twice the smartass, half the laughs
Party Gras and Life Off the Grid
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You see it? See right up there in the title? You see what I did? I took the name of the holiday Mardi Gras and changed it to Party Gras. Yeah, I know. It's pretty clever isn't it? I'm pretty good with words like that. I'm fairly certain I'm the first person ever to think of that. You know? Taking the word Mardi and making it Party? Cause like Mardi Gras is like one of the biggest parties in the world. Yeah, things like that just kinda come to me. Behold me and bask in my awesomeness. So, what up y'all (Ah, my delightful southern charm). Mardi Gras was yesterday and me and mine celebrated in style by doing absolutely nothing. What's that you say? Why didn't we party it up? Well, Shelley and I lived in New Orleans for seven years in our twenties, and to say we partied hard at past Mardi Gras would be an understatement. So, I'm done. Besides, I've always had a love/hate relationship with Mardi Gras. You see, I used to work in the Mardi Gras supply retail business, and so Mardi Gras, for me, was the worst time of year. It didn't help that I hated my job (though you'd never know it from my pleasant demeanor and cheerful attitude about it. No. For real. I never said a word about my loathing of my job. Not one word. Just do me a favor and don't ask any of my friends, or family, or former coworkers for that matter, to corroborate that statement.) Yeah, as cheery as I was about it on the outside, I seethed and burned with disgust and hatred on the inside. But wait, that is for another time and best not thought about at this moment. (Shudder. I just did.) What I want to talk about right now is something I always want to talk about. No, not how awesome I am, rather, how awesome my darling Sweet-Lee is.

Shelley had a plan this past weekend, that I'll admit, I wasn't immediately on board with. Her sister, my fabulous stunning sister-in-law Claire (or Booty, as she is known around our house...and will further be referred to as in all subsequent postings - You're welcome mean Booty) has the premo spot for uptown parades. She lives right on Napoleon just half a block (if that) from St. Charles Avenue. Now, for some of you, this won't mean anything, so I invite you to do this: First, map the location. (You can use Mapquest or Google maps or whatever your preference is.) Now, go find as many maps of uptown parade routes as you can. Go on, I'll wait. Guh, hurry up! Okay, now that you're back, superimpose the parade maps over the map of Booty's apartment. Did you notice something? That's right. They pretty much all run within walking distance of her place. Neat huh? So, Shelley thought we could take Allee to experience her first real New Orleans Mardi Gras parade there. We picked the moderately sized Iris parade. I was apprehensive at first because of my disdain for Mardi Gras and my crowd-phobia. But you know what? Did you guess that we all had a great time? If you're totally wrong. It sucked. I hated it. No, actually we all had a wonderful time. (By the way, if you bought that I hated it, you're very easily duped and I have a land deal you might be interested in. Um...I mean, you're not easily duped. Now, about that land deal..) The location was perfect. The parade was right outside her apartment. When we were tired of the crowd, we could sit on the porch and were still right in front of the parade. And of course there's just something extra special about a private bathroom. Allee had a great time. Don't believe me? That's weird. Why would I lie about that. You're so cynical. Well, if you need proof Sweet-Lee had a great time, just check out the video of her dancing up a storm in the videos section of my website. Even if you don't need proof, check it out. You'll be glad you did. (Unless you hate things that are cute and funny. Do you? Do you hate things that are cute and funny? You monster.) We decided that if Booty still lives there next year, we're totally throwing a party at her pad for the Iris parade. (Don't tell her though. Just let it be a surprise.) So, in summation, good time had by all. We even got to see our prodigal friend Chelsi and her boyfriend Emile. (I think that's how you spell it. My apologies if it's not bro.) Oh, and her folks Crystal and Bud. So yeah, it was good. It's a good thing to, cause it's not like we could've spent our time making phone calls or surfing the internet. (That's what they call a segue baby.)

Last week, something happened to our phone line and because we have DSL, not only were we without phone service, but we had no internet service as well. Yep. All week. Pretty frustrating for us. Now don't worry, I'm not going to go off on this (how very unlike me) because I realize this post is already past long enough. I just brought it up cause now that we're back up I noticed something. No, it's not how awesome porn is. I already know that. It's that when I checked my email this morning, and logged into my MySpace account (I got up early)... no one missed me. Oh, boo-hoo. Poor Jimmy. Spent a week offline and nobody noticed. I mean, how could that be? What with his diligent and regular blog posting and communications with people, surely someone noticed. Awe shucks. That's okay. I didn't miss no one neither. (And the muted trumpet goes: whah-whah. Such sour grapes.) Well, that's it. Later gators.

Until next time: Round about midnight, when it's dark dark dark. There's a long low whistle and a far away bark. And then a high high whistle only hounds can hear to let'em know the train, the dog train is near.