my way home. I've got to get back to
work early tomorrow, my rent's late now, my car needs to be repaired, and
I'm completely broke. But for the past few days, none of those things mattered.
Nothing really did. Remember how when you were a kid, you didn't care about
anybody's job, income, status, etc? You just asked if they wanted to play,
and if they said yes, you guys were friends. Well that's the way things are in
New Orleans. I love the place, and can't wait to come back. In fact, I
might take another vacation and come back for Mardi Gras in 4 weeks. And
let's be honest: if I did, you couldn't blame me one bit.