New Year, New Orleans

Not to worry, I understand. I hear you saying, "Big Kitty, I would love to come to your Mardi Gras Party (02/02/08), but I am afraid that I can't this year. What should I do?" Well, there are only a handful things you can do to save our relationship. In no particular order, they are:

*Go to New Orleans. Spend your money.
*Find New Orleans businesses, and spend your money.
*Buy me a dog, because Dr. Boy won't until we have a 40% reduction in cat.
*Throw your own Mardi Gras Party

Dr. Boy and I had a FABULOUS time in New Orleans this weekend. Actually, we've had a fabulous holiday. This was the first time in at least 5 years, maybe 6, that we didn't almost break up on New Year's Eve from the stress of coordinating our plans for the evening. In fact, we've been having fun. And, speaking of, we have a new, really annoying game. When we were in India a few years back, everyone called him, Sir, and me, Madame. Sadly, Sir and Madame find it hilariously funny to use these honorifics when making fun of each other. So, here's a brief recap of the Adventures of Sir and Madame in the City that Care Forgot. You'll notice that Sir only shows up for meals, because while Sir probably had adventures of his own, Madame doesn't care. This is Madame's story.

Day 1 - Long flight, with a 1 a.m. run on Molly's for beer and Cafe du Monde for beignets (ben-YAY!). If only every Thusday ended that way. Le sigh.

Day 2 -Brunch at Mother's. Sir had the breakfast special of eggs, grits, biscuits, etc, and Madame had the Fried Shrimp po-boy. A-yum! Then off to the car rental place, for a quick conversation with a Katrina evaucuee who just got clearance to have her house renovated so that she can return from Houston. The whole weekend was full of these stories - people are JUST NOW getting enough building supplies, enough contractor help, and the insurance needed to rebuild. Insert expletive filled rant about FEMA, Shrub, and apathetic middle America, here. Then, off like a flash to run errands for our Mardi Gras Party (02/02/08). Accent Annex for decorations, beads and party supplies, and a grocery store for the good stuff we can't get here. As a general rule, we go without rather than eat Yankee, cardboard-flavor crap. I bought Crab Boil, Coffee, Tea, Red Beans, Rice, Vanilla, Hubig's Pies, Pralines ("prah-leen," don't embarrass yourself) and a King Cake, and shipped the dry goods home. I was pretty surprised about that last one. Normally, you can't buy them before 12th Night (1/6), but they were out early because the season is so short this year, and because there are zillions of people in town for the 2 football championships and the conference we attended. And, THEN, I used the PERSONAL CELL PHONE NUMBER of the ROMAN CANDY MAN (yea, you right) and bought $40 of the best stuff on earth. Come to my house, and you can have some. Not all. The Roman Candy man drives his mule drawn cart around town and sells his hand-pulled taffy out of the side. When I was little, we were only allowed outside the gates of my school when he came by. Yum! 25 cents bought you a moment of freedom, and 18 inches of sweet, yummy goodness.

That afternoon I had a good long talk with Savta, and then picked up the good Doctors for a driving tour of Uptown, and dinner at Commander's. Our foreign friends pointed out the SWARM - in a flash, you're surrounded by waiters, every dish hits the table at the same moment, and they're gone just as fast. Sigh. I really miss good service. BTW, for those in NYC, Pastis is skippable - blah service, blah food, AMAZING Ile Flottante. But I digress... We finished the night with Dr. Boy singing his little, off-key heart out at Pat O's. And more beignets. Good times....

Next morning, I drove to the Lakefront to see my high school, and was nearly run over by a huge flock of brown pelicans. Pretty rough stuff - a solidly upper-middle-class neighborhood with FEMA trailers at every other house. And people living in houses with the body count spraypaint on them. Go. New Orleans has a long road in front of it, and needs your money. Then on to the edg of the 9th Ward. I hadn't been able to make myself go before, and since I was alone and lost, I only hit the edges. I got lost driving through these large fields... and then I saw hundreds of street lamps stiking up out of the grass. There were neighborhoods there, and they've washed away. I got back to town, and walked up Canal under I-10 only to find a tent city of people protesting FEMA. Pretty shocking to see homeowners reduced to living in tents. Fucking Federal government. But, as my cab diver said later that day, McDonald's was paying $10/hour for a few years after the storm... people don't have to be homeless. Though, I heard a radio advertising exec ad for a $20K/year position and thought, "who can live on that?"

Anyway, I shook it off by drinking away the afternoon at the Bulldog with Lauren from Baton Rouge, and then we joined the boys for dinner at Emeril's. For the record, Commander's was betterThey went out, and I watched the Saturday Night Live with Peyton Manning. New favorite skit - Bronx Beat, because I SWEAR I work with those women. I would post a link, but the bastards at NBC have blocked it. I hope the Writer's Guild pummels their asses.

Last day, we had more beignets, a little tiff, and wrapped up with Mother's po-boys and lunch with the cousin, his finace and their baby.

Totally awesome. You should go.

XOXO,

M