An update on my real life tomorrow, but I realized that this week was Mardi Gras week, and that takes me to something that I probably have never told anyone-but what the hell, you only live once. That's right-I have a wild Mardi Gras story.

I went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans twice when I lived in the U.S. Once when I was in university, and once when I was a grown-up working for a stockbroking firm. Both times, I went with Kim. And on the trip where we were in university, man alive did it sure seem like it.

Since we were poor college students, we had to take it as such-so we stayed two nights in Kim's minivan, parked in an underground parking lot. That's right-we really roughed it. The amazing thing is, we even had a portable toilet in the minivan with us, so it was all the comforts of home.

Minus a shower, of course.

I had been to New Orleans before and absolutely loved it. Kim had never been, so during the day we toured the French Quarter and the surrounding neighborhoods. Of course, we did this starting off with an Egg McMuffin and a Hurricane-and if you're not familiar with Hurricanes, they're one part fruit punch, one part Rum, and one-part Everclear (a grain alcohol that is something like 80 proof). So we-like the rest of New Orleans, really-walked around with an unmistakable red mustach and pink colored tongue for the duration of the party.

Mardi Gras is all about floats, and Crewes, and beads and alcohol and food and dancing. It was wild and out of control and yet happy and friendly all at once. Kim kept an eagle's eye on me the entire time-always protecting me and keeping me safe, yet glowing when he looked at me.

At one point, we used a line of porta-potties outside on the street. New Orleans becomes one big urinal otherwise, and so this was the best option. I walked into one, trying to hold my absolute desperate fear of those things in check. I fucking hate porta-potties, they fill me with horror that I or one of my belongings will fall down the Nasty Hole. As I started to hover above the Nasty Hole, the porta-potty rocked slightly. I screamed. It rocked again. "Don't fucking move this thing, or I swear to God I will kill you!" I screamed. I hustled the urine out of my bladder faster than I ever had before. People were trying to tip the porta-potty! I was going to be covered with the nastiest of the nasty! I kept screaming to leave the porta-potty alone, and I threw the door open before my jeans were even buttoned.

Outside, a crowd had gathered looking confused. Kim was convulsed with laughter. It turns out one of the support blocks under the porta-potty had moved slightly, so it was only a tiny bit out of balance.

No one was trying to tip it over. I had just been banging about in there like a gerbil on crack.

Humiliation.

At night, Mardi Gras gets even wilder. Some streets I found I could just pick my feet up and get carried by the heavy masses of crowds. Others you would spend dancing down the street, the sounds of beads, broken plastic cups, laughter and kisses ripe in your ears. With our stomachs full of incredible Cajun food and our brains full of Hurricanes, we spent time getting beads from the floats, me on Kim's shoulders, trying to look cute.

And, of course, flashing my breasts, too. I had no problem with it-after all, I think my breasts are fucking perfect. I had abandoned my bra to Kim's coat pocket ages before that, and the shirt got rucked up with regular abandon, to which I was always rewarded with some nice beads.

And so it was that it happened-pretty much fully intoxicated by now, it was late at night and the party raged on. Kim and I walked down one street, and I saw a middle-aged man wearing the nicest set of beads I had ever seen-silver, blue and white, with little silver King Babies on it as well. I knew I had to have those beads.

I stopped to talk to the man, who it turns out was a doctor from Ohio. He had gotten in to New Orleans late that evening, and so had bought the beads from a store for $10, having missed the parade. I offered him some of my masses of beads for his beads. He said he wasn't interested, what else did I have to offer?

I stood there thinking, then I heard Kim's voice pipe up.

"How about if you feel her up?"
Doc's face lit up.
Seemed fair enough to me.
They started negotiating the amount of time the doctor would be allowed to feel me up. Doc started at 15 seconds. Kim countered at 5. 14 then 5. 12. 5. 10. Kim relented and gave 7.
I whipped up my shirt, and doc's hands came out, cupping my breasts.
Kim stood beside me, counting off.

"One Mississippi!"
Doc's hands underneath.
"Two Mississippi!"
"Three Mississippi!"
Still just massaging me.
"Four Mississippi!"
They started moving upwards.
And so on, until 7. At which point, Kim hollered out: "Bonus second! 8 Mississippi!"
Doc's face lit up and he kept massaging, until Kim got to "Bonus second 10 Mississippi!", at which point he stepped forward and pulled my shirt down.

The doctor, a big grin on his face, happily removed his beads and placed them around my neck. I grabbed a whole chunk of the beads I had and placed them around his, along with a kiss on the cheek. We went our seperate ways then, and I Kim and I made out like madmen on the street then, hands all over the place, while we struggled to get to the minivan. Once we got there, we discovered we were too drunk to fuck, so we passed out in each other's arms.

I still have those beads. I will always have those beads.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:27 AM | Comments (24) | Add Comment
Post contains 1037 words, total size 6 kb.

1 Damnit. Can't get up for 5 minutes now. And co-workers all looking over my shoulder trying to see what's so damn funny. It could be a school maths quiz: If a Mardi Gras partier has 20 beads for a ten second feel, and you now have 40 beads and a shiny marble, what are you entitled to?

