Vacation: New Orleans
January 20, 2005 - January 22, 2005
Day One of Three – January 20, 2005
4:30 p.m. - We arrived at our hotel, the Queen & Crescent. This hotel is shit hot. After I finish this entry, I'm going to wear a robe and put crap in the safe just because it's there. When we checked in at the front desk, Lady Awesome noticed a charge to our room from the hotel bar. I said to the clerk, “We just got here. How can that be, dum-dum?” The clerk made a call to a manager then said to us, “Our mistake, Mr. Awesome.” Damn straight! Now cart these bags!
When we opened the door to our room, a basket of goodies from my sister sat on the bed. In it was a $50 voucher for the hotel bar. “That explains the mix-up,” Lady Awesome said. “What a totally awesome mix-up,” Abe Lincoln said. Now here we are. Face to face. A couple of silver spoons. -- I am so ready to take it all in and get the lead out, like that fish sandwich I had for lunch. Wish me luck!
5:14 p.m. - I just had sex for the first time in New Orleans and probably for the last time as a guy in his 20's. I don't think I need to tell you the sex was awesome and the room is officially a mess.
P.S. I programmed the combination to our safe. It's 8995. Come steal our stuff, internet!
P.P.S. You better believe I programmed it while wearing a robe.
7:30 p.m. - We met some friends for dinner at Pierre French Word on French Word Street. The food was French fried.
8:00 p.m. - My first New Orleans drink was something called Crawgator. I asked the guy what was in it, and he said, “It's a secret.” Half an hour later, I no longer had tissue lining the inside of my lip. My guess is very few crawfish or gators went into making the beverage, and the ingredients involved Everclear and battery acid.
Lady Awesome drank a Hurricane, which I gather is some sort of fruit drink that gives you the ability to push down trees.
9:18 p.m. - We went to John's hotel room (not “a” John, but our friend John). His view is incredible, not because he's on the 28th floor, but because there's a naked dude and two ladies in the hotel across from him.
11:01 p.m. - Bar, t-shirt store, tittie bar, art gallery, strip club, loud bar, tittie gallery, exquisite diamond and fanciful jewelry store, gayest gay bar, horse, trolley, tittie, puddle of beer and urine, fire engine.
12:39 a.m. - Some dudes on the elevator got off on a floor before mine. I thought, Oh yeah, I'm better than you. This was then confirmed when one of the guys said to the other, “Did you fart, motherfucker?” I was less shocked by the farting, and more shocked that he had fucked his mother. -- The tourists in New Orleans are sort of assholes, until you get drunk, too, and become one of them. [much more on that tomorrow]
12:45 a.m. - Seriously, this hotel is so nice, I actually put my clothes in the dresser instead of leaving them in the suitcase.
Day Two of Three – January 21, 2005
9:54 a.m. - I slept nine hours in the world's comfiest king size bed. Today will be the greatest birthday ever, or my name isn't Jose Mauricio Sanchez. The goal for today is to play roulette, enjoy a cigar, and get sloppy drunk while maintaining my integrity.
9:57 a.m. - I just remembered a nosebleed from last night. I have to remember not to let the alcohol thin my blood so much and/or keep my finger out of there.
11:45 a.m. - When I arrived at Harrah's Casino, only one roulette table was open, and it was jam packed with people. I sat at an empty roulette table and waited. Thirty minutes later, the table opened. I knew luck was on my side, because the spinner had a terrible mustache.
On the first spin, I hit 21 (the date of my birthday). That paid thirty-five dollars. On the second spin, I hit 30 (my age as of the nosebleed). That paid seventy dollars. On the third spin, I hit 27 (Jason's pick), which paid another thirty-five dollars. That's right, Harrah's; just open the vault and pour it in my pockets.
The odds of hitting the actual numbers on the table's first three spins is unbelievable. So suspiciously unbelievable that the floor manager retired my wheel spinner even though the table had been open for just a few minutes. A new spinner lady was brought in, and I knew luck was still with me, because she had a terrible mustache.
Part of gambling is knowing when to stop. For me, it was when I tripled my money and the cocktail waitress finally brought me an orange juice.
1:00 p.m. - Lady Awesome had a conference to attend, so I ate lunch by myself at the Creole Kitchen. I ordered seafood gumbo with French bread. It was the good kind of spicy that made my nose run. Also, I found a bay leaf in my gumbo. That's good luck. Or at least, that's what I used to tell myself when I ate the fruit cocktail at elementary school.
1:48 p.m. - As much as I love this hotel, the elevator is ass slow. A house cleaner told me that she once fell asleep in the elevator and woke up before it got to her floor.
6:06 p.m. - I woke up from a nice long nap. Lady Awesome told me that I snored, which was acceptable because it's my birthday. However, if I snore any time over the next 364 days, this relationship is over.
6:44 p.m. - Lady Awesome got a tarot card reading from Madam French Word. According to a guy wearing a cape, she gets married twice and has three kids. -- Meanwhile, I stood outside and watched a horse poop in the street, followed by a limousine that ran over it. I think we all know which one was better time well spent.
