happy Mardi Gras...

happy Carnaval!!

Krewe of Proteus rolls out, and we get progressively drunker.  which might be why the shots get progressively fuzzier.

new orleans has a peculiar sense of humor, as demonstrated by my friend Sonny's shirt - but i like it.
although, with the twisted politics around here, this one's not too far off...

squueeeeeeze!

seahorse?

the lion compels you!!

after Proteus came Orpheus.

i'm pretty sure Orpheus was better.  well, they also had more floats.  so they had more chances to shine.

Krewe of Orpheus!

you're damn right he's the captain.
these guys help illuminate the path of the floats - or did traditionally, anyway.  the street lights do a pretty good job nowadays. 
but these guys are still tradition.  i have no idea what they're called but they're pretty badass.  they're either carrying oil, (as these guys above), or they're carrying propane.  obviously, the oil is a tad more dangerous.

this sucker actually had a loud-ass train whistle on it.  safe to say, it was really easy to spot coming.

i think he wants you to pour that drink in this mouth.  either that, or ring him with beads.

naturally, i had to put in an appearance.

i don't even know what this was, but it's awesome.

even the Navy has a float in the parade.  yes, really.
and that General up there had NO sense of humor.  i know this; he was stuck near us for a while.

dragons?  check.

old man under tree?  check...

aha, the LOOT!  double check.

those above doubloons up there are some of the hardest damn things to catch from a parade, because they roll everywhere.  obviously, i like them, and i work to catch them - i have enough damn beads.  i can throw a picture up of my box o'beads later.

in the meantime, i'll be drunk on the NOLA streets. 
happy fat tuesday, y'all!

i used to be a marching band nerd.

my marching band was fucking kick-ass.  we won all sorts of competitions: state, county, and southeast regionals.
and i, i was head captain of the colorguard.
yep.  i'm awesome like that.

other than teaching y'all that i'm a dork, this all has the purpose of explaining why i'm about to post these videos.  marching bands in the south are a flashy, showy affair (even if they sound like crap rusty on their instruments).  so, enjoy!

that's just when they're standing still.

happy Lundi Gras!!

The Intergalactic Krewe of Chewbacchus

 

the crowd waits for Krewe of Bacchus

this was before the crowd got bad...

on the left, whisky...
on the right, BEER!

NOLA's mounties

the detritus left on the ground from mardi gras is any recycler's nightmare. 



for those about to roll, Krewe of Bacchus salutes you!!

crawfish float!!

rosie the riveter makes her appearance

one of the fun traditions around these here parts is throwing beads back at the floats to stick them, see the above example...

 

For those of you stuck far, far away from Carnaval.....

we're thinking of you!!

well no, mostly we're shitfaced drunk - but we do wish you were here. 

FUCK silicone lube, up its little slippery ass

and i thought lesbian erotica was the devil.

last night, i had another bachelor party experience. 
this deviated from your normal bachelor party, in that they wanted "oil wrestling."
so we were told.

when we arrived at the Ritz Carlton (no, really) for this "oil" wrestling, the guys had laid out an entire tarp, and removed most of the furniture. 

mr. bachelor then explained the rules:  we won if we made the other girl tap out, we won if we pinned the other girl for a certain amount of seconds (i forget how many), and we won if we "penetrated" the other girl for a certain amount of seconds. 

yes, you read that right.  

we had four girls for this party:  two of us tough, two of us, not so much.  more the clawing sort.  well, in the case of the one i fought, anyway.  the weeniest of the girls was out of the wrestling in about 7 seconds flat. 

there were two rounds, with two girls each, and then:  mr. bachelor got into the action.  he had to have been 250+, and we still managed to beat the crap out of him.  and i'm pretty sure i won by "penetration."

then they had us wrestling some scrawny-looking dude - who we later found out was a fucking black belt in several martial arts... goddamnit.

end total for the night? 
i won one round by myself, one round with all the girls against mr. bachelor, and i soundly lost the "rematch" girl round, and miserably lost the round against mr black belt.  motherfucker.

but really, what all this boils down to:


three throat scratches,

one badly clawed boob,

and my hair?

yeah.  at this point, i'm going to mention that instead of your typical oil wrestling, these guys had the bright idea to use lube, instead.

which wouldn't have been the worst idea in the world, if they had just stuck with the water-based lube.  granted, once you get into the shower with it, it just lubes back up (creating, at the time, a very slippery shower party possibly resulting in moshing) and you're sliding around like you're on ice skates.

but, in addition to the water-based lube, they added silicone lube.  which i'm sure is nice when you're fucking and all, but when you get mass amounts of that shit in your hair??

well.  let's just say that if i wrapped my hair around someone, i could lube them up.
still.