Posted by: Simon at February 26, 2004 08:05 AM (UKqGy)

2 Not sure, Simon-but glad Kim isn't here to negotiate that question!

Posted by: Helen at February 26, 2004 08:11 AM (I9OSd)

3 (one-part Everclear (a grain alcohol that is something like 80 proof). ) Important point Everclear is 190 Proof (ie 85% grain) not 80 proof on a silly note... A group of gamer geek friends ''shocked and awed'' a hotel manager in St. Louis {{Note If you ever goto St. Louis STAY IN THIS HOTEL THEY ROCK}} http://www.starwood.com/sheraton/search/hotel_detail.html?propertyID=795 "Y'all out drank the Hell's Angels" (and note there was not ONE arrest of anyone attending ((which really shocked the cop [[assigned by law to watch us]] only person he had to 'council' was a wedding member getting fresh with a fan carring a live blade ::Grin:: Then want us back... pity I can't afford it ((VERY EXPENSIVE CON %$#$%#$))

Posted by: LarryConley at February 26, 2004 10:09 AM (A4qhf)

4 Want to know what would be a funny story? So if Doc said he wanted to feel Kims balls... what would you (and he...) do? . New Orleans is a big tease for a lot of europeans, me included, but I suspect theres a lot more to it than Mardi Gras. Maybe. Miguel.

Posted by: msd at February 26, 2004 12:52 PM (cdKqJ)

5 Nothin' like "Nawlins" on Fat Tuesday... OBTW, was the gropage for beads incident pre or post reduction?

Posted by: gymrat at February 26, 2004 02:36 PM (nnOa7)

6 Miguel-I think he would have gone for it. Kim went both ways, you see Gymrat-it was post reduction-that's why they were perfect.

Posted by: Helen at February 26, 2004 03:04 PM (Vue2U)

7 See I want to go. I am so their next year. Also Chicago for the summer Jazz. Props..good story

Posted by: Drew at February 26, 2004 03:06 PM (CBlhQ)

8 Interesting ... I lived in N'Awlins for about 3 years, while attending college -- I was with the Krewe of Rhea the year that Dennis Quaid was "Bacchus" -- it was a good year ... I have a Mardi Gras story too ... but I'm not going to trump your ace with it .. I am glad that you had a good time in the Crescent City -- and I am so glad that you are feeling better now, than you have the past few weeks ... Lots o' love! Ky

Posted by: Kylan at February 26, 2004 03:20 PM (d18ri)

9 I think we all would have had a grand time had we had the chance to hang out and drink with Kim. Uh, and you too little flame. That goes without saying. Ahem. What's wrong with me? Someone mentions New Orleans and my first thought is Oooh. D-Day Museum! I really need to get a girlfriend. Soon.

Posted by: Paul at February 26, 2004 04:10 PM (bWfDG)

10 Wow. Sounds like the Doc got the best of that deal.. 10 seconds with "Perfection" for $10? Is that why they call it "The Big Easy?"

Posted by: gymrat at February 26, 2004 04:16 PM (nnOa7)

11 Do you think the guy was really a doctor? It doesn't seem as though a doctor would be interested in feeling something he's felt a 1000 times (maybe he was a radiologist though). I ran into a guy at the beach one time who was on his way to a party. He had a button that said, "Kiss me, I'm a doctor." I asked him if he really was, and he said, "No, but the chicks love it."

Posted by: Solomon at February 26, 2004 05:38 PM (t5Pi1)

12 hah, thanks for the smile this morning helen. i needed that!

Posted by: kat at February 26, 2004 05:58 PM (QkuGS)

13 The first five times I went to Pat O'Brien's (Home of the Hurricane), I don't remember leaving. Everclear is 190 proof (Not 80). It is almost pure alcohol. I love Hurricanes but I stay away from them now. By the time you are starting to feel that first one, you're on your 6th.

Posted by: Rob at February 26, 2004 07:39 PM (m9RhY)

14 Rob beat me to it, but Everclear is WAAAYYY more than 80 proof. In fact it's more than 80%. The stuff is almost pure alcohol and is a viable substitute for gasoline. Proofs of Everclear vary between which state it's made in, but they all are in the range of 180-190 proof. The best bottle I ever saw was 193. And if you're only on number 6 before you feel number 1, you're not drinking them fast enough, Rob!

Posted by: Mike the Marine at February 26, 2004 08:11 PM (Zw7Hl)

15 I swear I had thought that Everclear was stronger than 80 proof, but then someone told me that was impossible. And 6 Hurricanes? I'd be dead by then!

Posted by: Helen at February 26, 2004 08:46 PM (qCVfg)

16 You don't die until the next day, Helen. Six-to-eight hurricanes, you're alive. I promise.

Posted by: Rob at February 26, 2004 08:58 PM (m9RhY)

17 Ah, but Rob my gorgeous, remember-I have Asian genes too. Including the suck ones that don't allow for good cooperation with alcohol. AKA-Helen is an easy drunk

Posted by: Helen at February 26, 2004 10:50 PM (Qjb3P)

18 "Once we got there, we discovered we were too drunk to fuck, so we passed out in each other's arms." Awww, that's sweet. Just way too cute :-)

Posted by: Steve P at February 26, 2004 10:56 PM (KvWin)

19 Best Mardi Gras story ever. Fabulous!

Posted by: Buzz at February 27, 2004 12:11 AM (wx4CK)

20 Proudly being half coonass...I completely understand. Laissez les bon temps roule!

Posted by: marie at February 27, 2004 01:25 AM (3Y1np)

21 Great story, Helen. The porta-pottie story had me in tears! A gerbil on crack... I'll have to remember that one.

Posted by: dave at February 27, 2004 04:11 AM (RerfX)

22 You have the best stories!! You rock!

Posted by: Rebecca at February 27, 2004 04:15 PM (ZHfdF)

23 I dont think we can take your word for it on the pefect breasts. I think we need some sort of proof.

Posted by: Brad at February 27, 2004 08:34 PM (txHte)

24 I've seen that same routine played out hundreds of times. Sadly though, noone has offered me their boobies for anything I've owned. Mmmm...Hurricanes. I want to move back to NOLA so bad. But to date, I have never seen an underground parking lot in that city. Actually, I haven't seen an underground anything in that town.

Posted by: sean at March 01, 2004 02:11 AM (Tsgvl)

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