Shlep D-O Double Gizzle's Web Pizzle

Errrbody in the club....

Thursday March 4, 2004:

Russ: Dude, if you don't come to New Orleans, we are no longer friends.

Me (in my head): Ok so what are the pros - weekend o' fun in a city I've never been to before, the Cons - I'm still shacked up in a hotel because my stuff has not arrived from Illinois and its making me anxious, and I'll be pretty damn tired Friday night...(more thinking)

Friday March 5, 2004:

Tangie Wibbels (yes, that is her real name) @3:30pm: Yes, we can delay your move from Saturday to Monday morning.

Me (in my head): HOLLLLAAAA!!!!

******

So that settled it, despite the indecision in my head, I knew a chance like this would not present itself for a long time. Why overthink it? I packed my shit, jumped in my rented Chevy Malibu, got onto I-10 and hit the gas (well not really, I had to fight Houston traffic for awhile). I swept through the dark and misty swamps of Lousiana in about 5 and a half hours and despite the best efforts of Russ, actually found my way towards my crew, The New Orleans Eight.

I knew immediately this would be a great weekend. How? I saw Bushra smoking a cigarette, in other words This Girl was already Drizzy. In probably my only responsible move of the weekend, I declined a Hurricane (one of the most efficient ways to get drunk ever) until after a few bites of po' boy. But after that "dinner" all bets were off, and the Big Easy was made our bitch.

Random reflections:

The first thing that struck me about the French Quarter was the stench. That muggy, stagnant, sewage-y aroma we all know and love. We were a rickshaw and a couple of stray dogs away from Dhaka for real.

Despite the Third World ambience, NO definitely has its own seedy charm. It was like a totally uninhibited Vegas party vibe within a 19th century twilight zone time warp. The architecture and mystique definitely adds a special twist to the non-stop party.

If you know whats good for you, dont ever swim in the pool at the Travelodge on the Westbank. Just trust me.

I found out the drunken way, but Taco Bell no longer sells 10 packs of tacos. Damn. I used to love those.

I've now heard it from both males and females, so it's official: I'm a good cuddler.

Somebody, anybody, please find the bartenders in New Orleans some glass shot glasses. Please do this.

If you love food, go to New Orleans and eat, eat, eat, eat ,eat. The cuisine is amazing.

Don't hate on guys clowning around on the dance floor and being a little (ok it was alot) homoerotic. If you can't be homoerotic with your best friends, who can you be homoerotic with? (I'll say homoerotic one more time just to make it even)

I almost felt like I was in Singapore again, just wandering around intoxicated, my sense of adventure piqued, and relentlessly squeezing every ounce of fun that I possibly could out of every moment. Of course I was aided ably in this endeavor by the very best of friends which only made things better.

I said it before, but I'll say it again, Kamal is one of the most sincere people ever. Here's to you bro. And you're probably too drunk to remember me telling you this the first time, but when you do go up to accept your Oscar, you gotta pull that Bangladeshi flag out of your pocket! Also, work on your Gaydar when youre drinking. (those are cheles!!!)

Debbie puts the sweet in sweetheart.

Remember what I said about my Mou Apu back in July? You can pretty much say the same about Bushra, with just a little less inhibition and a pinch of pop culture hipness. When you can love hanging out with someone, but then totally shutup when she scolds you for singing Bangla folk songs too loudly, you know you've got a good combination.

Russ is the only person I know that can seamlessly mix deep insight with really, really, really, really, ridiculously crass humor. But it cracks me up every single time.

I love my bhaiya and my bhabi.

It seemed as if every force in the universe conspired to make it a perfect weekend. The friends, the weather, the music, the food and the "spirits". My abs hurt from laughing for 48 hours straight, and I can't even complain about my mad Red Bull-fueled dash back to Houston at 1 am Monday morning. It was worth every second. So I raise my styrofoam cup of water (yes, I'm still at work) to the New Orleans Eight and toast to a wonderful time, wonderful friends (and family) and to hoping we can do it again soon.

*****

"Woohooooooo"
---Bushra A.

Do you know the way back to the hotel?
"Yeah, you just go down, then...you go down."
----Kamal A.

"I'm a Jellyfish."
----Russ A.

Posted by sheelpi at March 12, 2004 04:59 PM