Pub Crawl
My little itty bitty cousin Eric and his gorgeous girlfriend Nicole are staying with me at Château Bimbeaux for the week, and considering they flew in from California, I gotta give 'em props for their seamless adjustment to New Orleans' lifestyle. Californians, as a species, can't stay out all night and poison their bodies as a sacrifice to the pub crawl gods. They always fizzle out.
I had a rare treat this Sunday; namely, a Night Off due to some creative swapping with co-workers. So what does the Marquis do when released from his bar for an evening? Of course! Go to other bars!
It wasn't all for fun n' games you know. I do consider it a karma investment. When given the opportunity of a Sunday off, I feel it inherently compulsory to pay my respects to friends who work on Sunday night, but whom I can't usually visit.
Started at The Saint to give at least a modicum of love back to Churchy since he so selflessly deigns to brighten so many of my mornings when I'm at work.
Curiously, that modicum, that soupçon, as he'd have it, was not successfully delivered as I spied with my little eye not hide nor hair of the lad at said establishment.
"Well crumb!" I blasphemed (never take a pastry's name in vain), "Off to the next place then!"
Cousin, cousin's girlfriend and housemate in tow, we skittled to Shim Sham to likewise pay l'hommage de la fête to El Conquistador Flynn de Marco. I was toting my «Déjà Deck» tarot cards about with me and dispensed 5 second readings to any querant who had the good sense and fashion sense to request one.
What's the burning question on 80% of Quarter Rats' minds this season? "When will I find a boyfriend."
And what was the general jist of an answer for 62% of those querants? "When you get off your ass and stop thinking one's going to randomly ring your doorbell!"
We were going to pub crawl through various places in the Quarter that we don't visit often, but then Flynn put on Hellraiser, and - well - you know how that goes…
Two hours later, we found ourselves back Uptown at Half Moon for pool. I ran into my charming, nutty coworker Goldie whom I rarely see because if I'm working, she's at home and vice versa. So we hopped and screamed and giggled like schoolgirls with their first period then a dreadful thought occurred:
"Goldie," I said with terror in mine eyes, "if you're here and I'm here - then who the fuck is working?"
"Uhhhhh…"
"I swapped tonight with you so you could have your birthday off! Which of us is fired?"
"Uhhhh… I just worked a double. I'm sure it's not me…"
A frantic phone call to our bar to see who would answer the phone.
[ring ring] "It's a great night at The Hideout where the fun never ends, this is Aria, how the fuck can I help you?"
I adore Aria, but never more than at that moment.
"You're back from your trip!" I yelled over the conflicting music of two bars. "Oh thank Christ-on-a-stick…"
I had a rare treat this Sunday; namely, a Night Off due to some creative swapping with co-workers. So what does the Marquis do when released from his bar for an evening? Of course! Go to other bars!
It wasn't all for fun n' games you know. I do consider it a karma investment. When given the opportunity of a Sunday off, I feel it inherently compulsory to pay my respects to friends who work on Sunday night, but whom I can't usually visit.
Started at The Saint to give at least a modicum of love back to Churchy since he so selflessly deigns to brighten so many of my mornings when I'm at work.
Curiously, that modicum, that soupçon, as he'd have it, was not successfully delivered as I spied with my little eye not hide nor hair of the lad at said establishment.
"Well crumb!" I blasphemed (never take a pastry's name in vain), "Off to the next place then!"
Cousin, cousin's girlfriend and housemate in tow, we skittled to Shim Sham to likewise pay l'hommage de la fête to El Conquistador Flynn de Marco. I was toting my «Déjà Deck» tarot cards about with me and dispensed 5 second readings to any querant who had the good sense and fashion sense to request one.
What's the burning question on 80% of Quarter Rats' minds this season? "When will I find a boyfriend."
And what was the general jist of an answer for 62% of those querants? "When you get off your ass and stop thinking one's going to randomly ring your doorbell!"
We were going to pub crawl through various places in the Quarter that we don't visit often, but then Flynn put on Hellraiser, and - well - you know how that goes…
Two hours later, we found ourselves back Uptown at Half Moon for pool. I ran into my charming, nutty coworker Goldie whom I rarely see because if I'm working, she's at home and vice versa. So we hopped and screamed and giggled like schoolgirls with their first period then a dreadful thought occurred:
"Goldie," I said with terror in mine eyes, "if you're here and I'm here - then who the fuck is working?"
"Uhhhhh…"
"I swapped tonight with you so you could have your birthday off! Which of us is fired?"
"Uhhhh… I just worked a double. I'm sure it's not me…"
A frantic phone call to our bar to see who would answer the phone.
[ring ring] "It's a great night at The Hideout where the fun never ends, this is Aria, how the fuck can I help you?"
I adore Aria, but never more than at that moment.
"You're back from your trip!" I yelled over the conflicting music of two bars. "Oh thank Christ-on-a-stick…"