8:35 p.m. - We ate at French Word Restaurant, where our waiter, Dennis Farina, stared at Lady Awesome the whole time. He literally came to the table every two minutes and talked to her and her only. Nice try, Dennis, but I'm the one taking her home in a doggy bag. I had crab meat au gratin. Lady Awesome had some kind of shrimp sampler.
9:02 p.m. - We took advantage of the $50 bar tab at the hotel and got pretty sloppy. I drank Basil Hayden, which is a small batch bourbon produced by Knob Creek. It was soooooo smoooooth. Lady Awesome drank cosmopolitans. The bar manager drank 151 proof rum and then breathed fire. Seriously. She also poured us free shots that she called “cake batter,” which tasted like equal parts vanilla vodka and cacao schnapps. Not to be outdone, Edwin the doorman gave us a lollipop in the shape of a lobster.
10:05 p.m. - I saw some boobs. They belonged to a woman.
11:31 p.m. - Lady Awesome and I met up with John and Bob at a gay bar. Many things were yelled off the balcony to the commoners in the street:
* That's right, bride. Bend over and pick up your dollar.
* His butt's a finger hut.
* Your tits look fake. Get some new ones.
* You know the feathers in that boa probably gave you scabies.
3:08 a.m. - People are asshole jerks and should have to declare it on their tax returns. Lady Awesome would also like to note that Bourbon Street is full of motherfuckers, and “she'll never go down Bourbon Street again.”
I ate two slices of pizza. The first slice came from some place and was cold and not good. The second slice was from some other place and was awesome good the best. If you're ever in New Orleans, don't go to that first place.
Day Three of Three – January 22, 2005
10:59 a.m. - Still in bed, tallying how much I had to drink. Three bourbons, “cake batter” shots, some Irish coffee, RU486, then a Hurricane, then Evan Williams, followed by about ten things that people bought for me. Once again, I owe my life to Chaser because I have no headache. Whiskey dick, maybe. But headache, no. -- Huh, this headboard has a wood knot that looks exactly like a vagina.
11:06 a.m. - Lady Awesome and I don't want to leave the room, but someone needs to clean up this pigsty. House cleaner, I'm looking in your direction.
11:21 a.m. - Last night we met up with Conor, John & Bob, Frances & Greg, and some people I don't remember meeting, but I'm told that I did. Apparently, I also lifted my shirt twice for beads, which has never ever been done in the French Quarter, ever. I have a feeling that men and women will be copying my actions for many years to come.
12:08 p.m. - We ate lunch at Huey's. I ordered a salad, to which my colon replied, “Uh, there's no breading on that.” I seriously feel so good. Chaser, I could kiss you. Or eat you to absorb all that bad alcohol shit. God damn, I was drunk last night. I still might be.
1:53 p.m. - The day has been full of questions. Well, only one question really, but repeated many times. “Last night, do you remember when…?” Each time I hear it, memories come flooding back and I give a hearty, “Oh yeah! I do remember repeatedly feeling Bob's chest and telling him he had hard pecs.”
“Oh yeah! I do remember drinking shots of peppermint schnapps and then doing cartwheels.”
“Oh yeah! I do remember dancing with five black women at once to “Baby Got Back” on Bourbon Street. And when I got tired, Bob jumped in and started humping the dirty beer soaked ground.”
5:25 p.m. - Napped. Stank. Showered.
6:14 p.m. - Lady Awesome doesn't remember swearing off Bourbon Street forever, so it's okay that we looked for a restaurant there. We ate at Café Maspero (finally got a name right). Make room, small intestines, I've got more shrimp po' boys for your low income housing.
7:00 p.m. - Today is the first day of Mardi Gras, which means there's a parade organized by The Krewe de Vieux. I have a hunch I'll be seeing some boobatalia of the female variety.
8:00 p.m. - The parade was exciting and lively. My favorite float had a penis ejaculating into a goblet. The side of the float read, “He cometh and turned wad into wine.” My prize for enjoying the backs of people's heads was a Guido-style gold chain with medallion thrown at my face.
After the parade, we went to Frances & Greg's apartment on Dumaine Street. The temperature dropped about thirty degrees in the past two hours, which made it much too cold to feel superior on the balcony. Instead, ten people crammed into their living room drinking mint juleps that resembled swamp water. Not that swamp water is bad. It's a very crucial source of hydration for animals in the food chain.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Chest hair.
Chest hair who?
[unbuttons shirt and puts on Guido medallion] I'm chest hair to party!
11:33 p.m. - Unfortunately, we're back in the hotel room because we're “responsible.” We have to wake up at 8:00 a.m. so we can drive back home and rescue the dog from the kennel. I'll miss New Orleans. And drinking in excess. And fried foods. And Bob. -- Daisy, if you can read this and have the ability to travel back in time, we're coming.
Epilogue: The bartender at our hotel never applied the bar credit to our room and just gave us fifty dollars worth of liquor for free. Thus, we had a $50 voucher we could apply to our room when we checked out. – And when we got home, I explained that I was still on New Orleans time and poured myself a whiskey four whiskeys.