Last night was the mythical Fat Tuesday, or Mardi Gras, or Faustnut Day if you belong to some weird cult (yes, I am including "being German" as belonging to a weird cult). I have mixed feelings about days where you're "supposed" to party, like Mardi Gras, New Years, St. Patrick's Day, etc. For me, the hype and expectation almost always bog down whatever fun I might have on those days. For instance, I might have a fun New Years with a few friends watching the count down, but given that it's New Years, I will have that nagging feeling that I should be doing something crazier and that sort of eats away at the perfectly fine time I am having.
So it goes with Mardi Gras. While I have never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, I have been to New Orleans (counts for something! No? It doesn't? Well never mind then). I was twenty at the time so the prospect of drinking in public was pretty appealing. Anyway, like all twenty year olds with an imaginary license to consume alcohol on a public street, I did just that. Over the course of this evening, I saw a whopping total of four boobs from two women (I wasn't the one prompting them to show them, by the by, just an innocent bystander) all four of which I wish I could unsee. One was a super old lady, like probably 65 years old, showing them to some drunk frat doods on a balcony on Bourbon Street. The other pair was brought out by a girl in the group of people I was with, seemingly without any prompting, and man, I don't say this often (or ever [or have occasion to say it ever]),* but those were some lady parts that I did not want to see. Here's a true, and more interesting story. That same girl later led me to getting thrown out the door of a hotel on Bourbon Street, literally like this...
...by a bunch of drunk fat frat guys who I am pretty sure were trying to rape a friend of mine. So here's the story: I am in New Orleans with a group of about 15 people, of which I am the only guy. We head out on the town, we get split up into two groups. After a couple of hours, I see the group that I am not in on a balcony of a hotel on Bourbon Street throwing out beads. Included in this group is the aforementioned flasher. She's drunk and screaming for us to go up there, sounds like fun, so we find our way up to this swanky suite. Turns out it's populated by said drunk fat frat guys. Anyway, one of them starts taking another girl in the group into a separate room. She quite visibly does not want to go with him and he's getting pretty forceful. I say to the flasher, hey, your friend there looks like she most certainly doesn't want to get date raped right now, maybe you should go and grab her and we can leave. She does not do this. So I go into the room, to the delight of the about-to-get-sexually-assaulted girl, but not to the delight of the big fat frat guy. Him and one of his friends literally, and I am using that word correctly here, pick me up off the ground by my shirt and throw me out of the hotel. As soon as this happens, all the girls run out of the hotel, and we all made it out of there just fine. The moral of the story is, I guess, is Mardi Gras, I can give or take. How I got that moral out of the story, well...shut up. The point is I drank 4 beers (Sam Adams Lager and Winter Lager, Brooklyn Pennant Ale and American Ale) on my couch last night while watching John Adams on blu ray.
Anyway, as every good Catholic knows, Mardi Gras is for chumps. Lent is the real deal. Lent is the time we try to make News Years resolutions on threat of God being super pissed if you don't follow through. Or, more likely, it gives people excuses to try to do things just to see if they can. Well, as you all know, I can do anything, and I know I can do anything, so giving up something for Lent just doesn't hold an appeal to me. Instead I will take something up: more drinking. And you thought I was going to list something unexpected. Nope!
Total Beers: 140
Where I Should Be: 128.767
*Bracket in a paranthetical followed by a footnote! A new personal best for confounding sentence structure.
My dear friend Crystal left a comment. Unfortunately I had to delete it, as it contained my last name, something I'm trying to avoid around here, what with the job hunt and the googling and all. But here's her comment with my name carefully edited out:
ReplyDeleteI also remember being 20 years old, drinking on the streets of New Orleans with you, and somehow ending up on that balcony. I seriously wish that I knew how to attach a picture to this comment just to further prove to your millions of adoring blog readers that you are indeed writing the truth! Though I think you will agree that the best part of it all was that our colleges actually paid for us to go on that trip. Oh, the good ol' days, Mr. Danger!
I, too, was on that trip. Good times, good times. Let's make up a new last name for you. You should hold a competition for best new last name.
ReplyDeleteI vote pumpkinface.
Sorry broseph, I didn't know you had an identity to keep secure, but I will respect that. Mr. Danger is far more appropriate anyway.
ReplyDelete