|Welcome to The French Quarter|
“We’re going to Bourbon Street. You should come with!” said our friends, “M” and “L”.
I thought, “Why the hell not?”
For the past twenty years we have been stuck on the farm.
Suddenly, here was an opportunity to go somewhere.
Sure, there’s been visits to out-of-state relatives, overnights in state, but we never go too long or too far – because that’s when it all goes to pot back home.
Except for that one time we went to South Carolina -which was both a vacation/relatives event - via Amtrak.
(I’m a claustrophobe. Also scared of balloons.)
Every commuter was stealing my air on the way down, there were seat-kicking wouldn’t-shut-the-hell-up students on a field trip, and that grifter that I had to stop Dan from giving money to.
We booked a private car for the return.
BTW, Awesome food in S.C.: soft-shelled crabs, freshly-made flour tortillas at Chilacas, my first Hard Rock Café experience (Cap’n Crunch Chicken, overrated).
Of course, food is another type of concern now. I have a gluten allergy and soy intolerance.
And here we arrive at an episode in my life I will forever label as
“My Big Fat Nawlins Vacation”
(Part one of two\three\four; I haven’t decided how much to share.)
Burlington: went through a body scanner for the first time and got tagged for not taking my earrings off.
Passed security. Got on the plane (never flown before).
Took ½ an hour to disembark at Newark, plus ten more to get our stuff– because we weren’t allowed to take on our take-on luggage --but some travelers were douches, did so, and clogged up the works.
Runned like hungry cheetahs to the connecting flight.
Watched all hope for spa-like pampering and the free-flowing booze of first class leave the terminal without us.
On standby for 6 hours. “L” and I finally got on a small plane while our spouses (Dan and “M” waited another 8 hours.)
And that particular flight?
The strategy to surviving this whole “first time flying” with dignity was to have three others with me – but I was down to “L” (and she was seated two rows ahead- near the drinky-drunk aerobics instructor with the big boob job, and the turbulence puker.)
Saw the aboveground cemeteries during the shuttle ride to the hotel, a Lamborghini, a Cajun wedding procession, and some drunk dude “directing” traffic.
Confirmed my tattoo appointment and tried to convince “L” to get one, too. After all, we girls got to stick together.
Ate broiled oysters for supper. Overtipped the waitress because it made me happy, and somebody should be enjoying themselves on this vacation.
Saw Dan around midnight. He woke me up. I hated that.