"Congratulations, son, you're a meathead. But keep your fucking hands out of my underwear."
Well, well, well, look who's back, and only a little worse for wear, though I can't say the same for my phone (more about that to come). New Orleans was great, Nashville was boring, and I'm back in NYC with my mom, who thankfully leaves tomorrow morning. Don't know how much longer I could sleep on my floor...
I bought a cheap throway camera, with a CD option, so I shall post some G rated pictures soonly. For now, a quick-ish rundown of my first time back in the Big Easy, since moving almost 10 months ago. (Oh, congrats to being the Unhealthiest City according to msn.com, wheeee!)
FRIDAY I was going through kind of emotional crap before leaving that afternoon. But, I swear, as soon as the plane started to take off, I felt sort of cleansed, and wiped free from all tension and worry. Such is the attitude so cultivated by life in New Orleans. I arrived with no trouble, and Britt picked me up and took me back to the Glimmer Inn, where I would be staying the next 2 nights, and also where the wedding would be held. I dropped my shit off at the quaint B&B owned by an older lesbian couple, and met some of Britt's other friends and family, including a strange raver-y guy named Nick, who had shoved so many drugs into his face, he spoke like a little sqeaking doll. Well, I don't know if that's the reason, but it's my theory. We hung around on the porch, smoking and drinking Abita. It felt so good to be back in the land of green and trees and gardens, and WARMTH and no horns honking etc. etc...words can't express how much I felt like I would explode from happiness at just standing on that fucking porch with these people and drinking ice cold microbews...
We soon all piled into cars and headed to Nirvana, the Indian restaurant Uptown where the wedding dinner was being held. They had an upstairs set up for all of us, and lots of good food, buffet-style. At this time I met Britt's biological father for the first time. That was interesting, I found out, at last, where Britt gets her inclination toward random bouts of projectile vomiting, so the "mingling" before dinner consisted of more Abita and telling Britt-puking stories.
There was a microphone, so Britt's and Dylan's moms thanked everyone at the dinner, and blah blah stuff, before handing them the microphones. Neither were very fond of such public speaking, so Britt made the corniest announcement in wedding dinner history: "I just want to thank my mom and dad for making me possible!" and quickly turned off the microphone. The whole thing was kinda weird, a lot of ex-spouse and step-parent stuff. Dylan's mom verrry recently left her husband of 30 years for another woman. It was all quite scandalous.
After walking into a swarm of flying cockroaches, I accompanied Britt's childhood friend Kat and and some other people to the Quarter, acting as navigator. We met up with B&D at XIII. And wouldn't you know it. Damn small town. We filed in, and who should be sitting at the bar but the Little Maggot himself, also known as Burn Victim of Yore. His head snapped in my direction as I walked behind him, and I could see, ouf of my periphery, that he watched me continue to walk. Poor thing looked terrified. We weren't there too long, but long enough to get some fucking Tater Tots, yeah! $1.50!!! Them sure ain't New York prices!
Eventually, the party disbanded, and I went back to my cozy room. I say cozy in the homey sense, the room was like twice the size of my entire apartment. They had a bathroom with a luxurious claw-foot bathtub, and all these fancy bubble baths, so I lay there and soaked and stared at the tall ceilings, with no noise to interrupt my calm, save for the lazy whirr of the cieling fan, and some crickets outside.
SATURDAY Day o the wedding! Got dressed in my fancy 1930s peach silk slip I cut off to be longer in the back, and about knee length in the front, to show off my huge buckly boots (note: no one in Britt's/Dylan's families gave me weird looks...after all, they've lived with Britt and Dylan this long). I even put on a modicum of make-up Shutup!Shutup! I found out I was being summoned to the Bride's bungalow. She was still walking around in a bra and slip when I got there, but seemed in no rush to get dressed, as that only required the donning of a $12 eBay dress. Abut half an hour before the wedding, Loyola guitar professor John Rankin came to serenade the wedding party. There was some confusion as to where the minister was, but he showed right before 11 a.m., photographer in tow. They took a few minutes getting light readings and shit, and trying to find good places for us to stand that wouldn't be in direct sunlight (this being a fairly gothy wedding, there was some pale skin to take into account). Finally, all was ready, and I swear, the ceremony was over in like 4 minutes. Basically there were no actual vows, just asking the bride and groom do they take each other etc., to which Dylan responded "Absolutely!" and Britt "Sure! Why not?" They then proceeded with some sort of French wine ritual, involving one of them to pour red wine, the other white, into one container, then pour from that into a glass, and both drink from it. I have to admit, standing there, next to my best friend of almost 8 years, it was hard to fight back tears Shutup!Shutup! what with the sun in my eyes, and trying not to laugh. But I overcame. And at the end, the photographer tried to get the happy couple to step down and take their little processional walk. Britt ignored her and encouraged the guests to start drinking. They all laughed, threw Mardi Gras beads, and took her advice.
