Bon Mardi Gras!

Mardi Gras. One of the times my high-school French actually comes in handy; betcha didn’t know Mardi Gras means “Fat Tuesday” in French, did you? (or maybe you did, it’s a pretty well-known fact).

I figured it was only appropriate that I did a little ode to New Orleans today. Something about that city just intrigues me. Maybe it’s all the voodoo history, I don’t know. What I do know is that when my sister Maureen had a work conference there last September, I saw my opportunity and booked a flight. Her conference was Monday –Wednesday, so we flew down the Friday before to make a weekend out of it. B had been before and loved it, so I didn’t have to twist his arm to take a Monday off and have a weekend get-away with his girlfriend (even if it wasn’t just the two of us; he’s pretty used to that by now).

New Orleans is like no other city I’ve been to. The weather was gorgeous. The drinks were cheap. The food was delicious (and also cheap). The people were friendly. The sidewalks were clean. I had a blast that entire weekend, whether it was sharing a king bed w/ Mo and B (the hotel screwed up our reservation), getting pooped on by a bird while waiting for the bus, or convincing guys on Bourbon Street that they didn’t need to stay with the bachelor party and should probably buy us a few more drinks (hey, just being economical).

I can’t imagine what it’s like there today. Every time we were up on a balcony looking down at the crowds, that’s all we kept saying to each other.

Me: omg, can you imagine being here on Mardi Gras?!

Mo: omg, I know! It’s probably so cray!

B: You wouldn’t even be able to make it to the bar. You’d have to order like, 5 drinks at a time.

Me: omg, can you imagine it?!

Then we’d drain our hurricanes and move on to the next balcony and have the same conversation. If we didn’t finish our drinks, no worries; the staff would just pour them in a handy plastic cup for us to continue drinking en route to the next bar (if you need drinkware for your apartment, I would highly recommend visiting New Orleans; you won’t leave with fewer than 5 plastic cups, most of them rivaling big-gulps).

B and I were watching Jeopardy the other night and one of the questions was about a pirate who helped the Americans in the Battle of New Orleans. When the contestant answered “Who is Lafitte?” B and I looked at each other and were like, “no way!” Lafitte’s was the bar where we started our nights and sipped our first authentic New Orleans hurricanes. There was a pirate at Lafitte’s that Mo and I got a little excited about (and by “a little” I mean enormously, and we kept harping on him to take a picture w/ us even though he was trying to talk history w/ some other patrons; dude, you’re in a bar), and when we asked him what pirate he was, he told us he was Jean Lafitte. We didn’t know who that was, so referred to him as Captain Jack (he must have thought we were the biggest morons). But now I know! Thanks to a trip to New Orleans from a few months ago, and a Jeopardy question from a few nights ago, never again will I forget Captain Lafitte. And I’ve got the cup to prove it.

toasting the night at Lafitte's!


Yeewuz said…
And Mo held his parrot.