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New Orleans Part 2: Now I'm Really Cranky!

December 8, 2000

New Orleans Part 2
"Luggage, oh luggage. Where for art thou, dear luggage?"

"We have no luggage! We have no luggage!" I'm panicked.
"Those ratsenfratsen no good dagnabbit flick'n flock'n crappy hornswaggelled..."
I'm so incensed I've gone past normal swearing to cartoon swearing.

As I'm stomping around, Brad, being the sane one, calmly suggests we go upstairs to the ticket agent and ask for help. I take off so fast that I leave fire trails behind me. I am ready to draw blood. I feel like Steve Martin at the end of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. I race over to the ticket counter, miles ahead of Brad. He is so exasperated with me that when he rolls his eyes with such obvious annoyance, he actually manages to dislodge Christmas decorations from ceiling.

The ticket guy was kinda cute, so I calmed down a bit. Lucky him. I explain our situation and he tells me that the flight crew told us the wrong luggage carousel and we just need to go down and check number 10 instead and if it isn't there to "ask for Debbie." I'm off. I run back down stairs pushing people out of the way. A small, frail grandma is knocked over the side of the escalator. No time for apologies, I need my Old Navy sweaters!

I run to carousel number 10. No luggage. I am reeling!¹ I climb behind the carousel and start rooting through piles of old discarded bags from the 70's. It was like the island of misfit luggage back there. Ours wasn't there. I emerge from the conveyor. Brad is starting to get angry - not with me but with the poopin' airline. We ask a "security guard" who shrugs and goes back to reading his Teen People. I start pounding on every door I can find, regardless of what was behind it. I don't think the guy in the bathroom stall was too happy with me. I tell Brad to stay put and I will go back upstairs. I again run up stairs and to the ticket counter. I can tell they are annoyed with me - too bad! I ask what Debbie looks like and am told "She is a woman with long hair." Thanks, you just described every non-lesbian in the country. I go back downstairs and I find Brad waiting with our luggage. He had found Debbie. They had just locked up our bags for safe keeping. I am happy and act as if that wasn't the most stressful seven minutes of my life.

Next we hop a cab. Having travelled from Chicago where it was 20 below and dressed in winter coat, scarf, sweater, earmuffs, gloves, hat, long underwear, boots, ski pants and the like, I was not prepared for the 70 degree New Orleans. Now I'm hot. We get in the cab and make it to our hotel (surprisingly no incidents). We check in and unpack and decide to explore the French Quarter. I had heard of two streets: Bourbon and Canal. Canal was a main boulevard that is trash and a half. A giant gaudy Walgreens with a 30 foot neon sign. Shady looking characters abound. Run down junk stores. It's all here. We cross Canal and walk down Bourbon. Lots of debauchery. It's a straight, stupid man's dream world². All the cheap beer you can drink and fully naked trollops dancing on poles in "gentlemen's clubs". It was too much to handle.

I started to get a headache. I was hungry, tired and just getting over my cold. There were drunk frat boys spilling beer on my brand new Sketchers and topless women (which I never need to see again) jumping around like it was some Benny Hill sketch. I needed to sit down and put my head between my knees. Deep breaths. Brad was getting increasingly annoyed with me because every time a Phi Delt yelled "WOO HOO!" and held his beer aloft for all to see, I not so quietly said "I hate everyone!"
We walked around for an hour or so and decided we were hungry. Our choices seemed to be $30 a plate bistros or TGIFridays. We settled on some small pub on Decatur St. We got there at 7:40 and ordered the "Jumbo Gumbo Special" which was three bowls of similar looking paste over rice. A red one, a brown one and a reddish brown one. They were all good - except for the one that was too fishy. There was only one other couple in the place and it seemed odd that a restaurant wouldn't be very crowded on a Friday night. We then realized that they had locked the doors. They closed at 8:00. I felt like an idiot. We had to wait to be let out and got a free scoff along with our meals.

