��� 2004-02-29, 9:16 p.m.
The Big Easy
I could not possibly write down everything that happened this weekend. It was truely a trip to remember.
It started when we arrived at the train station to take MARTA to the airport. We bought our tokens, we stuck them in the slot and attempted to walk through. All three of us were denied entry by the renegade gates. Another woman walked up, slotted her token and walked on through. We are the only three people in the history of the Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority to be incapable of getting through the gate. We ended up entering illegally with the wise advice of a homeless man inside the station. We arrived that afternoon (Thursday). Or, rather we almost crashed Thursday afternoon. The pilot put the plane down so hard I though the landing gear was going to come up through the floor of the plane and smack me in the ass. We got a taxi to our hotel. Our Indian cabbie talked so much he missed the turn to our hotel twice. In retrospect he should have continued that cycle.
Our hotel was...um...less than satisfactory. I pulled back the covers on the bed to not only reveal circa 1972 sheets, but also a little gift from the linens' previous occupant. Rose had a similar alien pubic hair on her sheets. We stormed Mary K's room and began trashing it. We pulled the sheets back, inspecting every fiber. It turned out she was the only one who didn't have to request that they be changed.
The rest of the room was a little less than clean. Random guest hair was in each corner. We now know why the rooms were not clean. The housekeeping staff didn't have time to clean the rooms because they were too busy going through our bags. Saturday afternoon I performed a little experiment. We already knew they were inspecting our luggage while they were supposed to be cleaning the bathroom, but I wanted to see if they were also making visits afterward. First, I folded up a $1 bill and dropped it just inside my door. Then I laid a single hair over the handle on the outside of my door. When we returned, the hair was gone, and so was the dollar bill.
That aside, the rest of the trip went fairly well. We ate like royalty and partied like crazed weasels. We got mooned on Bourbon Street by some guy who really needed to keep that sorry piece of equipment under wraps. Mary K. sang with the band until she was hoarse. Rose and I took shots of jagermeister and we all shared a Hurricane. I won $70 on the Harrah's slot machines and Mary K played Carribbean Poker until 5 AM. Oh, yeah, and we went to our seminar :)
We went on a tour of the Garden District and saw Anne Rice's house. It's for sale - $3,750,000. Any takers?
While we were eating breakfast this morning in the French Quarter we witnessed an odd exchange between a cop, the driver of a linens service truck, and a French woman on a cell phone. A herd of nuns walked by. A woman in a red jacket danced by, putting cones in the street. An SUV pulled up, the driver got out, removed the cones and drove through. Shortly thereafter, a man in a brown suede jacket replaced the cones. The entertainment never ends.
To make things even more fun, I forgot my razor at home. I now have two ferns growing under my arms. God, I'm glad to be home.
Wine of the day: 2001 Robert Mondavi Private Selection Cabernet. This is a step up from the Mondavi CK. It has a scent that's both earthy and floral. A nice, easy taste that lingers for a few moments. Nice tannins. Just enough fruit. Runs about $15 for a magnum bottle. Tasty :)
Whine of the day: Mary K almost got booted from our flight home. There were about ten other people "on standby" who probably also purchased their tickets legitimately and on time. Why in the hell would Delta overbook a flight by that much? It seems designed to piss people off. I know Mary K was almost driven to a life of crime. Irritating as hell.
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