The Mardi Gras fun continues!

Sunday, February 15, 2009, an afternoon of relaxation and parade enjoyment. I headed out to Metairie to catch more parades, this time, at a different location. What most people will tell you is that they find a location and stick with it, year after year. Since I'm kinda new at this, I like the thought of bouncing around-catching it off Houma with Shaun, right on the neutral ground on Vet's with Tracy, and now taking in the sights right off Severn.

My plan was to meet a couple more ladies from my office, Linda and Matilda, to watch the Krewe of Rhea parade, and maybe stick around for the Krewe of Centurions parade that followed. Linda's daughter is on one of the dance teams and was marching in the Rhea parade. The day was beautiful, positively glorious. You couldn't have asked for a more delightful day: 75, sunny, with a slight breeze off the ocean. It doesn't get more perfect than that.

I was able, thankfully, to find Linda and Matty with relative ease (which is something you won't oft hear me say). I came prepared to this parade with a fold-up chair and a cooler full of beer. Of all the locations I've been to thus far, I think I liked the Severn one the best. You get to see the parade come up one side, and then it crosses right back in front of you as it comes up the other side of Severn.

The Rhea parade really wasn't all that remarkable, aside from the fact that the parade kept stopping. Seemed like every other float broke down. This caused the parade to stretch far longer than it was supposed to. Once it was over, we just decided to stay on for the Krewe of Centurions, but by this time, night had started to set-in. The temperature dropped and we were all freezing! Fortunately, there is a Morning-Call restaurant right around the corner from where we were stationed. If you're familiar with Cafe Du Monde, Morning-Call is essentially the same thing-coffee/chicory and biegnets.

I promise you, I ate no less than a dozen biegnets that day. Everytime one of us wanted to use the bathroom (as an aside, I was forced to use the men's room almost every time because there was only 1 ladies stall working and after that much beer, Chappy ain't waitin' for the ladies room to clear), one of us went and bought more biegnets, and as soon as the temperature dropped, we took up refuge in the restaurant itself. The Centurions parade was more fun. I entertained myself by watching the men on one particular float that happened to stop right in front of us for a long period of time!

For my first full-on Mardi Gras weekend, I'd definitely give it an "A"!


Matilda, Chappy, Linda:


Krewe of Rhea parade:


More Krewe of Rhea parade:

Finally, My FIRST Parade!!!

The date was: Friday, February 13 2009. The Krewe was: Atlas.

I was SO excited. After the debacle down in the Quarter the weekend before, I finally was going to get to see what Mardi Gras is really all about. Because I hate doing everything by myself, I found out a couple of the ladies I work with (Shaun and Tracy) were taking their families to the parades in Metairie. The Metairie parades (different from the New Orleans parades) all go down Veteran's Memorial Boulevard and cross in front of the mall. Shaun and her husband were taking their daughter and son, along with the son's girlfriend, to see the parade at the very beginning, while Tracy and her husband were taking both their boys to catch the parade at the end.

I stayed at work until about 7pm that night then decided to head-out and meet Shaun. Again, I have a problem not getting lost and Shaun had to come across the mall parking lot, meet me, and hop in the Volvo to give me personal directions to parking. We park and walk back to her family, and the parade began. There were bands and floats and dance teams-OH MY! At the beginning, the kids all looked so happy and excited-the Metairie parade route is something like 6 or 8 miles long (just keep that in mind when I get to the end of this story). I caught a TON of beads! I felt like Mister T by the time it was all over and done with.

After the parade passed Shaun and her Family and I, I decided I'd had so much fun, I'd like to catch it again at the end with Tracy and her group. I hopped in the car and 20 minutes later (traffic), I found myself standing on the neutral ground (to those who don't live here, that's also known as the median) on Veteran's awaiting the parade at the end of the route. The parade started to approach, and it was even more lively than at the beginning! The bands were playing and actively marching, the dance teams were all over the place, and the beads were just a flowing! One thing I immediately noticed, though, is that the kids look EXHAUSTED, and rightly so! I cannot even begin to imagine having to dance and march and play for 6-8 miles. Some of these kids march in parades back to back to back, too! Talk about being a trooper.

While standing amidst the excitement and flurry of activity, like some cruel and practical joke, here came the rain, falling on all of our heads in torrential streams. Thankfully, Tracy is nothing if not adequately prepared for all situations when it comes to her children: coats, sneakers, rain ponchos, and umbrellas! She mercifully gave me a poncho which I tied around me at the neck like a cape because I couldn't seem to figure out how to put the bloody thing actually over my clothes, and Tracy and I huddled beneath what had to be the biggest umbrella I'd ever seen. Still, despite the rain and winds whipping about, the beads flew and the kids marched on. I was lucky enough to receive two very special items actually handed to me off the floats through all of the rain, so it was worth every bit of cold, soggy tennis shoes and soaking wet jeans that I went through.

