In honor of Mardi Gras, I'd like to share with all of you my experience in NOLA (New Orleans, LA) during Carnival Season of '08.
The set up: this was originally a Facebook note. I went with two friend that I knew from my crew in Portland, Maine: Aunt Nippy, the older gentleman of the group (he'd probably be class of '98) and his best friend, Miss Harlot (would-be class of of '02). I met Miss Harlot on Gay.com during a conversation about scat (he thought they were talking about jazz), and we subsequently moved into an all-gay 4-bedroom apartment with Honest Artist and another friend of Harlot's. Aunt Nippy lived just down the road and always came to party. I think we drank 6 days a week that summer. Aunt Nippy still lives in Portland, and Miss Harlot, in an effort to indefinitely extend her pursuit of an undergrad degree, transferred to a large school in Florida. We basically planned out trip via a series of emails in January, and Miss Harlot brought along 3 friends from Fl. My writing style has changed quite a bit since I started the blog, so I'll do any major edits in a different color.
Amazingly enough, I caught my Sunday morning flight without a hitch, even though I had to get up at damn 6:30am. Dear New York, please have more accessible airports. Love, D. Kareem. I was flying American Airlines, which means the plane I was on came from the factory with a phonograph in the cockpit, but it got us there safely and early. I was meeting Aunt Nippy (a fellow Brackette [we lived on Brackett St., so I dubbed our clique appropriately]) at the airport, and thankfully his plane got in on time about a half hour after mine. Sucks to be him: he had to take 3 planes to get to New Orleans from Portland, Me.
We find the shuttle, which takes us to our hotel door for $15 (love it!). At check in, we find out about the wrist band policy: you have to register all the guests in your room; it’s $50 per extra guest per night to add anyone who wasn’t in the original reservation (which applies to any random guests you may have… I joked that you may as well shell out the extra $100 and get a prostitute); and you have to wear one of those open-bar looking wrist bands to be let onto the property for the duration of your stay. Wow.
Our rooms weren't ready (it was mid afternoon, WTF?), but they took our bags while we explored the French Quarter a bit. When we were finally let into our room, I somehow got a random wireless signal, so I tooled around online and watched TV til Miss Harlot and his crew arrived (they were driving from Fl). What I didn’t realize was that Miss Harlot's crew was 2 girls (real girls) and a straight guy. Talk about a change in dynamic (he definitely didn't mention straight people when we were planning).
I took a trip to Unique Grocery, the closest liquor store. I figured a bottle of alcohol would be the perfect welcome to Miss Harlot and his Florida friends.
Let me tell you: it was kind of an adventure just standing in line in a liquor store in the French Quarter. Loud as hell! A local drunk with about 4 teeth was entertaining me with some story: something about having a rich old friend that women were gonna be after when they found out he was rich… Viagra was mentioned… oh, and he kept saying ‘pussy’ over and over really loudly. Brilliance.
The Fl crew finally arrives, we meet and greet, and they need food. We went to this bar where a band was playing (btw, that doesn’t narrow it down since about 90% of the bars in the French Quarter had a band playing). They had some concert on all the screens, which kind of amazed me: not one was showing the Super Bowl (it happened to be Super Bowl Sunday). I was quite impressed that this event wasn’t being imposed… oh, wait, nevermind: it’s the half time show.
The Fl crew finishes eating, and I’m all ready to hit the streets. “No, we have to hear the band play ‘Battle of New Orleans’! It's a tradition from when we came last year!” Too bad the band wouldn't play during the game, so we had to sit through the second half before they started the next set. But I still can’t believe we were at Carnival (yes, because Mardi Gras is only that Tuesday… Carnival season starts a good month and change beforehand) in NoLa, and we watched the goddamn superbowl. End rant.
Finally, we go back to the hotel. For some reason, nobody else wants Vodka, so I have this big ass 1.75 Liter bottle to myself for 3 days, which is kind of intimidating, even for a varsity drinker like me. Aunt Nippy was on medication, so he couldn’t drink. Harlot and his friends were drinking wine out of the coffee pot in our room.
