What happens in NOLA (part 1). . . Entry for October 10, 2006

What happens in NOLA stays in NOLA . . . NOT. Actually this was one of those adventures that can go down in the books under "Well, things could have been a lot worse", lol. After I finished my last post sitting there in the bar, I started drinking Gin and Pineapple juice. I figured my odds of having a bad hangover with Gin were less than with any other boozes, but at least I didn’t get sick, but wait, I’m getting way ahead of myself.

Me and Y were both drinking quite a bit, after all, it was Saturday night, what else was there to do in the French Quarter? I started dancing with this one chick who was in the bar and my friend admitted to thinking she was hot. . I didn’t trip out or anything, I had already realized I wasn’t in love with this guy; that there would never be anything more than a good friendship between us. She was married, had red hair, nice big titties, was kind of pretty. Hehehe, I even kissed her on the tits when we were dancing (through her shirt of course, lol).

Anyways, I’m not sure how many drinks later, as I was talking to someone at the bar, I tossed my head and my friend’s sunglasses fell off my head, and he started getting pissy about it, even though they didn’t get scratched. Of course that didn’t sit too well with me, and that was the first sign of trouble. The next was when somehow a conversation I was having (with I don’t even remember who now) turned into me asking about buying some LSD. I think I might have been talking about it because one of the times I had went to NOLA I had bought some really good acid, but that’s an entirely different story, lol.

Well, apparently that really pissed him off (still not sure why) and he left to go back to his place and abandoned me there. I didn’t give a flying fuck by that time, so I just kept on partying and probably making an ass of myself in the process, lol. I remember pulling my pants down and mooning the bartender at one point. I was wearing my pretty aqua stretch-lace hipster panties, but for the life of me I can’t remember why I mooned him, lol.

Things start to get real blurry around this time, but I remember partying with this small group of people, this guy, his son and his fiancée. She looked barely old enough to drink and had a real bubbly personality and was cute as hell too. They were celebrating their engagement I think, cause I remember looking at this tiny little diamond ring and thinking "This guy’s Dad looks like he’s got $$ and that’s all she got?" Like I said, I was pretty drunk by that point, lol.

I was told the next day that I danced with her, while she stood in a chair and I lifted up her dress and took a peek. I wish like hell I could remember that part and whether or not she had panties on! I do remember deliberately touching her titties as I took a set of silver Mardi Gras beads from her though, lol. The bar was closing so I tagged along with everyone else to the after party at the happy Dad and couple’s place.

I was dragging a rolling duffle bag with me, so I was behind everyone else as they went in this building of nice new Condos, and didn’t see the direction or floor they went to. So luckily for me, there were some lesbians hanging out on the inner balcony railing. I was soooo drunk by then, I think I stumbled up with a "Did you shee whish way my fweinds went?" before probably inviting myself in. They were both really cute lezzies, one an attractive non-butch blonde, the other a sweet sexy mulatto girl.

I don’t remember their names, much less what we talked about but I’m sure I would be embarrassed if I did. The one weird thing I do remember is getting their coffeepot ready for the next morning. It was the nicest coffee maker I had ever seen in someone’s home, it looked electronic or something, I think. The light-skinned girl had went to bed while I talked to the blonde, so I went into her room and drunkenly kissed her goodnight. I sure hope like hell my breath didn’t smell too bad, lol.

Dragging my errant wheeled luggage behind me on its strap like a leash for a misbehaving dog, I staggered down the next block. Some guy in a dark green SUV stopped to give me a ride (though I was only 2 more blocks away it turns out) and I let my fucked up, drunken ass be picked up. I have no idea at all what that conversation was all about, but I probably turned him down for sex at one point. I wanted to get back to my friend’s place, he had my laptop with him and I remember wanting it.

