So I came home earlier and I had already told Sonya that I wanted to wear the turtleneck she was wearing tomorrow. That meant I'd have to do a load of dark clothes tonight.

"All the clothes I wore today are ready," Sonya told me, seeming very proud. I congratulated her on this.

However, I went in the bedroom and saw Sonya's clothes from today laying in a pile on the bed.

I came back to the living room. "So when you said your clothes were ready you meant they were laying on the bed, ready to be washed, and not that you'd gotten a load of clothes ready to go."

"That's right," she confirmed.

"So what exactly did you do to them besides take them off?" I asked, "I mean, you could still be wearing them and they'd need to be washed, or hung in the closet and they'd be dirty."

I had a point there.

Then, as I was getting ready to make a dinner run (excellent chicken from a not-so-safe neighborhood) they were showing one of those Where-are-they-now? things on VH1. They showcased Sha Na Na and showed one of the members in a recent interview.

"Good lord!" I exclaimed, surprised by his prodigous bulk, "I think he killed and ate Bowser!"

Let me go a little more in-depth on the Mardi Gras trip.

The drive down was quick and, for the most part, easy. We parked the car at the hotel (the conveniently located and tastefully appointed Le Pavillon) and checked our bags. Then we walked the easy two blocks to the parade route and watched the first of the day's parade, Okeanos and Thoth. There we caught beads and hungs out with a colorful collection of tourists, brightly-plumed homosexuals and stalwart locals. I caught a large bag of cheap bead. Unfortunately I got them in the face and was stunned. Angie got them off the rebound and we split them.

During these festivities Angie had to go sit at a bus stop right behind us several times. She had to do this 'cause she's PREGNANT!

Yeah, she told us about that the night before we left. Needless to say it was the topic of much conversation on the trip.

So after those parades we went back to the hotel and checked in (the room had a phone in the toilet. Need I say more?). By the time we were ready to go out for the next parade (Bacchus, one of the huge spectacles of Mardi Gras) Angie and James had already opted out for the evening.

Undeterred, Jen, Sonya and I set out and found a comfy place just past Lee Circle to park it on the sidewalk and wait for the parade. Jen and I were drinking (her, Mountain Dew and vodka out of a water bottle, me, a massive rum and coke) so eventually I had to stagger through the crowds, across the still-open lanes on the far side of St. Charles and go hunting behind some businesses 'til I found a free public toilet.

[For those of you that have never been to Mardi Gras: bathroom are an important subject in New Orleans at that time of year. This year an estimated two million people hit the streets to party. Needless to say you don't want all two million of them traipsing through your coffee shop to take a drunken piss. A lot of places charge you to use their facilities. Some make a thriving business out of it, selling all-day passes or a la carte access. Some places close their bathrooms altogether. There's even a song called Ain't No Place to Pee on Mardi Gras Day. It is a crude yet accurate summation of the situation.

I say all that to say this: finding a spot to use the bathroom that doesn't make you hate yourself is very important.]

So I took a peek behind the Popeye's, where I remembered there being a few porta-potties in years past. Sure enough they were still there. This year, though, they were overflowing with human filth, their contents splashing out when the door was opened, a stinking stream of ordure flowing downhill and across the parking lot.

The girl in line in front of me came out as soon as she went in, her eyes wide, her skin pale.

"Guahhhh," she said.

"Gotcha, honey!" I gave her the big thumbs up and bravely went in.

Thankfully I did not have to sit down. It was still profoundly disturbing.

So Bacchus came through and we went back to the hotel. That was Sunday.

Monday morning damnably early I yanked Angie and James out of bed to go get Sonya's birthday king cake, which I'd advance ordered the Friday before. This led to all sorts of adventures, with the cake not being ready, us cruising through some of James' old haunts, taking pictures on the levee, and dicking around on a stage in Audobon Park.

Angie was sitting on the edge of the stage while I watched joggers and we speculated on the amount of cruising that went on around the park.

"This concrete is cold," Angie observed, squirming around on the stage.

"That's homeless-piss molecules, seeping up through your jeans," James told her.

Angie hopped up pretty damned quick.

Later we were at a breakfast place while James got some food to take back to the hotel. I took the opportunity to call our dog-sitter and check on Roxy. She said Roxy was fine and I asked if the dog was eating well, was she happy, etcetera...then I asked one question, a bit louder than I meant to.

"So did she sleep with you?" I asked and winced as the phrase echoed around the room. Thankfully, no one looked up.

Back at the hotel we snacked and eventually headed out. It was a fun day. We rode the ferry across the river, shopped around in the Riverwalk and the French Market and took the riverfront streetcar back and forth. It was cool. Jen did the obligatory "I'm flying, Jack" qoute from Titanic, arms outspread, while James supported her from behind.

"The water is freezing," I observed as the ferry cut through the brown water, "and there aren't enough boats."

We made it back to the hotel in time to see Rex make his proclamation that closes down the town for Fat Tuesday. Then it was back out to Orpheus, Harry Connick Jr's krewe.

More to come later....

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