I've seen and marched in parades before, but my first Mardi Gras parade experience was, by far and away, the best one ever. To have shared it with two wonderful women and their families made the experience even more enjoyable. I'll cherish the memory every year, for years to come, and I know sheer delight and excitement will pour through my veins next season as soon as the first marching band hits their first note.


One of the floats:


A very rain-soaked Tracy and I:


Shaun and I:

My very first parade.....well, almost

This is a great time of year to live in New Orleans. It's Mardi Gras time, Baby! Since this will be my very first ever Mardi Gras, I was so stoked when the parade season began. The folks down here are nuts for parades! Their kids march and dance in them, people I work with ride on the floats, it's simply incredible how into the season the whole City becomes.

Carnival has no official beginning. 'Round here, the parades typically start the last week in January. Much to my surprise, and to those of you who don't live here, I learned that 99% of the New Orleans parades actually go down St. Charles Avenue-NOT Bourbon Street. They stopped allowing parades to go down Bourbon several decades ago because too many people and too many moving floats running down too narrow a street can only spell one thing-disaster. All that in mind, you can imagine how excited I was when I found a parade that actually went through the Quarter! Granted, said parade didn't run down Bourbon, rather Decatur Street to Royal, but that's still in the Quarter-my very first Mardi Gras Parade!!!

I knew ahead of time that I was going solo to the parade. None of the people I work with will ever even go into the City, let alone into the Quarter, at night. I begged and begged them to come, but alas, I got nowhere. My day began by coming into the office that Saturday, February 7, 2009, to do some work (hello, workaholic much?). After getting home around 4pm, I quickly cleaned up the apartment some, freshened-up, and got dressed-royal blue sweater from the Gap, short black skirt a la Old Navy, boots, and my lucky jean jacket.

I decided it might be neat to take the street cars down to the parade; I've been here for 2 1/2 months and I STILL have yet to hop on one of the trains. After making the decision to take a street car, it was then of course that I realized I had no cash. A quick run down to the Walgreens for batteries and cash, and then I see it: every street car going down St Charles is PACKED. Not even standing room.

"Think, Jackie! Think!"..... "Eureka! I've got it!!" Take a cab!

I parked the Volvo back outside the apartment and walked down one block to Washington and Magazine. Do you know that there wasn't one single cab that passed by that wasn't already filled to the brim with people??? Finally, a taxi pulled into the gas station where I was standing. After waiting 15 minutes for the driver to come back from the Starbucks across the street, I had a ride.

While in the cab, my very friendly driver began to make small talk:

"Are you from here?" No, just moved from Atlanta.

"What's your name?" Jackie.

"What do you do for a living?" Insurance.

"Where are you going?" To the Quarter for my first ever Mardi Gras parade.

"Are you married?"......Am I married? Hmmm...well, not anymore was my thought. So, to his last question, I answered in the negative.

His next question, while it didn't shock me by any means (people rarely shock me with their behavior), was a bit forward:

"How has a beautiful girl like you managed to stay single so long?" After 5 more minutes of remarkably uncomfortable discussion on why I now find myself single, I learned that my cab driver's name was Omar. He was a fairly young guy, maybe 26-27ish. He moved from India 6 years ago after his family kicked him out due to his gambling problem and he had just broken up with his girlfriend here in the states.

What happened next DID shock me. Omar proceeds to tell me how very attractive I am and asks me if I will consider letting him be my boyfriend...... Ummmmm, no. Chappy and a Cabbie? That's a no-go. Don't get me wrong: Omar was pretty fly. I love a man w/a bald head, and his was shaved to the skin. He had a pretty smile and nice face w/a partial goatee, and he was close to my age, which is all nice, but talk about red flags! Prior gambling addiction and a very questionable job choice is more than enough to halt any further discussion with a respectable lady. I politely thanked him for the compliment and changed the subject.

After letting me off at Canal and Charters, Omar tells me to walk up one block and take a right and that should put me on Royal, which is where the parade was going. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I couldn't find my way out of a wet paper bag if I tried. People give me directions, and I STILL get lost. I have the worst possible sense of direction and I honestly should just do the opposite of all my instincts. Trusting Omar's directions, however, I walk up one block and take a right. Huh.....Up one block from Charters puts me on Bourbon-NOT ROYAL. Thinking maybe I could just cut over one block, I began walking aimlessly up and down Bourbon looking for a safe side street to cut-through.....I found none. I couldn't find the parade! "HOW do you miss a parade," a guy friend later asked me. Hell, I have no idea. See the comment above re: my awful sense of direction.

