this was my second year to roll with my krewe. last year i really didn’t know what i was getting myself into, still had a great time.
this year i knew what was coming. the story really probably starts saturday morning. bill picks me up at 7am. i’ve been up since 5:30 for some reason, finishing the beer from the night before and getting really high. i jump in the truck and he’s got his friend and a some kids, probably 15-17ish. I’m totally completely spun and talking all kinds of nonsense about everything. Everyone loves me.
We get out to where the floats are stored. After buying wild turkey and beer for the float at some shady gas station near the 9th ward. So we get there and start loading the floats and drinking beer. There was a great moment where one of the guys in the krewe looked over and saw me sitting on the sidewalk eating a doughnut and drinking a beer at 8am. I wish i could remember people’s names because it was beautiful.
we meet up with the rest of the people at laffite’s blacksmith bar. things start getting really weird here…beer beer beer, good times and we make our way to uptown. there was a cab involved. bill’s daughters and daughter’s friends are extremely young and extremely hot. i was in no shape or position to talk to them and i stole a washcloth off a house keeper’s cart. i hope bill doesn’t get invoiced for that 🙁
so when i leave bill and his family i’m totally left to my own devices. i’m not that far from home so i start hiking it. as i was walking i noticed a huge 5th of skyy vodka just sitting by itself on a table. and honestly i feel bad about this and something bad is going to happen to me but i fucking grabbed it and kept going. i really feel bad about it and need to do something to make up for it. i might go just give it to a random stranger on st charles today.
anyway im sprinting up carondolet with my stolen bottle of vodka and call sek. it’s like when you do something that bad ass you gotta follow it up with talking to sek. he was proud of me. i think, i don’t really remember anything said.
i slept on the floor for a while and let my neighbor’s friends use my bathroom. i had my gun on me and im not sure if they saw it. i’m fucking paranoid okay?
my alarm goes off and i jump out of bed, fill my flask and run out the door. i think i might have brushed my teeth too. im out the door and realize that the flask is leaking and i now have a huge puddle of vodka on my pants, jacket and hoody. the show must go on.
i miss the bus. i get a cab. nothing can stop me now.
i get there and im standing at the elevator. a guy named mike who is obviously going to the 6th floor for the krewe(based on the cooler of booze). he asks me how late i was out and i laugh and say “i was drinking at home by myself at the computer, we real alcoholics don’t go out”.
the room is full of food, mixers and a 3 piece band playing new orleans music. i choke down a sandwich. hungover isn’t probably the right word cuz i was still very drunk but my entire body just hurt. i could feel my brain. the world was rotating really slowly and i could feel it.i get a few cups of coffee in me and try to shake off the dread of depression.
i could write a fucking web site around tiffany what this whole experience has been like but im just going to leave it at we’re both at different places in our life or something of that nature. but it’s fucking mardi gras. cheer your ass up. i get the costume on, put on my little hat and start dancing in front of the band. i’m in like 20 different photos. some guy with a video camera got me too. i made a hotel staff member very uncomfortable as i danced extremely close to her.
i sit back down at our table and talk to the other riders. we have like 5 really hot women on our float, one of them a former cowboys cheerleader. one of them, named kelly(yeah heh) strikes up conversation with me, asking why im so hungover, etc. i tell her a abridged version of what my life is like women wise and she tells me i’m great and have everything to offer a woman, etc. of course she’s engaged so it’s fucking easy for her to say all this.
bill brings out a bottle of champagne. it’s the bottle that tiffany and i brought to the party 2 months ago. perfect.
finally it’s time to leave. we take the service elevator downstairs. i’m screaming WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING IN along with my new best friend who’s name i can’t remember. he made jello shots. really wish i could remember names. anyway, we get out of the elevator and stroll through the lobby still singing, onto the bus.
i open the bottle of champagne and start drinking it from the bottle. i pass it around, we sing along to the awesome classic rock the bus driver puts on and we head out. police escort, bus ride, off the bus. i carry the jellow shots, half empty bottle of champagne. more singing while we walk to the floats.
to try to sum up the ride experience with stupid faggot words is just impossible. pictures don’t do it either. the weather was perfect, a parade already rolled before us so the crowds were out. it’s just impossible to describe it.
after this i’m totally just gone. champagne, wild turkey, beer…still drunk on stolen vodka from the night before. i guess i came home. i fell asleep on the floor for a while and then walked to new york pizza and ate the best piece of pizza ever. hit up the other 2 bars and just watch the madness. back home. tiffany calls me last night and we talk for a long time.
i wake up and realize i need beer soon. i ride to rite aide, get eggs, dog food and a case of natural light. american pie is blaring over the loudspeakers which means i need to start singing along to it at the top of my lungs. the cashier is trying to ignore me as i yell along, BYE BYE MISSSS AMERICA PIEEEE swiping my saints visa card. and if the singing is hard to ignore, the dancing is just making it worse. people are backing away from the register to give me my space. out the door, home. win.