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| Tuesday, August 01, 2006 |
| New Orleans |
So I said I’d talk about New Orleans and my trips there. I love New Orleans. It’s a beautiful city, the parts untouched, of course. I have been there before and after Katrina.
Let’s talk about the first time. I was around 26. I was working at a retail store and there was a girl that worked there went to the University of New Orleans. She was a major hottie. A light-skinned black girl, sweet, shapely, and maybe just a little dim. She tells me and another guy that we should come down for Mardi Gras. This was at Christmas break. I had always wanted to go to Mardi Gras. What’s not to love? Parades, food, booze and boobs, all of my favorite things. So I thought, hell yeah, I’ll go. So I get a buddy of mine, Trent, and we make arrangements to go. I’m divorced at this point and sowing my and everyone else’s oats. Well, we rent a car from a guy we know and get a great deal. Yes, we’re driving. Sure, it’s sixteen hours or so, but fuck it. Flying is too expensive and neither of us was loaded. The plan is to leave on Friday night, get there sometime Saturday and party until Monday morning as we have to be back at work on Tuesday. So we pack up the rented Pontiac Grand Am and roll. Well, first we stop at a department store to load up on refreshments. By refreshments I mean traveling food and drink. I believe it mostly consisted of Mountain Dew and snacks, and tons of beef jerky. We both loved beef jerky. I’ll go into what happens to your stomach when all you do is ride in a car and drink Mountain Dew and eat beef jerky, later.
The trip was long as hell. We switched back and forth many times. We knew we had reached the South when at a rest area in Mississippi, written on the wall was, “Go Home, Jigaboos” See, my friend Trent is black. Well, he looks more Indian(dot, not feather) than black. He has straight black hair and a sharp pointed nose, but he is black. It’s weird, his parents look like any other black couple, Trent looks like his name should be Bidi. He claims it’s because one of his great grandparents had American Indian in them. Who knows? He does have a big black ass. You could rest a school lunch tray on that sucker. Anyways. We arrive in New Orleans at like 6am. So we call this girl to find out where she lives and how to get there. New Orleans is not a simple city to navigate. It’s all curved and the roads lead no where half the time. Plus, you don’t want to end up in the wrong part of town. You know, the part that got flooded. So we get a hold of her and show up on her doorstep. She’s living in an old house where they rent the first floor. Let me set the scene. The doorway to the house was like 5 steps from the ground we knock and wait at the base of the steps. She opens up the door and holds open the screen. Let me point out she is wearing a little nightie that stops at the top of her thighs. I look up and all is see is bush. Lovely thighs ending in a thick patch of curly hair. I’m so tired at this point, I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating or not. I glance back at Trent and by the look on his face; I know he is seeing what I am seeing. At that point, we knew it was going to be a great trip. So we haul our stuff in the house. You go through a big porch and into a huge living room. The entire living room is covered with people sleeping. Apparently her two roommates invited friends down, also. Not only that, they are all black girls. Me, Trent and like 14 black girls. I am the token whitey. It didn’t bother me, it’s all good. Anyways. She takes us back to her room and says we can sleep for a while in there; she is going to go sleep in her roommate’s room with her. After I was done picturing her in bed with another girl, I plopped by ass down on the bed. As I kicked off my shoes, I went to put one next to the other and noticed a box of condoms under the bed. Not your average box of condoms. This was the Sam’s Club/Costco, passing them out at Planned Parenthood box. It was huge. It held 48 condoms! And close to half were gone! Our girl was getting a lot of dick!!! Again, we knew this was going to be a great trip.
So we sleep a few hours and then go to lunch with a group of the girls. I’m not sure how many, like 8 or so. We all piled into this 1980’s Buick and off we went. We had lunch and then the girls wanted to go shopping at the mall. Whatever, that’s fine. We need to get jackets anyways. We assumed it would be warm, and it usually is, but while we were there that year it was in the 40’s. So we are walking through the mall and I see people walking with plastic drink cups. The kind you get at a campus type bar for mixed drinks. I didn’t think that much of it until I see a guy drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels right there in the mall. Turns out there are no open container laws in New Orleans. You can drink whatever, wherever you chose. There was a full service bar on one of those kiosks right there in the middle of the mall. Awesome. So we load up on beads, gotta have beads, and head back to change.
The next days are a blur of alcoholism, boobs, beads, food and debauchery. I, at some point in the trip, fell down a set of steps at a strip club, yelled continually at Quincy Jones until he waved at me, threw a Foster’s Oil Can Beer up two stories to a chick who flashed her boobs at me, slept on many a floor, and NEVER hooked up with any of our hosts or roommates. Neither did Trent. Although, he did get close. See, we used to call Trent, ‘Pork Chop.’ Trent had a way with the bigger girls. The idea was you hang a pork chop around his neck and the big girl come a runnin’. I know, not very nice, but funny. Well, one of the girls was bigger and she was inexorably attracted to Trent. From what I remember, he may have made out with her, or even got blown, but nothing else. I preferred to call Trent, ‘Halfway Round.’ The story being that he could only get his arm half way around his girl. Plus, he is only about 5’7” so usually the girl is taller and weighs more than him. The time flew by. Mostly because we were either drunk, getting drunk or sleeping.
The last night we were there we were out until like four in the morning and lost track of the girls so we had no way back to U. of New Orleans from the French Quarter. The street cars stopped running at like midnight so we had to hoof it. The only way we knew back was via St. Charles. St. Charles makes a horseshoe all the way around the city. I have no idea how many miles it is, but from the Quarter to where we were staying were pretty much on the exact opposite sides. So we walked. And walked. And walked. Every few minutes Trent, who was drunk to the point of barely being able to walk, would stop and scream, “Fuck it, I’m not walking anymore!” I’d just keep walking. He’d run and catch up after a while. Then we’d walk some more and he’d sit down and say the same thing, then run and catch up again. This happened like 5 times. I just kept walking. The best part was that Trent would trip every ten steps or so over the streetcar rails in the middle of the road. It was funnier than hell. So we keep walking and finally I say, fine, let’s get a cab or something, because at this point I thought we were lost. So, we hail a cab. We pile, say, take us to Washington at St. Charles, and relax for the trip. He starts moving, drives about a tenth of a mile and says, “$15!” We were flabbergasted. Trent starts bitching about the price, but I’m exhausted, so I throw 15 bucks at him and pull Trent out. What a night.
I think I had more fun that trip than anything I ever did. I did more drinking in 4 days than I had all year. Not that drinking is everything, but it was a blast. I may post the pics some day. Needless to say, the trip back sucked but, it was worth it.
My second trip to New Orleans was about one month after Katrina hit. The company I was working for at the time sent people down there to help out with the relief effort. By that time the Quarter was up and running again. I felt good helping people and plus, I was hanging out on Bourbon Street every night. It was pretty damn empty, but I still saw boobs and beads. Spent many a night in a strip club right near my hotel. They gave me many free drinks and lots of free lap dances. I almost hooked up with one stripper, but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
I would love to go again and see how it’s going down there. The downtown of the city was completely empty. There were no people, no cars, nothing. It was like some movie where all the people disappear from a city. I have some pics I’ll post or link to. I actually considered moving down there to help with the rebuilding of the city. I love it there. Anyways. Those are my New Orleans stories. |
posted by dusio @ 8/01/2006 06:59:00 PM   |
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Name: dusio
Home: columbus, ohio, United States
About Me: Jaded, regretful, bitter and sarcastic. But a great guy!
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