I now decided I needed a Walgreen's to get Kleenex and hand lotion. There was one two blocks away. The outside looked like a very nice old frenchy-french building with a carved wooden sign. Inside it was all Walgreen's though. We did, however, discover the new Snickers Cruncher bar. It tastes like that other candy bar, a Whatchamadkjfaxzqalit. I recommend them.

Since I was at the point of irritation where black smoke pours out my ears, we decided to call it a night around 9:30. We had travelled a lot and were tired. So we went back to the hotel. On the way we passed some homeless guy that we ended up seeing about 17 times over the weekend. He looked like the Unabomber.
So that was the end of the first night. More stories to come involving mice, roaches and mangy cats. Oh the fun!

¹shout out to Melissa D!
²Feel free to take offense to that

New Orleans Part 3: Here's Where the Story Ends

December 8, 2000

New Orleans Part 3
"Here's where the story ends."

Fully rested, I awaken anew. I've got fresh ideas, I put my fresh face to the world.
I'm an easy, breezy, beautiful covergirl. It's Saturday. Our first full day in the crescent city.

Friday night was rough, but today will be fun. We scamper out of the hotel (well, I scampered, Brad walked) and I almost step in a fresh giant pile of vomit.

Here are my top five worst vomit experiences in ascending order:

5) The time I stopped by The Cubby Bear sports bar to get money from the exterior cash machine and realized I was standing on frozen puke.
4) This near death experience with the party puke outside our hotel. It looked like creamy alphabet soup and it must have been a gallon worth. A strand of purple Mardi Gras beads lay strewn in the pool.
3) The time someone puked over the side of the at Aero 360 ride at Kennywood and it landed mere inches from me. Luckily, I came out unscathed.
2) When Brad and I witnessed pigeons eating the chunks out of fresh vomit on Rush street. They flew off when we approached and sprayed the barf all over the window at Barnes and Noble.
1) Long story short: Got drunk. Puked all over myself and the bathroom floor at 3am and had to clean the bathroom with bleach while only wearing boxers and suppressing residual heaves from the barf/Clorox smell.

So we stepped around it and went to breakfast.

Everyone told us to go to Cafe Du Monde for cafe au lait and beignets (ben-YAYS). The line was about 3/4 of a mile long. I pouted. Big surprise there. But we waited anyway and were seated in under 15 minutes. Beignets are a fried dough covered in a half box of powdered sugar. We both took one bite and coughed. They are really good. My mother makes something almost identical called "cheregi" (chet-EGG-y). It's a slovak thing.

Brad and I quickly learned the French Quarter, as it is a grid system (plus I had a map). Every resident of New Orleans that we encountered was very pleasant and friendly. Except for the fast food workers, but that comes with the territory. We spent the next three days relaxing and enjoying the sights and sounds. On any given corner you could find a live band, street performers, local artisans or tarot card readers. It was a lot of fun.

We twice ate at some restaurant whose name escapes me but was very good. It was in the Napoleon house if that means anything to anyone. The hostess was an Anne Rice-a-like character dressed in all black. Very stylish. Our meals were very tasty and we saw a mouse scamper across the floor. Now, let me explain. All the restaurants and stores are level with the street and have dozens of French doors the open up onto the sidewalk. Any old thing could wander inside. Plus, most places had a center courtyard that was open to the local wildlife. It was all very charming. The mousey couldn't have been larger than a Hershey's kiss. It was cute and didn't bother me. It was just one of those tiny house mouses. But since it was on Bourbon street it was probably a titmouse.