 

that wet look, above?  it's not wet.  it is, however, lubey.

and that is after three showers, and in between 10 - 15 shampoos/soaping of my hair. 
i have tried everything.
i have washed my hair with 3 different shampoos, 3 bars of soap,  dr. jesus's magical hippy soap,  and Matt's pert plus.

i even tried body oil in my hair, in the hopes that perhaps it would counteract the fucking silicone.
it may have helped.

maybe. 

i mean, after the second third? round of vigorous scrubbing, it looks a bit better.

but still.  

the good news is, i won't have any dry hair problems for months.

AAANND, welcome to carnival....

swift. like the...

one of the cats, LBC, is rather stealth.
partly because she's black, and partly because that fucker could sneak up on anyone. 
she's quiet. 
i've several times LOST her in my kitchen, because she finds some strange hiding places. 

i mean, can you spot the cat on this shelf???  i can't.

(yes, i KNOW our kitchen is not aesthetic, i blame the shelving on The Matt.) 

oh, and?
for the record, the cat was hiding here:

 

no, i don't know how the hell she does it, either.

that cat is a motherfuckin ninja.

don't know how many of y'all like techno...

but i do.
i like it lots. 

not all techno, now.  the good shit.  the kind that can make you close your eyes and move like you're crazy, dancing in circles and making silly movements with your hands.
or, the type you dance to on a stage, slamming around the pole and MAKING everyone watch, because you are that dynamic. (insert gratuitous Prodigy here.  and NO, not "smack my bitch up," i've danced to that 4,136 times and i'd much rather dance to "spitfire." thankyouverymuch.)

to me, this is one of those songs.  i would gleefully dance to this all day long, at the club.
but unless i really turn on the charm for one of the djs/managers, it probably won't happen, so:

here, i share it with you.
imagine me sitting here, half-dancing, half-typing, nodding along, with this song on repeat.
literally repeat.  for at least 12 or so reiterations.  yeah.
that's how hard i'm rocking this song.

techno may not be your thing, and that's cool.  but this isn't just techno.  it's dubstep.
and that, my minions, is just a bit different.
click.  enjoy.

hopefully you'll like it.  it's a brilliantly put together piece.

(and, like any music genre that makes you want to dance, i suggest you listen to this loudly.  at least, as loud as the neighbors will let you.)






(for another wonderful example of my fav dubstep, simply click HERE.)

oh, i forgot an important part...

right.  so, before we were about to perform, just before we had changed?

yeah.  somehow, i have no idea, the living room fan got all screwy, and decided to detach itself from the ceiling, and crash into the floor, onto the blanket that we were presumably to dance/lie upon.

glass went everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  only, it was all on the blanket. 
so the guys simply picked up the blanket, threw it outside the house who knows where, and continued on their merry way. 

we all were laughing so hard, we could barely move. 

i mean, how many times does the fan in the living room try to kill everyone??

only me. 
only meeeee.

and then, THAT happened.

y'all, i really, REALLY wish i had some pictures of this event.
it's just that some people really object to you taking naked pictures of them while they're humiliating a bachelor.

no this isn't strip club antics.  but it IS bachelor party antics.  see, sometimes i do outcall bachelor parties/parties in general.  and these are usually a whole hell of a lot more fun than going into the club, and more lucrative.
so, February 26th, 2011, i went to a bachelor party.  we left at 5 pm, which was mistake numero uno.  it was not my fault.  we were waiting for one girl, Latey McLategirl.  (we were supposed to leave at 3.)
so, after having finally gotten on our way and waited out the ridiculous new orleans mardi gras traffic, we drove, and drove, and drove - to alexandria.

for those who don't live in louisiana, let me help you.