Mucho champagne was drunk. The license was signed by the minister, the bride and groom, the best man and myself. I started getting tipsy and made my way over to John Rankin and started talking about random shit that turned into how bad NOLA public schools are. He's a weird guy, with a weird facial tic. All the while pictures were being taken, and I became Britt's bouquet-carrying bitch, but I didn't mind. At one point the photographer came up to me and asked if the wedding was Wiccan. I said, "I think Britt used to be. They're just crazy now." She laughed nervously and moved on. I guess we all did look a bit strange, what with Britt's long red glued-in hair, Dylan's bondage suit and dress shirt, me, Dylan's sister in belly-danceing attire with her piratey husband, the squeaky guy with his goggles, etc. Ah, it was quite a nice experience all in all. It was like 95 degrees, I felt like I was melting, the David Bowie-lookalike minister had sweat running down his temples, and yours truly started to rethink her previous stance on marriage Shutup!Shutup!
The reception was held at Muriel's, on Jackson Square. We all took some crazy shuttle, the old granparents, estranged ex-spouses, grade school/high/ school/college friends, siblings, people from Portland, OR to NYC (moi), all points in-between, and also Scotland. Drinks were imbibed in this lush bordello-inspired room, then we all wento into a bigger hall and started the long, awesome dinner. John Rankin was still playing, and then some little kid, I think one of the kids Dylan taugh at University School of Nashville, got up and started singing with him, standards, Beatles, etc. This kid was like 8 but man he had lungs, quite the little entertainer. I fucking hate children, and don't wanna see any popping out my hooha anytime soon, but gawddamn, if this little sprog had somehow turned up at my doorstep, I would not have turned him away ;)Shutup!Shutup!
Many toasts were given, including a great one by Britt's drunken grandmother, who advised Britt to let her husband be the boss, seconds after admonishing Britt's ancient grandfather for daring to try to take some photos. The best man delivered a drunken speech, as is the tradition, Britt's dad, etc. etc. It came time when Britt looked at me expectantly, but I just couldn't. I was getting fairly inebriated, and just KNEW any speech I tried to give, in all manner of good intentions, would come out as, "Well, I'm glad these two are so happy. Maybe one day I'll have what they have, but probably not. I'll never be loved, and this'll probably be the closest I get to the altar. But Salut just the same, you bunch of fucking happy-mongers," snot and tears mixing with make-up and running down my face, till someone, probably the bride, pulls me down by my arm. I saved thhose lines for the card I gave B&D, so I left it at that.
After Muriel's we went back to the inn and napped for a couple of hours, sleeping off the booze. At 7 a limo picked us up and 10 of us got a nice drive around the city. The best man presented his wedding gift (a purple crucifix dildo) and being all nerdy artists/professors/musician/academians we would occasionally roll down a window and ask another motorist for Grey Poupon. We drank more champagne, and made a few more choice remarks at the people on the street. We got dropped at XIII, where I bought a round of drinks and shots for all of us, like 10 or 12 people, about $50. Not bad. The limo picked us up soon afterwards, and dropped us off at the B&B. We got in cars and drove to Cooter Brown's at the Riverbend. Before going inside, we discovered, and this is fucked up, Britt's old car Yes, it was sitting at the RR tracks, taped up, but obviously still driveable. If there were any doubts as to whether it was actually her car, they were dismissed when, upon opening the unlocked door, Dylan found an old flight ticket stub with his name on it. That's New Orleans for you. Pretty shady when you remember that the auto place told them, a year ago, that the car was unsalvageable, and had a severely-cracked frame. Ah well, what can you do. Britt devided to take the gas cap back with her as a souvenir. Some pool was played, then back to the inn for my last night there. I wished I'd brought my vibrator, but I didn't know before I got into town that I'd have a single room...
