While it may be a cliche, at least it's a fun one: Donna and I went to Bourbon Street. We started at Pat O's walk-in bar, where we both got a hurricane and started walking towards the far end of the Quarter, studying the general freakiness of it all and pausing in front of the Bourbocam long enough for a picture (which Donna got before it was deleted from their archives - it will appear here soon enough).

We stopped under the balcony at the Bourbon Pub, where we sipped on our drinks and considered going in Oz, a very popular gay disco. The cover was ten bucks, though, and that seemed a bit steep for us.

A stinking gutterpunk, covered in filth and rags, his face multiply pierced, came up and stood close to me. He grabbed my ass and said, "are you old school punk, dude?" I shrugged. This answer pleased him, I guess, 'cause he laughed and wandered off, but not before kissing Donna's hand.

We decided on the Bourbon Pub, mainly because the cover was only five dollars and the very-nearly naked men dancing on the bar would be entertaining, at least. They have a dance floor on the second floor, too, so we could boogie.

And boogie we did, after we found a bathroom for Donna. In truth, all four bathrooms were full of guys, chatting, so Donna finally just picked a stall and went in.

And then we danced. And danced. The music was excellent, but the only song I can remember was a remix of Steve Miller's Swingtown. It was so cool. It was the kind of dancing you do when you're eighteen and you've just figured out how much fun it is to move to the music. As a grown-up it's hard to get in that place, but I was there Saturday night.

Some time later we got a bit tired and needed bathrooms again, 'cause we were drinking the beer. I was, anyway. I can't quite remember what Donna was drinking. We wandered downstairs and watched the guy in the transparent bikini brief merrily teabag his way around the bar. He stepped off the bar and was replaced by a skinny (but very popular, I should add) guy in an unbuttoned flight suit. I exchanged some witticism with the guy standing beside me.

"You've got an admirer," Donna said.

"Where?" I looked around the bar, flattered.

"You just talked to him," she said, gesturing towards the guy behind me, "he's been dancing near you all night."

Drunken me had not noticed the guy all evening. Sonya says I'm clueless in such situations, but I think the truth is I'm not looking for a date so I don't really notice people looking at me. I mean, if I'd known the guy was hanging out all night I certainly would have talked to him. Then again, I wouldn't want to lead him on or anything. He was gone by the time I'd thought all this thorugh, anyway.

So we go back upstairs and dance some more, and on the bar by the dance floor there's another guy dancing, but this guy only has a towel covering his wang. Very impressive. We boogied and boogied. Eventually I had to pee again (the beer, remember) so I wandered off to the bathroom and then found my way out onto the balcony. That was pretty cool, y'all. Early morning Bourbon Street was spread out under me, a few knots of people moving back and forth, a light drizzle of cold rain falling. I stood out there a while, cooling off from dancing and clearing my head a bit.

When I went back to the dance floor Donna was dancing right close to some dude, who I suspected to be a gay man worshipping Donna's fabulousness. We danced more. Eventually we went downstairs to meet Scott's (Donna's dance partner) friends. I can't actually remember if we did or not. Very, very drunk by this point. Then we were on the street, heading back towards Canal. I'm not exactly sure why we left; I think I might have said something about going to another bar.

Strange Sight #4: As we were walking down Bourbon Street we passed two teenage boys supporting a girl. She had her arms slung loosely around their shoulders and she was seconds away, it seemed, from tumbling to the filthy street below her. Somehow, though, the boys managed to support her until they had negotiated with a cab and were able to stuff her in the back seat.

We stopped at Deja Vu and got a couple of seats at the end of the bar. Donna had Crown and water, I had plain water. We talked further about Donna's relationship issues and our views on marriage. Honestly, I don't remember much about this conversation. It was very deep and involved, though, like only drunks can have.

Then we went back to the hotel. Of course, like drunken idiots we were jabbering away. It was four-thirty in the morning and Sonya was trying to sleep, though, and our awakening her filled her with a sleepy rage. She didn't tell Donna and I about this, though, until the next morning as we were packing and heading for breakfast at Deja Vu, where they make a mean breakfast.

"You could have gotten up and told us to shut the fuck up," Donna said once Sonya told us how disturbed she had been, "you would have had good cause."

Then we got some t-shirts, Sonya and Donna both purchased some Aerosoles and we left town. Traffic was a bitch 'cause some Texan had rear-ended some other Texan on the way to Metairie, but other than that the trip home was uneventful. We got into town a bit before ten, got the dog, dropped off Donna and went to bed.

I wish I could say something interesting had happened since then, but it's just not true. I mean, I've had this Amber song stuck in my head since Saturday night (and I just downloaded the MP3, so there's a little victory) and I keep finding myself going "li da di li da di li da di da di da di" but other than that it's been slow.

I think from now on I'm going to go totally fictional. Tomorrow, I will write about my adventures piloting a zeppelin across the Mediterranean.

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