View Larger Map

you'll want to click that "view larger map" up there, to actually see the damn map.  i suck at internet embedding.
anyhow, it's far.

turns out, when we met the party guys in alexandria, it also really wasn't in alexandria, rather in a teeny town (village?) near a lake, also referred to as BFE (BumFuckingEgypt) or BumFuckNowhere, to the enlightened.

now, i don't mean to criticize (much).  yes, the party was held in a trailer, but it was a nice, new trailer.  on the lake!  actually reminded me of my childhood, because i had relatives with a trailer on the lake, and it was FULL OF AWESOME. 

however, the other girls were slightly horrified, evidently because they are sissy cityfied types, and have evidently never been to a damn camp in their lives.  ahem.
ANYHOW.

we drink (me, bourbon on the rocks, them, many, many shots of patron and possibly other unknown liquors).  we chat with the boys, we get comfortable.  (i say boys here, because 90% of them were younger than me.) 
then we get into our stripper lady clothes and heels.  (random fact:  stripper heels and carpet are a BAD, BAD combination.  involving wipeouts and ankle turning.)

while the other girls were standing around looking a little fucking stupid uncertain, i started sitting on the bachelor and talking to him.  he was a very nice guy, he talked about how awesome his fiancee was, and how much he liked to please women sexually.
i told him he would be a very, very nice husband.  and i'm sure he will be.

however, we weren't there to prop up any egos or chat about weddings - we were there to get nekkid, party, and have lots of cash thrown at us.  which definitely happened.  it was pretty awesome, actually.  we beat mr. bachelor with his belt, stripped his pants off, and laid him on the floor, and danced on top of him, extensively.  of course, we also danced for the other partygoers.

the main difference between strip club parties and private parties, is that at private parties the girls tend to get all the way naked, instead of just down to a g-string.  of course, the guys get proportionally more excited.
still, these guys were very well behaved.  which is a great perk for parties.  they were all very nice, barring one really obnoxious guy who was a neighbor, and not technically invited.  he was eventually forced invited, to leave. 

another difference between clubs and private is that if they pay more, we can put on a toy show.  read:  vibrators and lesbian behavior.  i wish you guys could have seen the instant flocking to the couch, when the other girls started playing.  i about cracked up, but figured it wouldn't be (ahem) professional stripper behavior.  (aside:  exactly what IS "professional stripper behavior?  because i have NO idea.)

i danced for anyone who WASN'T magnetically drawn to the couch, and had quite a bit of fun on my own, involving a Cute Boy who will come into the picture more later.  : ]

eventually, after some of the guys bought private dances, the party wound to an end.

see, here is where i would be getting a ride home, supposedly.

the plan was to drop me in lafayette as they drove back to NOLA, in order to meet The Matt, who would be picking me up, in order to immediately drive to Texas, in order to go hang out with his family.  the plan was to meet sometime between 1:30 and 3 am. 
which was reasonable enough.

the problem?  the woman who drove, was about 8 shots of patron to the wind, and would not let me drive her car.  at all.  and her friend was passed out, in another room:  not exactly a candidate for driving, either.

so, in effect, i was stuck.  in BFE.  outside of alexandria, about an hour or more out of matt's way.

i asked around to see if anyone was sober enough to drive me to lafayette:  Cute Guy was, and offered to take me.  i probably did some embarrassing fist-pumping at this point.  so we had another guy (the bachelor, actually - see, told you he was sweet) drive us to Cute Guy's truck.

whereupon the bachelor drove off, and we discovered that Cute Guy did not have his keys to the truck.
and the bachelor was not answering his phone.  and no one else was, either.

which is why we ended up walking for MILES (for AT LEAST an hour), trying to meet The Matt, as he was driving up to BFE.  the problem was:  nothing in BFE was pulling up on the GPS.  NOTHING.

and our directions consisted of:  "um, we're on a gravel road, middle of nowhere, NO I DON'T KNOW THE GODDAMN ADDRESS IT'S A FUCKING CAMP ALRIGHT!!!" and "Fine, we're walking to the Fucking Fire Station."