More to come!
I bought a cheap throway camera, with a CD option, so I shall post some G rated pictures soonly. For now, a quick-ish rundown of my first time back in the Big Easy, since moving almost 10 months ago. (Oh, congrats to being the Unhealthiest City according to msn.com, wheeee!)
FRIDAY I was going through kind of emotional crap before leaving that afternoon. But, I swear, as soon as the plane started to take off, I felt sort of cleansed, and wiped free from all tension and worry. Such is the attitude so cultivated by life in New Orleans. I arrived with no trouble, and Britt picked me up and took me back to the Glimmer Inn, where I would be staying the next 2 nights, and also where the wedding would be held. I dropped my shit off at the quaint B&B owned by an older lesbian couple, and met some of Britt's other friends and family, including a strange raver-y guy named Nick, who had shoved so many drugs into his face, he spoke like a little sqeaking doll. Well, I don't know if that's the reason, but it's my theory. We hung around on the porch, smoking and drinking Abita. It felt so good to be back in the land of green and trees and gardens, and WARMTH and no horns honking etc. etc...words can't express how much I felt like I would explode from happiness at just standing on that fucking porch with these people and drinking ice cold microbews...
We soon all piled into cars and headed to Nirvana, the Indian restaurant Uptown where the wedding dinner was being held. They had an upstairs set up for all of us, and lots of good food, buffet-style. At this time I met Britt's biological father for the first time. That was interesting, I found out, at last, where Britt gets her inclination toward random bouts of projectile vomiting, so the "mingling" before dinner consisted of more Abita and telling Britt-puking stories.
There was a microphone, so Britt's and Dylan's moms thanked everyone at the dinner, and blah blah stuff, before handing them the microphones. Neither were very fond of such public speaking, so Britt made the corniest announcement in wedding dinner history: "I just want to thank my mom and dad for making me possible!" and quickly turned off the microphone. The whole thing was kinda weird, a lot of ex-spouse and step-parent stuff. Dylan's mom verrry recently left her husband of 30 years for another woman. It was all quite scandalous.
After walking into a swarm of flying cockroaches, I accompanied Britt's childhood friend Kat and and some other people to the Quarter, acting as navigator. We met up with B&D at XIII. And wouldn't you know it. Damn small town. We filed in, and who should be sitting at the bar but the Little Maggot himself, also known as Burn Victim of Yore. His head snapped in my direction as I walked behind him, and I could see, ouf of my periphery, that he watched me continue to walk. Poor thing looked terrified. We weren't there too long, but long enough to get some fucking Tater Tots, yeah! $1.50!!! Them sure ain't New York prices!
Eventually, the party disbanded, and I went back to my cozy room. I say cozy in the homey sense, the room was like twice the size of my entire apartment. They had a bathroom with a luxurious claw-foot bathtub, and all these fancy bubble baths, so I lay there and soaked and stared at the tall ceilings, with no noise to interrupt my calm, save for the lazy whirr of the cieling fan, and some crickets outside.
SATURDAY Day o the wedding! Got dressed in my fancy 1930s peach silk slip I cut off to be longer in the back, and about knee length in the front, to show off my huge buckly boots (note: no one in Britt's/Dylan's families gave me weird looks...after all, they've lived with Britt and Dylan this long). I even put on a modicum of make-up Shutup!Shutup! I found out I was being summoned to the Bride's bungalow. She was still walking around in a bra and slip when I got there, but seemed in no rush to get dressed, as that only required the donning of a $12 eBay dress. Abut half an hour before the wedding, Loyola guitar professor John Rankin came to serenade the wedding party. There was some confusion as to where the minister was, but he showed right before 11 a.m., photographer in tow. They took a few minutes getting light readings and shit, and trying to find good places for us to stand that wouldn't be in direct sunlight (this being a fairly gothy wedding, there was some pale skin to take into account). Finally, all was ready, and I swear, the ceremony was over in like 4 minutes. Basically there were no actual vows, just asking the bride and groom do they take each other etc., to which Dylan responded "Absolutely!" and Britt "Sure! Why not?" They then proceeded with some sort of French wine ritual, involving one of them to pour red wine, the other white, into one container, then pour from that into a glass, and both drink from it. I have to admit, standing there, next to my best friend of almost 8 years, it was hard to fight back tears Shutup!Shutup! what with the sun in my eyes, and trying not to laugh. But I overcame. And at the end, the photographer tried to get the happy couple to step down and take their little processional walk. Britt ignored her and encouraged the guests to start drinking. They all laughed, threw Mardi Gras beads, and took her advice.