Our sassy waiter told us to check out the new "W" hotel on Poydras street. It was A. Maze. Ing. I can't even explain it. Go to Yahoo!, type in "W Hotels" and find them. We have to stay there next time. We also went to the Harrah's casino. It too was very cool. It was huge and empty. We walked through once and I decided I wanted to go to the section where the ceilings had twinkling stars. I then narrowed down my slot machine search by picking a spot underneath the giant Zeus Mardi Gras float. It was there that I found a lone slot machine that was hidden in a corner. The slot machine was called "candy bars." I eat 80 candy bars a day - this is fate. I put in one dollar and instantly won ten dollars! Woo hoo! I was on a roll! In the next ten minutes, I managed to lose ten dollars and then lose ten more dollars. Damn casino! We left.
We kept passing that same homeless guy...er - I mean "residentially challenged person" over and over again. He was always walking in the opposite direction as us. At one point he recognized me and gave me the "'sup" nod. We're buds.

We went to Pat O'Brien's bar on Saturday. Everyone told us we had to go. They have a famous drink called a Hurricane. I will admit that the place is kinda neat. Three separate bars in a large courtyard area. We were carded to get in, and then re-carded 50 feet later to get into the second bar, which I didn't get. We saw five bachelorette parties. Two brides-to-be were wearing veils with tiny plastic penises on them. I hope they both get divorced. The other three had sippers in the shape of penises. Who decided this was a good tradition?

I ordered a Hurricane. It was $10. It was basically 64 ounces of bad rum with a 1/2 teaspoon of grenadine for color. It was NAS-TY! I drank maybe 1/3 of it before my body started to reject it. We left and went to a gay club with hot Go-Go boys. That story is for Scott only. Sorry.

On Sunday we decided to take the street car to the Garden District to see all the old plantation homes. We saw Anne Rice's humongous mansion. As to be expected, bats were encircling the towers and unearthly disembodied moans were emanating from within. We also saw the Real World Belfort mansion. I thought Brad was going to cry with joy. He kept saying things like "Danny stood here!" "Danny walked here!" "Danny slept here!" "Danny and Paul had the sex here!"¹. The mansion was completely fenced off and gutted. We decided that they must be restoring it to its original state after MTV Ikea'd it to death.

The Garden District is said to have lots of antique stores. Yeah, not so much on a Sunday. Everything was closed. But we entertained ourselves anyway. I had to pee so badly at one point, that I found a port-a-potty in the front yard of some plantation home being renovated and actually used it. I thought I was going to die. We also scammed in on some tour and walked through an old home. We later found out you had to have passes to get in that were $25 each. We snuck in through the back door. It was mildly interesting. Two people in the house were talking about how they had to get priest to perform exorcisms on their old homes. It was kinda creepy.

Sunday night we were going to go back out to the clubs but I got mega-sick with a stomach virus (AKA "The Cajun Special"). So I went back to the hotel and Brad went out whoring. I hopped in a cab and the driver kept asking me weird questions like "What does the word phantom mean?" and "What is temptation?" from the conversation I can only guess that he really wanted to have sex with a ghost.

We were supposed to leave Monday afternoon, but Chicago was hit with the Stormageddon and both airports were closed, so we stayed over one more night. No problem - it was 70 degrees in New Orleans. We chilled out Monday night and went to a free Christmas concert in a church. That night we decided to go to dinner at some restaurant that looked shady to me, but always had lines of people to get in. We went and after we ordered, Brad points out the largest cockroach I have ever seen. It was zipping across the floor. Instantly my feet went up on the chair and I tried to remain calm. If we hadn't already had our food, I would have just left. I can't even find a photo on the web that shows one this big. It was the size of a Pez Dispenser. It sat behind me in the corner, plotting it's attack. I could barely eat. (I said barely). If the dining area had a roach, did the kitchen have them? I was freaking out. We decided it ran in from the street when we saw two more join it. They are pack hunters, like velociraptors. One distracts you while the other two swoop in from the sides for the attack. We made a hasty exit once we paid the bill.