at least the weather was nice.  until it started sprinkling.  still, it was reasonably warm, not too hot, and not too cold.  we had a nice conversation.  he was an Awesome Cute Guy.  he obviously did not belong in the middle of BFE, and i encouraged him to get the Fuck Out Of That Town.

anyway, after about an eternity hour or so of walking, we did reach the fire station.  and eventually, we did find matt, after he drove past it and i was screaming, "Slow down, STOP!! we'll come to you, i can see you!!"

of course i could see him.  he was the only car on the road.

this is how i came to be driving our of alexandria at about 4:30 am, February 27th, 2011, with HOURS to go before we got to houston.  5 hours, in fact.

so.  THAT happened.

fortunately, i am now about $600 richer.
it was ALMOST worth it.
okay, maybe it was totally worth it.

but i am going to have to HARDCORE bribe The Matt with something.  something to be decided up on by him.

ohgods, i am scared.
: ]

just had to share this...

one of my favorite authors Neil Gaiman mentioned this song in his blog.  naturally i had to look it up.

and it is just as fantastic as i thought it would be.

so, i'm not dead...

but i have been hella busy as of late.
i promise not to abandon this blog.   : ]

i don't, however, make any promises to be really entertaining in the next week, as i'll be desperately trying to make rent money.  but then!  i will be back.  oh, yes i will.

HAHAHHAHA

well yeah, pretty much.

but what do you mean WAS....

IS, damnit, IS!!!

everything's crazy over here, as usual

i've been over at a new club.
which sucks almost as much as the old club.  but!
but.  they have "motivational" posters.

yeah.  guys, this doesn't work as far as improving my mood goes.
but thanks for the chance to mock you.
my response?

 

and, for the record??  lap dances are the equivalent of doing 3 - 5 minutes of squats.  in heels.
so it's not "dancing," it's fucking working out.  while avoiding grabby octopushands customers, sometimes.

it's fucking cold and raining down here, which = absolutely no one on bourbon street, which = me making no money.  so suffice to say i do NOT want to go in to work tonight.
i will stave off my bad attitude by copious amounts of marijuana yoga or some shit.

 meanwhile, the pets are going insane by being cooped up.

or maybe we're driving them insane.  it's really hard to tell.

and i put my nose ring back in.  which required these

and about thirty minutes to get from here

to here:  slightly more closed.  although it'll never, ever be straight.
the curse of continuous rings.

did you know there really IS a sing-sing down here?

now you know.  actually i didn't know until i started working on bourbon.  the street from hell, i am telling you.

AND i got a present... with handcuffs.

which surprisingly did not end up with me in jail.

the trackmarks are only for show.  (lab work, they needed blood, and evidently i bruise easily.)
to look tough.
no, but some of the dancers are giving me weird looks now.  good thing the club is dark.
"wanna lap dance to support my heroin habit?"  "uh... no."


 i think the plants are tired of the cold weather too.
and i have new plants.  a rose bush and a bunch of other stuff that looks like dirt b/c we just planted the seeds but is in fact rosemary and lavender and celosia and poppies.  (which i sincerely hope will produce opium...)  : ]

i leave you with this before i have to make a mad dash to work:

i am cornholio.  in a cashmere sweater.
and we all know what that means...
I NEED TEEPEE.  FOR MY BUMHOLE!!

tptptptptptptptptp...

question...

matt just suggested i "poke smot" (& worship Satan).

i think y'all can figure out what that means.
 
anyway, he suggested this to me because i was telling a story, and "talking too fast."

okay, so i'm not going to judge matt's inability to understand basic english (dude...), but i will say that reference is OOOLLLLLLDDD.  really, really old.  (the "poke smot & worship satan" line has been around since senior year of high school at least).
i'm sure one of my exes came up with it.  can't remember which.
people knew me as "satan" BACK IN THE DAY...
: ]

anyway.  my basic question here being:  who is the degenerate, here?
the person who suggests the drug use, or me, who goes
"heh. OKAY!"  and does it??

fire away.