Two Weekends

Last weekend Kent and James (whom you'll remember from the trip to London that I recapped for you this time last year) were in town for a wedding; James was doing the wedding party's collective hair. Party time! Friday night we went to Pascal's Manale for barbecued shrimp; they were divine. James, setting to my left, went to tear the head off of one of his shrimp; he managed to twist and squeeze it in such a way that it spooged out gooey spicy butter all over my left arm. Thus was the word "spooge" introduced into our lexicon for the rest of the weekend.

Saturday we got up relatively early and went to Kent and James' hotel, the fabulously chi-chi Windsor Court. James had to do hair, unfortunately, but that didn't stop me, Sonya and Kent from going down to the pool and taking some sun.

A Lovely Touch: at the pool at the Windsor Court uniformed waiters automatically bring a tall glass of ice water with a big slice of orange to every bather, placing it beside your terry-clothed chaise lounge for you to enjoy when you come out of the pool. I thought this was unspeakably classy.

Fire Ant Alert: while at the pool I was floating in the deep end, arms propped up on the edge of the water. I felt something sort of pinch my arm so I moved it slightly, thinking the tile around the pool must be a bit rough. Then the pinching continued vigorously! I lifted my arm to figure out what the problem was and there, gnawing at my flesh, was a big black fire ant, roughly the length of my pinky-nail. He was simultaneously squashed and drowned, but the damage was done. The area around the bites turned a lurid red and the bitten flesh itself swelled up into a hard knot. I've still got a red spot with a scab in the middle. Little insectile fucker.

We did a bit of shopping, a bit of eating, and then it was time for Kent to rejoin James to go to the wedding itself. Sonya and I, footsore and a bit sunburned, went home and enjoyed a quiet evening.

Sunday? All pleasures of the flesh. Brunch at the Palace Cafe, with many mimosas. Then we stopped by the casino on the way back to the hotel room to change clothes.

"It's not yet noon on a Sunday," I declared, "and yet I've had several drinks and been gambling."

Shopping shopping shopping, followed by hand greanade daquiris (who knew they even existed?) at the Tropical Isle. A hand grenade is a monstrously powerful drink, melon-based, that's served at a few French Quarter bars. The group enjoyed them, I tell you. I also got the Hustler t-shirt I've been meaning to get. Black, white Hustler logo. A classic. Then back to our house for Sex and the City and big fat salads from Semolina.

Sonya had to work Monday, but not me! I joined Kent and James and a buddy of theirs for lunch at Acme, then we came back to my part of Magazine to browse the junk and antique shops. There's a place right down the street from my house that has the coolest disco shirts; I need one. And then Kent and James left town. I went home and crashed again. All that walking on 132% humidity is rough on a young man.

Last week was featureless; days of quiet desperation, for the most part. I only worked out one day last week, too, 'cause I had some weird throat/ear/cough thing going on. So I went to work out today and I realized that I was wearing bower shorts and I only had a ratty pair of briefs in my bag and if I tried to run (track or treadmill) with either item of that motley selection of underwear on under my shorts that I would get a possibly fatal case of chafing. I tried it anyway in the boxers; the chafing began immediately. I switched to the elliptical maching instead. I must buy lycra shorts.

Oh, yeah. The reading group came to my house Thursday night. No one seemed too crazy about the book, so it got discussed for fifteen minutes before the immersive and late-running drinking began.

Which brings us to this past weekend.

Saturday morning, fairly early, our buddy Jon (friend of Shawn, Cutter of Hair, first mentioned in this entry) showed up at the house after partying through the night with some buddies he had driven to town with. He was unshaven but frisky, and told us that he was totally unimpressed with Oz, the local gay disco mecca. We all got in the Badass and went to breakfast.

The plan was to go to Cafe du Monde, but the line outside discouraged us. On we drove to La Peniche for lots of eggs and gravy. Then, Jon wanted to see some cemeteries. We obliged him, wandering around St. Louis #1 for an hour or so. Very beautiful, in a very bad neighborhood.

Whoo! We were hot and sweaty after hanging out with the dead people, so down Canal we went to (wait for it) the aquarium! Lots of fish. However, we also went to an Imax movie - Cyberworld. Whoa, dude! It was really, really cool. A Pet Shop Boys video, Woody Allen and a scene from The Simpsons. Highly recommended.

Sonya dropped a quick twenty at the casino and then we headed to the house for showers and primping. I got my buddy Kelli on the phone and she agreed to meet us for whatever might happen. Dinner was first at the Crescent City Brewhouse. There was caviar on my crabcakes. Caviar! I ain't never had no caviar before! It's a challenge to eat with your fingers, I'll tell you that. I wasn't totally impressed, really; it's salty and kind of fishy, like an anchovy without all the ambition. Still, I was tickled.

Saturday night was beautiful, warm with no humidity and a light breeze, so we walked around the Quarter a little bit, stopping only for Jon and I to get hand grenade daquiris (I sense a trend). I took the group to the gates just off Jackson Square where you can allegedly stick your hands through and feel a ghostly presence, but we felt nothing. This could have had something to do with the reservations desk at the end of the passageway and the hostess standing there, watching us.

Then off to the Shim Sham to do some high-quality people watching. Not a lot of rhythm there the other night. Best musical combo? Siouxsie (Peek A Boo) to Motley Crue (Smokin' In the Boy's Room) to Michael Jackson (Rock With You). Of course, Talk Dirty To Me was the high point of my evening. We danced to Abba, we danced to Billy Idol.

Afterwards, Jon got his beignets, some sixteen hours after we originally set out to gt them. And guess who sat next to us? Whores! Real life Pimps Up Hos Down whores! They were with a couple of older guys and they were flirting with a table full of gay guys. They gay guys were unimpressed, as were the clients.

Sunday was fast, I tell you. We got up and went back to the Quarter for breakfast at Deja Vu. We were all ravenous and ordered huge burgers with massive side orders. Then Jon wanted to stop by Fifi Mahoney's to see if they had a nice big wig for his drag performance of Lady Marmalade that's coming up next weekend. Did they ever! Jon got a big pink and white upswept number. The only thing anyone's going to look at is Jon.

Jon left and we came home. I took a nap. Sonya got me up in time to order the King of the Ring. She's the best Wife ever.

Oh, hell. I've gone on long enough. I'll tell you about the nightmares Wednesday. Hold me to that, okay?

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