I thought it was odd that we didn't see any roaches the whole time until the day we were ready to leave. Thank God, though. We walked over to Bourbon street and Brad says "Look!" and point to the curb. Another giant monster roach was walking down the sidewalk. It had crawled from the sewer. It was a C.H.U.D. It had on Mardi Gras beads and was carrying a cup of beer. I think it was drunk because it fell off the sidewalk. I wish I had taken a picture of it so I could show everyone, but I was not thinking clearly at the time.

The next morning we left for the airport. Our cabbie kept talking to us in a thick Creole accent about football. When we told him what airline we were on, he said "Vanguard, what the hell is that?" Exactly, my friend. Exactly.

Our flight was delayed (of course) for about 90 minutes but a moderately attractive Australian guy was the ticket agent and so I was occupied. We then had to scramble to get on the connecting flight in Kansas City. But we made it home safe and sound. We may have been a day late and a dollar short, but we had fun.

¹ One or all of those statements may be falsely attributed to Brad.

I Take the Morning Train

December 4, 2000

December 4
"I take the morning train..."

This will be quick...

Since when is it acceptable to sing in crowded public places such as on the subway or the street?

This morning I didn't get a seat on the train. DAMMIT! So I had to stand in the corner. I was in between the Unabomber and the Hobbit. Some random woman decides to sing. Not loudly, but loud enough so that those of us unfortunate enough to be standing in the near area can hear her. R. Kelly's "I believe I can fly" sucked the first time around, what makes her think she can do it better? No signing! This is not an isolated instance. I have encountered many wandering minstrels in the city as of late. Always singing some junk they heard on "The Box". ENOUGH!

The Best Laid Plans...

December 3, 2000

December 1-3
"The Best Laid Plans..."

I haven't bothered to type in a while. Let's see...what has happened? I'll tell you about this past weekend. Friday was Brad's work party (Hi Kate!). He was off bowling at Southport Lanes whilst I was "slaving" away over SoapCity. Afterwards I met him back at our apartment. He was drunk. If you have never seen Brad drunk, it is a lot like when he is sober, except he repeats his stories. Otherwise, you would never be able to tell.

He wanted Mexican food for dinner. Brad suggested "Mamacita's" on Broadway. I agreed to go with the hope that Sergio, the cute waiter was working. He was. We weren't seated in his section, but he made a point to come over and say hello. He is very friendly. He is just so nice but I am sure he just wants a big tip - ha ha! - And Brad is happy because now I am starting to like Mexican food.

I have to add something: I am going back and reading this 9 months later. We are now friends with Sergio. I now have this fear that he is going to read this and think I am a freak (well, a bigger freak.) Sergio, if you are reading this - I am sorry. I am mortified now. Also, I hope Israel isn't going to kill me. Please remember that that was written last year.

Saturday, Brad and I just went for a long walk and some window shopping. But that night, we decided we wanted to see The Broken Hearts Club again. So we rounded up five people who hadn't seen it and planned the evening. Here was the itinerary:

6:30pm - Meet Jen and Renata at Karen's apartment.
By 7:00 - Walk to The Music Box Theatre and get our tickets in advance, because when I called the theater, they said it has been selling out.
7:00-7:45 - Put in our name at Cullen's for dinner then walk around in the shops on Southport.
7:45-9:00 - Eat
9:00 - Meet Michelle and her brother, Kent, at the theater.
9:30 - Enjoy the show.

Here's what actually happened:

Brad and I got to Karen's on time and after some play time with the Monkey (her cat) we left for dinner. We got to Cullen's at 6:50. The "Irish" host took our name and told us it would be about a thirty minute wait. Perfect so far. We walk over to the theater (next door, not far to walk) and the line is OUT THE DOOR. Okay, no big deal. They are all waiting for the 7:30 show. We'll come back. We decide to go back into Cullen's and wait at the bar. We get in and the Host-guy says "We can seat you now." Whazzah? That was 30 seconds. This is throwing the whole evening off schedule! Now we have 2 hours for dinner. Okay, I can deal. No problem.

