This One Time, In New Orleans…

Okay, so. I spent last weekend in New Orleans with some friends for the Red Dress Run.  This was the first time I had ever been in New Orleans just to screw off. Before I’ve always gone down there to do grown-up responsible shit. School trips, family, that sort of stuff but never in the 15 years that I’ve lived here had I gone down to play.


And play we did.  We started the weekend at the Saints preseason game. My friend Fiona & I spent most of the game (that I was there for, traffic kept me away until after halftime) gossiping & photo-bombing the guy in front of us as he took selfies. He and his buddy thought it was funny and kept instructing us on what kind of faces to make in the photos. (Is it photo-bombing if your victims know you’re doing it??)  Anyway, after we left the game, we hit up a couple of bars. My friends in their cute Saints gear and me in my funky workout gear.


Yep, my workout gear. I, having completely underestimated New Orleans traffic, drove straight down from Physical Therapy thinking I’d stop at the hotel, clean up, THEN go to the game being all clean & cute & stuff. Not so much. Traffic forced me to abandon that plan and just suck it up and go out in my stanky-ass workout clothes.


Sidenote: It’s really hard to feel cute and sexy in a bar in workout clothes.


After hitting a few bars, Fiona & I decide to head on over to our hotel and check in. It’s about 1AM at this point. Our hotel was this place in the French Quarter between Bourbon St. and Armstrong Park where the set-up for the Red Dress Run was the next day. It’s probably a couple hundred years old and was expanded over the years in the only direction you can go in the Quarter. Sideways.


Anyway, after locating the lobby, I get in line behind the lady in front of me and begin waiting my turn. It must’ve taken me a full TWO MINUTES to realize something was amiss and another 30 seconds or so to figure out what it was.

The woman in front of me was Nekkid.  Not COMPLETELY starkers, she was wearing bikini bottoms, but close enough to it that as soon as I realized it, I began to surreptitiously take photos with my phone. None of which were worth a damn, unfortunately. Otherwise I would have tweeted them with the caption “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit!!”. Timing and the poor lighting were against me…


Apparently this woman and her “Group” come down every year, to this hotel, and be nekkid. The hotel had changed management and management was not down with them being nekkid and they WERE NOT happy. I hafta admit, I was kinda happy because in true, real life fashion, this wasn’t swimsuit model nekkid, it was People of Wawl-Mark nekkid. That, my friends, is some BAD NEKKID.


After the nekkid woman left, I got all checked in, got a map to our room, (that should have been aclue) and Fiona and I followed the bellhop and our other friends to our room.


As we’re going to our rom, I’m looking around. There were small courtyards with fountains, pools, and wonderful brick pavers on the ground.  The rooms that faced onto the courtyards looked like little bungalows. I was absolutely taken with the place so far.


Until we got to OUR room, that is.


We took our key (an ACTUAL KEY, mind. None of that elec-tronic bullshit here!!) and triumphantly threw open the door to our little abode for the weekend and drew in a collective gasp that was NOT of delight.


Ho-Lee Shee-yut!!  I’m not a room snob or anything but this room was… different, from anywhere I’ve stayed in AWHILE.  First, only about half the light bulbs actually worked so it had a very Bates Motel vibe to it. Secondly, our room had a WINDOW UNIT!!! I haven’t seen a window unit since the 80’s!! Said window unit was attached to a LIGHT SWITCH so it only had two speeds. ON and OFF.  I don’t even want to discuss the powder blue linoleum in the bathroom that was obviously a replacement because it ALMOST reached the baseboards and the questionable stain in the middle of the carpet.


Fiona and I had no words. This was a last-minute reservation due to an un-forseen change in the number of people we thought could occupy the room we WERE booked into and keep our sanity. We were pretty much stuck in that room for the duration.


We first began calling the hotel “The Hotel” making the air quotes with our fingers. We then began referring to it as our “Hostel”. Then we simply called it the “Hostile”.


However, we didn’t get killed to death, neither one of us woke up with a rat sitting on our chest, we ended up just the two of us in a room instead of four women crammed into one room, and we now know where we NEVER want to stay in New Orleans EVER again.  So there’s THAT…


Also, the Red Dress Run was FABULOUS. I plan on doing it EVERY YEAR. I got to hear Cowboy Mouth afterward. I met some fabulous new people. AND I had some of the best Chocolate Martinis at the bar in the W Hotel that I have ever poured down my throat. All in all, the weekend was top-notch.