Mucho champagne was drunk. The license was signed by the minister, the bride and groom, the best man and myself. I started getting tipsy and made my way over to John Rankin and started talking about random shit that turned into how bad NOLA public schools are. He's a weird guy, with a weird facial tic. All the while pictures were being taken, and I became Britt's bouquet-carrying bitch, but I didn't mind. At one point the photographer came up to me and asked if the wedding was Wiccan. I said, "I think Britt used to be. They're just crazy now." She laughed nervously and moved on. I guess we all did look a bit strange, what with Britt's long red glued-in hair, Dylan's bondage suit and dress shirt, me, Dylan's sister in belly-danceing attire with her piratey husband, the squeaky guy with his goggles, etc. Ah, it was quite a nice experience all in all. It was like 95 degrees, I felt like I was melting, the David Bowie-lookalike minister had sweat running down his temples, and yours truly started to rethink her previous stance on marriage Shutup!Shutup!
The reception was held at Muriel's, on Jackson Square. We all took some crazy shuttle, the old granparents, estranged ex-spouses, grade school/high/ school/college friends, siblings, people from Portland, OR to NYC (moi), all points in-between, and also Scotland. Drinks were imbibed in this lush bordello-inspired room, then we all wento into a bigger hall and started the long, awesome dinner. John Rankin was still playing, and then some little kid, I think one of the kids Dylan taugh at University School of Nashville, got up and started singing with him, standards, Beatles, etc. This kid was like 8 but man he had lungs, quite the little entertainer. I fucking hate children, and don't wanna see any popping out my hooha anytime soon, but gawddamn, if this little sprog had somehow turned up at my doorstep, I would not have turned him away ;)Shutup!Shutup!
Many toasts were given, including a great one by Britt's drunken grandmother, who advised Britt to let her husband be the boss, seconds after admonishing Britt's ancient grandfather for daring to try to take some photos. The best man delivered a drunken speech, as is the tradition, Britt's dad, etc. etc. It came time when Britt looked at me expectantly, but I just couldn't. I was getting fairly inebriated, and just KNEW any speech I tried to give, in all manner of good intentions, would come out as, "Well, I'm glad these two are so happy. Maybe one day I'll have what they have, but probably not. I'll never be loved, and this'll probably be the closest I get to the altar. But Salut just the same, you bunch of fucking happy-mongers," snot and tears mixing with make-up and running down my face, till someone, probably the bride, pulls me down by my arm. I saved thhose lines for the card I gave B&D, so I left it at that.
After Muriel's we went back to the inn and napped for a couple of hours, sleeping off the booze. At 7 a limo picked us up and 10 of us got a nice drive around the city. The best man presented his wedding gift (a purple crucifix dildo) and being all nerdy artists/professors/musician/academians we would occasionally roll down a window and ask another motorist for Grey Poupon. We drank more champagne, and made a few more choice remarks at the people on the street. We got dropped at XIII, where I bought a round of drinks and shots for all of us, like 10 or 12 people, about $50. Not bad. The limo picked us up soon afterwards, and dropped us off at the B&B. We got in cars and drove to Cooter Brown's at the Riverbend. Before going inside, we discovered, and this is fucked up, Britt's old car Yes, it was sitting at the RR tracks, taped up, but obviously still driveable. If there were any doubts as to whether it was actually her car, they were dismissed when, upon opening the unlocked door, Dylan found an old flight ticket stub with his name on it. That's New Orleans for you. Pretty shady when you remember that the auto place told them, a year ago, that the car was unsalvageable, and had a severely-cracked frame. Ah well, what can you do. Britt devided to take the gas cap back with her as a souvenir. Some pool was played, then back to the inn for my last night there. I wished I'd brought my vibrator, but I didn't know before I got into town that I'd have a single room...
More to come!