We sit in a round corner booth in the back (non-smoking - YAY!). The place is really decorated for Christmas and it looks great. The music was a bit odd - it was "The Three Tenors sing The Thong Song," or something. A bit annoying. Cullen's is like "O'Reilly's Italian Restaurant" in Return to Me (rent it today), they serve both traditional fish and chips and portabella stuffed ravioli with bruschetta. Which is it? For some reason we all opted for the fish and chips. Except for Jen, who got the tuna fish...and chips. Our "Irish" waitress (fake accent) brought the food quickly. The fish was just okay. They were in the shape of nuggets. Not McNuggets. It was real, fresh fish, but not in strips. I like fish and chips, but it's better at "Duke of Perth" on Clark.

So we ate and what-not. Then the waitress asks if we want any dessert. I look at my watch, its only 7:50 - time to kill. "Dessert? Sure, why not. What do you have?" She answers: "Chocolate chip cookie or apple pie." I'm thinking that the chocolate chip cookie pie sounds good. "I'll have the cookie pie." "No," she says "It's a cookie." "What? A cookie? Just a cookie?" "It's a big cookie." "Oh. Well then by all means, bring me that cookie." She scampers off. A cookie?! Where are we, grandma's house? What foolish restaurant offers a cookie for dessert? [I think a better question is "What fool orders it?" - Karen] Touché. "For dessert we offer delicious Nilla wafers or gum." Whatever.

She brings the cookie. It is a medium sized cookie on a plate with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and drizzled with Hershey's Syrup. Hershey's Syrup is one of those things that you are supposed to like because it's liquid chocolate and it is Americana. But realistically, it's not that tasty by itself. The cookie is very hard. I mean, I can't even cut it with a fork. It was okay... for a $4.50 cookie!

We finish up and leave the restaurant. It's 8:10. We don't have to meet Michelle and Kent until 9:00. The movie starts at 9:30. Well, I guess we'll go get our tickets now. We go in the theater. We're told that they will go on sale at 8:30. Ugh! We leave and decide to go into some stores. Keep in mind it is 11 degrees outside. We first go to a very small Christmas store called "I just opened this store on Wednesday," or something. It could barely fit all five of us in it, but the guy was nice. It just had a lot of lights and ornaments and junk. He was featuring some goofy fiber-optic Santa dealy. The turtle-necked glasses guy who worked there said "Watch this," as he turned off the lights in the store. The fiber-optic Santa lit up the room and changed colors. There was a collective "Ooooohhhh..." from the five of us followed by a giggle. I immediately left.

It's now 8:15. We crossed the street to a store called "Hit the Road." It's a store about lesbians that like to travel. They were closed. Karen's complains about that store, because their sign is an actual street sign that reads "Hit the Road" with an arrow pointing down. She says it is confusing because it looks real and it makes her car want to do something. I don't know what she's talking about either.

8:17 - We walk down the street and go into the only other open store. It's a vintage clothing store. The gay behind the counter was rude.

8:23 - It's cold. Let's just wait in the theater lobby. We go stand there, first in line. Two gaybos cut in front of us and get tickets. RUDE! We get ours. We then decide to sit and wait in the lobby - for 35 minutes. There are no two seats together. I am in a chair across from the bathroom. Jen and Karen are on parlor chairs about 30 feet away. Renata is attempting to negotiate a seat on the couch with a man who is also waiting and pretending to nap.

Finally it's 9:00 and we meet the rest of the group. Again, we are first in line. Again some of the gays cut in front of us. RUDE!

The theater ended up being full. Everyone loved the movie and Brad and I liked it better the second time around. Karen said it could have been called "Four hook-ups and a funeral" that's funny if you saw the film, which you all should.

Thanksgiving Weekend: Part 1

November 25, 2000

Thanksgiving Weekend - Part 1
"The incident at Best Buy"

I went to Brad's parent's house in Bay City, Michigan for the weekend. It was very relaxing and fun. But of course, I have stories to tell.

