Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Adventures in New Orleans

Oh my loves
you didn't think that I had forgotten about you, did you?
oh you have so little faith in me ;-)

I promised you stories. I have stories.
So, on Saturday morning at 0545, my alarm clock went off. Ugh. Too early. I resisted the urge to stay curled under the covers and go back to the lovely dream I had been having (Hello, Fireman McHottie :::cue cheesy porno music:::).
Dressed. (Push-up bra? Yes please)
Okay, so Rob, my companion-in-crime (not to be confused with the partner-in-crime) said he would be at my house to pick me up at 0730...he showed up at 0645.
Damn. Brush teeth. Rush the make-up job (not that it would have made a difference anyway because I ended up sweating most of it off while walking around the city). Find the shoes and out the door we went.
Why the such an early wake up call?
OMG. The BR balloon festival!!!11!!
It happens every year around August but I haven't been since I was really young. I am talking really young. Like 10 years old. So, of course it was a real treat to relive my childhood...well you least a part of my childhood that I didn't hate or repress.

The balloon sponsored by the US Army made a bit of a premature landing right off the launching field. Awww. That's okay, guys. We still love ya'll even though you cannot fly a hot air balloon for shit (Geez. Good thing we don't sure those in battle.)

After our venture into the world of hot air ballooning, we finally arrived in New Orleans. I have to tell you readers, it is a city that I believe everyone must visit at least once in their lifetime.
It is hard to explain.
For us who are lucky enough to live within driving distance of the city, we sometimes take it for granted. The way of life, the culture. It is almost magic.

I would have to say that this is my favorite picture from the whole trip. I love the colors of the Mystic Tea Leaves sign. There are places like this all over the city. They lend to the surreal atmosphere.

One of our planned stops for the way was the pharmacy museum. As you all know, I am a nursing student (and a huge nerd) so all things medical history interest me.

The old fashion soda fountain.

Hmm. This boys and girls, is an antique urethral dialator (click the photo for the full size and give yourself a few years worth of nightmares). For those of you fortunate enough to have not had to suffer through A&P, a urethra is the orifice through which urine exits the body. So basically, a doctor (aka, a closet sadist) would shove this rusty looking contraction up your penis (for males) or all up in your lady business (for females) and it was somehow suppose to heal what ails you. Um...awesome?

Bottles and bottles of cures.

A horrifyingly large hypodermic needle.

More cures.

Mmmm. Tonic wine. Just what I need.

An absinthe glass and spoon. We actually went to the Absinthe Museum later that day. I took a few really good photos but was asked by our lovely tour guide not to post them online. I think because the museum was so small, that if everyone already knew what was inside, they wouldn't bother coming inside. Go inside people! Tour the absinthe museum.

Spectacles (I love that word).

Prosthetic eyeballs. I would have to say that this was the scariest thing in the whole museum for me. I can handle big, ass needles. I can handle a jar possibly containing a fetus. I can even handle the urethra dialator.
But, good God, I fucking hate shit like this. Eye balls. Ew. It was like they were watching me take the photo. Or watching whatever was slightly to my left while I was taking the photo. Whatever.

This sign made me giggle. You know, because I have the same sense of humor as my :::coughcough::: 13-year-old nephew (Opps. He would never forgive me if he knew that I had forgotten how old he was.)

The beautiful courtyard of the pharmacy museum. Most of the building in New Orleans have these amazing little patios behind them.

After the Pharmacy museum, we did some more walking around the city and toured the Absinthe Museum, although, I am not sure if we did that before or after lunch.

Blue Dog! George Rodrigue's infamous creation.
And yes, smartass. I know the largest dog in the photo is red. But it is still Blue Dog. ;-)

Because my companion-in-crime is a huge military history buff, we just had to do a tour of the World War 2 museum.

Lots and lots of penicillin. When I saw this, I couldn't help but be reminded of the fact that 1 in 4 people have an STD. Safe sex, kids. It's a good thing.

The museum was featuring a special exhitbit on the animals of WW2. This is a picture of a horse wearing a gas mask. Awesome.

Okay. It's stupid but I don't care. The best thing about port cities (New Olreans, Pensacola, basically any city with a military base) are the hot guys. They are everywhere.
Yes. I realize it is shallow. No. I do not care.

After spending the day walking the city and touring three different museums, it was time for a drink. Rob, my campanion-in-crime, had heard a lot of good things about a bar called "Pravda" and wanted to check it out. (He had been wanting an absinthe all day and when he found out I had never tried it, he insisted on it.)
It was awesome! The above photo was taken in their courtyard.

Pravda has a kind of Soviet-kitch charm to it. One of the bartenders, who I actually didn't have the pleasure of meeting, did all the artwork and painting for it.

Okay. So Rob and I both ordered absinthe (Lucid brand). I am not going to lie. It was terrible. Tasted like black liqorice. I don't like licorice and I really don't know anyone who does (have you ever seen a liqorice flavored condom? No? My point exactly).
But the one good thing about it? The drink is strong. Really strong. I probably should have stopped after my first drink didn't.
I debated on being a total tourist and ordering a Crown and Redbull until the lovely bartender, Katie, said that they don't carry Redbull. Um....what? No Redbull? Unheard of.
But a wonderful gentlemen (and I use that term very loosely) recommended I get a Sazerac, saying that it was the offical drink of the New Orleans natives. Although he didn't look particularly trustworthy, i throw caution to the wind and ordered one...and another.
Maybe it is because drunk tastebuds have low standards but it was soooooo good.
While Rob was busy nursing his drink and taking with a couple about the history of absinthe and politics and, for all I know, the price of tea in China; the guy and I started talking. I found out his name was Johnny (although everyone calls him Midnight "because nothing good happens after Midnight".....I disagree what that is neither here nor there.)
Unforunately, I don't remember the whole conversation.
But I do specifically remember him saying, after we had been taking for less that 10 minutes, "So, are you into BDSM?"
Whoa, honey. First of all, kind of. Secondly, I just met you. Let's ease into that topic.
He then went into a semi-one sided "conversation" about St. Andrew's crosses and cat'o'nine tails. All the while, I am trying not to blush myself to death. I normally won't be so prudish about the kinky stuff but I was just praying to everything that was holy Rob wasn't hearing any of this conversation.
You see, Rob wasn't a date or anything. He is basically my former-stepdad. (he and my mom dated for about two years). So yeah, you can see why I won't want him knowing the details of my sex life (or as it is for the moment, my lack of sex life).
Alcohol and I have a complicated relationship. We normally get along very well. But we have our problems. Mainly, when I drink, I talk too much. About things I shouldn't.
AKA "word vomit"
This is how Johnny (and Rob) found out not only was I seeing a guy earlier this year who was married with children but that I had a girlfriend. Not a 'Oh, me and my girlfriend are going shopping" but "me and my girlfriend just made out in the bathroom....awesomesause."
Now, let's say this all together. "Opps"
It was an really good day and, despite spilling my secrets to a sexy stranger in a bar (who has a girlfriend....damnnit), it was exactly what I needed to refresh myself before starting back to school next week.
Here we are, my loves. I leave you with a few photos of the sunset on over New Olreans.


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