So I went to New Orleans this past weekend.
I’m going to break it up into shorter posts, because I’d rather you focus on one thing at a time.
I knew all along that I was going to New Orleans. Ever since I bought a ticket. But it didn’t seem real to me until I realized that once I walked onto that blue and orange plane over there, I would step off of it.
In New Orleans.
Where Brian would be waiting in his golden chariot to escort me to his palace. And oh how we’d laugh and laugh and laugh and shrug our shoulders and sip warm drinks and go “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm” or any drink for that matter (margaritas, it turned out). And we’d hold hands and skip and also fall and sing and dance and make late night mistakes. Whoops.
And that’s exactly what happened except when I walked off the plane, I was punched in the smile maker by the moldy smell that means “You’re about to be really really really happy for a few days and hopefully remember why later.”
I felt like I was home again. Felt very relaxed immediately. Felt like I’d been gone a month, not over a year. Felt like I needed to lock it up so I could spend more time awake, up, and about enjoying this amazing city rather than vomming during the day. Felt like I should be be eating more and drunk shopping less. Felt like I should start pounding bourbon and ginger ales and Abita Ambers and Purple Hazes and blueberry mojitos and vodka and any wine, white even! Felt like taking my pants off and running through the ghettos! (I have a rule to never take my top off, but pants are okay). Felt like I would soon wake up in a sea of empty bottles, cigarette butts, crack pipes, and to-go cups.
There’s something about being at Monkey Hill that makes me become the poster child for ‘Oops.’ Nope. Scratch that. Not just Monkey Hill. Any bar in New Orleans.
At one point, I tried to say that I talk a lot. Instead, I said “I’ve never been the kinda girl who’s kept her mouth not open.” Because that’s the best way I could think of saying that?
My friend Matt heard through a friend that I was in town and currently at Monkey Hill. It didn’t take him long to find me because when he walked in the door I was the only person standing on the bar. Dancing to a song that I hardly even knew.
Most people recognized me but my hair being a different color really threw some people off.
My friend who got married’s father definitely knows me. I lived with his daughter for 3 years and spent time in his home. I walked up excitedly to him and his wife to say hello after the ceremony, and as his wife is like “Heeyyy!!!!” he’s like “Oh hiii there..?”
So had to do what I hate most, which is say, Hi it’s me Kate. Remember??
Then obviously his eyes widen as he realizes who I am, and exclaims,
“Wow! Kate?! Kate! You look just fantastic! Did you lose weight? Wow, what like 20, 30 pounds?!”
To which his wife responds, “No! She dyed her hair!”
Naturally as the night progressed and story was added to, it became 50, 75, 100, 150 pounds and I became the mopey roommate who blossomed after college, leaving her overweight life behind and learning all the splendors there are in life when you’re thin. (Note: I’ve never been overweight, except when I was in 5th grade and hit rock bottom as a juiceaholic and butter eater. And once my mom called me blown up like Jessica Simpson. But that’s it.)
To be continued…