I finally made it to his studio apartment and stumbled up the stairs, ripping and ruining one of my comfy thong-sandals. So I walk in and already have a bad "tude" going on and ask him why he fucking left me at the bar. That’s when he said something about me asking about some Acid and I was like "WTF is it your business what I do . . . " or something to that effect. Like I said, I don’t recall much, but it must have really pissed me off cause the next thing I remember doing was packing my bag and storming out into the French Quarter in the pre-dawn morning, crying my eyes out.

I walked back to Buffa’s where everything started going wrong, sat outside the empty bar and fired up my laptop. The Melrose Hotel is right across the street and I leeched off their wireless signal. At about this point I called home and left a drunken, sobbing message about coming home, even though my ride wasn’t scheduled to pick me up till Monday. Thankfully my kids erased the message before I got home so I wouldn’t’ have to listen to it.

I loaded up Yahoo messenger and messaged a good friend in Baltimore, saying I was in trouble, but of course (like everyone else) she was already in bed. Shutting down my computer I packed it back into my now obedient luggage. Feeling lost and all alone, I broke down and got on a crying jag. I sat there on the stoop with my head in my hands, sobbing, until this skinny little crack whore that weighed probably 90 pounds walked by and asked me if I was ok. Of course I replied "No, I’ve got no where to go . . ." and cried even harder.

"You can come with me" she replied "as long as you don’t mind that I’m a whore". The crying had sobered me up some, so I was thinking "been there/done that" and said no, it didn’t bother me. She was in a hurry she explained, and said I could crash on her couch while she applied her trade. But she had to hurry up, she explained, and go see her old man at this place on Canal St (a bit of a distance from Esplanade where we were at) before they closed.

She grabbed the handle of my bag for me and pulled it along while I struggled to keep up, but after I don’t know how many blocks, it was no use. I had to put on my black slide-in heels cause I ripped my sandals, and couldn’t keep up. I told her to wait and took my bag back, explaining that I knew I was holding her up, so why didn’t she run along ahead and just pick me up on her way back? She agreed and I sat down on a different stoop deeper in the French Quarter and waited.

I sat there for a while, I’m not exactly sure how long though before I realized she wasn’t coming back, lol. I wandered around the French Quarter, lost and alone, not to mention still drunk, but slowly sobering as the light started tingeing the sky. Stealing someone’s Sunday paper, I found myself sitting on yet another stoop, when this guy walks up to me and I think I bummed a cigarette from him, and we started talking.

He was from North Carolina in town installing drywall for a living. Apparently he had been out all night as well, and ended up getting stiffed by some bitch or something like that, can’t recall the whole story. Needless to say, he kept trying his damnedest to get me to go back to his place in Slidell, the city right across from Lake Pontchartrain. I was still turning him down politely when I realized it had gotten light enough for me to see (and sober enough) and I could tell where I was, right across the street from the French Quarter Dog Park.

I had passed this same park before with my friend Y on our way back from the store one day, and had wanted to come back to a little used book store that was across the street from it. But I never did get the chance, we were too busy fucking or watching TV (grin). Getting up from the steps, I told the guy I wanted to go to the park, so he followed me there. The park was really cool, it has this high wall around it with typical New Orleans cast iron on top of brick, but one side is still damaged from Katrina.

Walking through the iron gates, I noticed some decent turquoise blue lawn chairs under a shady pine tree, and headed right for them. Parking my duffle bag with all my belongings, I took inventory around me. There was a old homeless guy in the shade of a shed snoring behind me, and only a single dog playing in the early dawn light. I give the guy credit, he really tried getting me to come home and fuck him, but finally gave it up as futile and left.

My phone rang right about then, and it was my son, asking me if I was OK. I didn’t remember calling him, so I said I was fine and I’d call back later. Luckily for me I had brought along my gold velour travel pillow. You know the kind that is shaped like a horseshoe? They are fucking AWESOME for sleeping in planes and chairs if you’re sitting up. So there I was, feet up on my bag, purse resting in the space between my back and the chair, comfy pillow around my neck, and I passed out . . .