After 30 minutes of walking around (and actually catching a glimpse of Chris Owen's establishment), I finally gave up and walked into the Old Absinthe House. The Absinthe House happens to be across the street from what has become my favorite blues joint, The CoCo Club. The bands are fun and lively, and even though the place is packed w/tourists, I love it. Of course, at 8:30, the club is nowhere near ready to get swingin', so at the Absinthe House I wait. 3 beers later, and a very attractive guy sits down next to me by himself (and he WAS actually attractive-it wasn't the beer talking). The night just got more interesting.

I have never had an issue striking up conversation with anyone. Daddy always used to say I'd argue with a fence post if I thought I could win, so simply talking to a stranger is easy. When the bartender began making a glass of Absinthe (which is rather entertaining in and of itself, what w/the green liquid, the flaming sugar cube, and water to put out the fire), I used that to strike up a conversation. Found out the stranger's name was Rich and he was in town for a convention through work. Lives in Boston and is the manager of something having to do with a golf course, maintenance I think. Divorced, two kids, leaving the next day. After another beer and more conversation, the CoCo Club is starting to get rowdy, so Rich and I head over there. We met some of the people he was at the convention with and had a fantastic time! Several hours later, yada, yada, yada, and I find myself hailing a cab at 2am across the street from Harrah's.

I may have missed the parade, but all things considered, it was a fabulous night out on the town!

Gotta love New Orleans!

My apologies, in advance

So, to say I've been hellua busy at work would be an understatement. Between audits, and deadlines, and reviews, and turmoil on a local level w/the counsel my client formerly used, it's been non-stop. I haven't posted in FORever! You have my apologies in advance. You're gonna see several posts, back to back to back. Be forewarned......

Nirvana, in more ways than one.....

I haven't posted in a spell-been super busy at the office. My apologies.

It's now been nearly 9 weeks that I've been living in the Big Easy, and I've come to discover that the culture here is remarkably different than that of Atlanta. So much of city life surrounds food; folks talk about what they're gonna eat for lunch at 9am, and as soon as lunch is over, talk of supper begins. For the first couple of weeks, it struck me as odd that all anyone every talks about (and I'm using "all" in a very liberal context here) here is what's on the menu. It wasn't until I started trying some of the restaurants that I discovered there's certainly a reason why the culture revolves around food-THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOOD FOOD TO PASS UP!!

I live Uptown, right off Magazine....one of the most eclectic and favorite streets in the city. There are countless blocks of retailers and eateries all within walking distance. About a month ago, I made the conscious decision that I would try a new place on Magazine every week. I mean, I AM single now; what the hell else am I gonna do on a Saturday night other than go out? So far, I've tried: Byblos, a lovely Greek place w/very good food, although the humus needed more garlic; Theo's, a pizza place I wasn't overly impressed with, but their beer was super cold, though, so it wasn't a total loss; Sake Cafe, excellent sushi; WOW Wingery, and WOW were the wings salty; and finally Nirvana, a remarkable Indian place.

If you're like me, and most people aren't, whenever I hear the word Nirvana, a tiny chorus of angels sings out a lovely blended note....much like the sound I imagine when the gates of Heaven open............Getting back on track, I'd originally intended to try this Middle Eastern restaurant that fateful Saturday night, but when I drove by at nearly 9PM and only saw three tables of people at said Middle Eastern joint, something told me to keep driving. Nirvana was bustling, which is a clear and obvious sign that that restaurant is where I wanted to be.

I waited 10 minutes or so in the line at the door before the host came and asked me to sit at the bar and have a glass of wine while I waited for a table. 5 minutes and one glass of white wine later, a table was made available. Now, never in my life having tried Indian, and, having a distaste for any and all things curry, you'd think I'd have a difficult time choosing something to eat at Nirvana. SO not the case here! Their menu was vast and complex. You could choose any kind of preparation with chicken, seafood, lamb, or vegetarian. I opted to start with a cup of lentil mulligatawny (I figured if it was good enough for the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld, it was good enough for me!) and followed with chicken tikka masala with garlic naan.

Mere words alone will never be able to do this food justice. The soup was so spicy and so flavorful. When I want something spicy, it better make me sweat. This wasn't spicy like a habenero chili is spicy-this hit on a different part of your tongue. The soup made me sweat, but in an OH so good way! The chicken tikka was this dish composed of white meat chicken, garlic, peppers, onions in some kind of tomato pureed gravy....I'm struggling with the exact words to describe the consistency. Masala scooped up on some of the naan (unleavened bread), and boy howdy was Chappy happy! I could barely make a dent in the food, but thankfully, it made great leftovers.