Friday morning, the craziest shopping day of the year, Brad decides he needs to go to Best Buy because they were having a CD sale. All CDs were $9.99 until noon. Now, normally we hate Best Buy because the stores in Chicago are run by Nazis. The employees are rude, the lines are a mile long and they usually have only two registers open. But the suburban ones out of state tend to be better. However, we all tried to warn Brad that "crazy holiday people + sale + limited time = shopping Armageddon." (Shopageddon?) But he was insistent.

We got to the Best Buy at about 10:30am. The first bad sign was that the lot was so full we had to park in Ohio. After making our way in, we saw that there were five lines that snaked around the entire perimeter of the store. Ugh. Trying not to complain (but not trying very hard) I decided that if Brad wanted to wait in the lines, I wouldn't stop him. So he searched through the frenzied crowd and after 30 minutes picked up some CDs. Now, I assumed that he wanted to buy many many CDs and save a lot of money, but he bought two. TWO! Erykah Badu and Ani DiFranco. I told him that I would pay him the difference of what he would save if we didn't have to wait in the line. People in Russia don't wait that long for potatoes. But he wanted to wait, so I decided to occupy myself around the store. He can wait for 3 days, but I can at least play The Legend of Zelda on the PS2 display. [It sucked, by the way.]
So he got in line, which was as far away as you can get from the registers as possible without actually being outside the building. While he waited I wandered about noticing many women wearing Christmas tree sweatshirts with real ornaments decoupaged on them and holding hands with their mulletted common-law husbands donning airbrushed Harley tees. I have never seen so many curled bangs before. I will say one thing - everyone was very pleasant and well-mannered. Had this been Chicago, a slap-fight would have erupted in the first 10 minutes - well, at least in Boystown it would have.

So, as Brad chatted it up about Ani with the UPS employee in line in front of him, I perused the DVD and computer games sections. Finally, after waiting 35 minutes in line, Brad conceded that perhaps it wasn't worth waiting to save $6.00. But he felt too invested at that point to leave, despite the fact that he had only moved about 50 feet so far.

I should also mention that I was sick. I had a cold. I was sneezy and sniffly. When I am sick I use about 20 boxes of Kleenex a day. Foolishly, I had only brought one little travel pack of tissue with me. I had to use them sparingly, so a lot of sniffling took place. I must have orbited the store about 67 times, sniffing like a fool and trying to actually find a CD I might want to buy. Saint Etienne? Nope, none. Hybrid? Not even a section for it. Dj Dimitri? Who? But they had all the Faith Hill and Kid Rock you could never want.

At this point, I began to notice that I wasn't the only person subjected to this madness. The store was peppered with bored teenagers and near comatose senior citizens that were told "We'll just make a few quick stops then we'll have lunch at Bob Evans. It'll be good for you to get out of the rest home for a while." People were strewn across the sales floor like fallen apple blossoms after the first frost. (I'm currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha, sorry.) It was like O'Hare airport on any given day. I half expected to see people lying on cots waiting for the next shipment of crappy albums to arrive. "BackStreet Boys -- delayed." Collective groan from crowd.

Finally he neared the home stretch. Thank God. I was so bored, I almost resorted to reading Chicken Soup for the garbage man's soul. At this point, Brad decided that the past 68 minutes in line should be worth more than a savings of $6.00, so he picked up a pack of batteries.

Now, don't forget that I was sick. And when I am sick and miserable, I make it a point for everyone around me to also be miserable. I was getting very desperate to blow my nose and I was about to use a receipt, one of those $100 3-year warrantees that they try to get you to purchase for your calculator, cellophane, anything. I was also starving. You can imagine that I was looking my best at this point and pleasant to be around.

Brad finally checked out!

Amount of time spent in line: 75 minutes
Amount of money saved from sale: $8.43
Lets never speak of this again.

Part 2 contains my trials at Meijer's and eating lunch at [groan] Applebee's.

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