The Convicts Got My Digits

Okay, so.  A month or so ago, I answered my cell without looking at the Caller ID.  I was greeted with “Hello, this is the East Baton Rouge Parish Prison with a call from (mumbled name). Press 1 to Accept, 2 to Decline, and 3 to Block”. I went with option 4 which was Freak the Hell Out and Hang Up.

Yesterday and today, my cell phone rang several times with some random 800 number. This afternoon,  I finally answer (with the intention of giving whatever telemarketer was on the other end a dog-cussing) when to my disbelief, I hear “Hello, this is Blah Blah Detention Center..”  Needless to say, I went with the “Block” option.

I promptly text TWH with “OMG!! That 800 number was ANOTHER prisoner from ANOTHER prison!!”
TWH responded with “You got prisoners with your digits…  It may be some guy in the slammer that says ‘For a good time call…”
“You are popular!!!

I responded with “Ummmmmm… Yay??”
“I guess if a Good Time constitutes listening to me Cuss them up one side and down the other for calling me then they got the right number…”

TWH said my fans would be disappointed. I told him I’d pencil in some time to cry about it later.

If this keeps up, I’m gonna be sending A LOT of complaint forms to A LOT of prisons.

Or block half the population of some Cell Block….


Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl Goes Shopping

Okay, so. Miss A is here for the weekend & we took her shopping for her summer wardrobe. I find it easier to shop with her than my Wife-in-Law Amy does so I offered to take her.
Of course while we were out I picked up a few things for myself.
2 Dresses
2 Skirts
1 Pair Linen Pants
1 Cotton top
2 Cardigans
1 Pair Wedge Sandals
I now own THREE dresses!! Of course, I bought them for some weddings I have coming up but still…
And TWO skirts!!  One of them is even a Gap Khaki (for fucks sake) skirt.
The Wedges are self explanatory.
I am turning into a real Honest-to-God grown up. TWH & I were even talking about where we could go just to wear this shit.
I may hafta go lie down.
I feel like I’ve crossed over into some bizarro world.

P.S. Before you think I strayed too far from my roots/comfort zone, I also came home with two pairs of Levis. Like Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl would come home without THOSE!!  Maybe one day I’ll post pictures of me looking all like a Girly-Girl & shit.

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The Return of the Octogenarian Athlete

Okay, so. Right before Christmas, I encountered the Octogenarian Athlete. It was a horrible, eye searing event that left me speechless.
Today I saw him AGAIN!!  His love of spandex is still abundant. Every time I see/talk about him all I can see is Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor when he first becomes thin and he’s out shopping and yelling “Spandex!!  ALL SPANDEX!!”
What absolutely did me in was he was standing next to a table talking to a girl.
Who was seated.
At eye level with his “Package” as it was presented snugged in all it’s spandexy glory.
He does NOT wear underwear.
He was gently rocking back & forth.
A benign pelvic thrust, if you will.
Not blatantly obvious. Just slightly disturbing.
Especially if you’re sitting eye level with it.
The girl he was talking to was doing her full-on best to look him in the eye and JUST IN THE EYE.
I, however, could only look at the floor, the ceiling, ANYWHERE but at the O.A.
I obviously do not have the massive self control this young lady displayed.
I fall more along the lines of Austin Powers. “Moley, moley, moley!!”
I’m okay with that.
Of course, I don’t have some strange guy standing around with his dick in my face.


Dinner and Vampires

Okay, so.  I walk in to work this morning, get all my stuff arranged, and look up at the televisions on T’s side of the room to see Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. The original movie, not the series (I am a fan of both, however).

Watching Pee-Wee Herman play in the role of flunky to a Vampire reminded me of the time the Ex and I went to see the play Dracula at a little dinner theater place not far from where we lived in Virginia.  This place was tiny, dark, & campy. The food was fair. I LOVED IT!!  My parents did community theater when I was a kid so I spent countless hours playing on, under, & behind a small stage. Not to mention running up & down the aisles & climbing over seats during rehearsals.

Anyway, you got your food before the play began and were well into your meal by the time the play started.  At intermission, the cast came off the stage and doubled as the waitstaff.

We got Renfield.

Yep, we got batshit crazy, bird & fly eating, servant of Dracula,  Renfield.  The thing about that was he was a REALLY GOOD Renfield. You totally bought that he was crazy & that he might really have flies in his pocket or something.  So while everyone else was THRILLED by having Mina, Van Helsing, Johnathan Harker, or even Dracula himself, us and the lucky attendees at about three other tables were somewhat mortified.

Needless to say, I didn’t touch my dessert or my refilled drink when the play resumed.

It was just too damn creepy.