As if I couldn't be ANY more glutinous, I decided "Why not top the night off w/a delicious piece of cheesecake?". There's a place on St Charles called Copeland's (it's a chain, I'm sure you've heard of it). I walked in, ordered a coffee, and told the waitress I wanted chocolate. She started asking me what kind, yadayadayada. "Surprise me," I said. HOLY TOLEDO Batgirl! She brought out a slice of chocolate cheesecake covered in a dolce de leche pecan praline sauce. Never, in my life, did I think a desert could make me happy-orgasmic, contented, full, yes....but happy? I must have looked like a complete idiot sitting there, surrounded by couples, on a Saturday night, looking fly, smiling from ear to ear eating this cheesecake. Much like my dinner at Nirvana, I couldn't finish all of the cheesecake either. I did, however, manage to take the praline piece shoved in the top home as a leftover..... and the happiness began all over the next day.

Correction: Ms. Owens

It was brought to my attention, shortly after I published the last post, that Ms. Owens was probably NOT a stripper. She was, however, an "entertainer"....there's a subtle difference, you see.

Oh, and she "allegedly" used to be a man.

Chris Owens

It simply amazes me when anyone is completely taken aback by celebrities. They're just people, right? They get up in the morning, make coffee, take a shower, walk the dog, etc. Contrary the aforementioned, however, celebrities are not like normal human beings. When face-to-face with a celebrity, you really can see exactly how different they are than you and I.

In a city that sells booze by the mega liter and is littered w/billboard after billboard beckoning passers-by to the local strip club of the day, I'm sure you can only begin to imagine the kind of celebrity of which I have now had a personal encounter. Now, New Orleans of course has plenty of famous persons that call this wonderful city home, everyone from Wynton Marsalis, to the Jolie-Pitts, to Harry Connick, Jr. (who I will love until the day I die). This city also has an incredible amount of infamous people, people of the night, professional entertainers, if you will, who walk these city streets.

It was this week, at another Chinese food place, that my celebrity encounter occurred. Side bar: yes, I fully realize how odd that it is that so many of my encounters begin and end at Chinese restaurants. While munching on some rather tasty house special lo mein, the women with whom I was eating lunch all began to whisper and point. With my back to the restaurant and only the mirrored wall before me, it was difficult to see exactly what they were all gesturing toward. When finally one of them clued me in, the person that had captured their amazement was none other than Chris Owens. To anyone who is not a native (which includes myself), Ms. Owens is one of the most legendary strippers/dancers in all of New Orleans. She is at least 70 and is known for the sheer amount of plastic surgery she has undergone. Every single person with whom I've spoken knows exactly who this woman is, and they all have a story about how their brothers/cousins/fathers/etc. used to sneak down to the Quarter just to get a peep at this woman. It is simply astonishing.

From the other side of the room, Ms. Owens vaguely looked like a woman who used to keep me as a child when we lived down in Florida. Something about her enormous, jet-black hair was oddly familiar. Yes, Mom, my childhood reference may be a little off. The point is, however, that Ms. Owens resembled someone from my past. Allow me, if you will, to paint a picture: Owens was dressed in skin-tight, nearly painted on jeans, stiletto heeled boots, a black bedazzled tee shirt, and a very unique short sleeved jean jacket/vest that was adorned with puffs of what I hope was faux fir around the collar, sleeves, and hem. Quite an odd ensemble. At one point, she passed behind me to hit the bathroom before she and her companion left. Her companion was something else! He looked like a 1970's pimp, complete with a giant, gray hair-helmet, jet-black porn 'stache, and an incredibly ill-fitting leisure suit. At one point, I honestly asked myself if we'd traveled back in time-one, because of the outfits on the people around me, and two, because of the smell, but I digress.

It wasn't until Ms. Owens walked behind me that I got a really good look at her....WOW. The expression "A wreck up, from the neck up" comes to mind. You could tell that at one point in her life, she was not entirely unfortunate looking. She has good bone structure and a nice height and a large, full head of hair. Unlike Cher, however, plastic surgery has not been a kind friend to Ms. Owens. They've managed to lift, and enlarge, and suck the fat out of the areas where one could conceivably have work done. For a woman who's older than my grandparents, her body, at least with clothes on (thank God for that saving grace) looked tight. All that said, her face? Mon Dieu! Her flesh was pulled so tightly over her cheekbones, if the woman had smiled, she would have cracked. Her lips were injected with so much collagen, she resembled a carp. I've never seen anything quite like it.

After she and her p-i-m-p left the establishment, the WHOLE restaurant was abuzz with commentary. Tables with families and small children were even talking about how amazing it was that they'd gotten to see the infamous Chris Owens out and about in society. I never thought that my first up-close and personal celebrity encounter would be with a madam, but I suppose you gotta start somewhere. The stories that woman could tell.....Lord, I don't even wanna know!