When we hit Bourbon (one good thing about this hotel was that it was half a block from ALL the action), I was surprised by how not crowded it was, which was totally cool with me. There were people, but it wasn’t the mob scene you see on TV. We stopped at some straight bar to get hand grenades. I think they might have been playing fun music, but honestly, music was pouring out of everywhere. I was a much bigger fan of being in the street anyway.
Eventually, we made it to Society Page, ‘the black bar’ (like Chi Chi's in NYC). Somehow, I ended up doing a split on the dance floor, but I have no recollection, and they have no evidence. I don’t remember really talking to anyone, at least anyone I was interested in. What I do remember was everybody leaving me. Great. Luckily the French Quarter is a pretty walkable area. Just find Bourbon and go “towards or away from the tall buildings.”
Lundi Gras...
Everyone else got up a lot earlier than Miss Harlot and I did. I remember hearing Aunt Nippy saying something about the shower not working and calling the front desk, but it just turns out he’s a dumbass and didn’t pull nozzle down hard enough (love you, Nips). He had them get someone to come up and look at it and everything. Good job.
Around 2:30, Harlot and I get up, still drunk from the night before and with water bottle of screw driver in hand, of course. We walked around for about an hour before we remembered we were looking for food. Oops. A plate of jambalaya fatter, we set off to find Aunt Nippy and the straights.
We caught up with the rest of the crew, and our girls were all giddy b/c they had seen one of the girls from Girls Next Door walking down Bourbon with a camera crew. Someone got me a slushy Red Bull and vodka, and we made our way to the how-you-doin’ part of town. I have to hand it to our straights, especially the guy; they were very willing to enjoy the other side of Mardi Gras with us.
The rest of Monday night felt like it happened in about an hour, but I was definitely out til at least 6am. I went into one of the gay bars to use the bathroom, so I had to buy a drink. True story: it was like $6. I've had cheaper non-happy-hour drinks in NYC! We hung out in the bar for about 20 min before Miss Harlot was like, “Wow, that guy at the bar kinda looks like Lance Bass.” Just to be an asshole, I walk over, and I’m like, “My friend says you kinda look like you were in N’sync.” “That’s me.” There were like 20 people in the bar at most, and one of them was on the video screen because they were playing “Bye Bye Bye” at that exact moment. Hilarious. So I gave him my songwriting card, of course. Then I came back to the group and was like, “Yeah, that’s he.” So then our real girls were like, “Should we go take a picture?” I shrug, “What’s the worse that could happen? He says get away, and we make fun of him for the rest of the night for not having a hit on his own?” So we go over, and of course he took pics with us. I probably said something insanely inappropriate, but it was all good.
PS, Lance Bass was hired to be the bass of the group. Youtube a live performance of "It's gonna be me, and you'll hear his low note.
Later, we were walking between bars, and Miss Harlot bought a drink from… it was like a closet with 3 slushy machines and a cute shirtless boy. Seriously couldn’t have been more than 10x5, but business was going pretty well. I later saw them mixing massive quantities of liquid in what looked like an industrial-sized white plastic mop bucket.
I went into ANOTHER bar to use the bathroom. Two gay bars were across the street from each other (actually, all 3 of them were, but these two were more like clubs). I made my decision by the go-go dancers, picking the muscular ones over the twinkish ones. Of course, I had to stop to tip all of the dancers. One was literally wearing two hand towels somehow attached to each other. I was just going to feel his thigh up, but as soon as I went to tip him, he grabbed my hand and rubbed it on his dick. Not like an I’m-wearing-underwear-feel-through-the-cloth rub. More like an I’m-not-wearing-anything-under-this-so-you-may-not-wanna-touch-your-face-for-a-few-days rub. I figured if I was getting anything from him, I’d gotten it already, so I grabbed his ass too, which grabbed me back. Not gonna lie: it was kinda nice, but I definitely washed my hands for about 2 minutes right after.
I remember tipping each dancer on my way out, but somehow we ended up back in the same club. I wanted to go back to Society Page, but by the time that popped into my head, it was already 3am, so I figured everything was about to close anyway. I proceeded to stay in this bar for the next 3 hours and tip go go boys constantly. Then, according to Aunt Nippy (because of course I don't remember anything at this point... did I mention you can walk the streets with liquor in hand? No need for Gatorade bottles here!), I was getting raondom guys and straight girls to do all sorts of nasty things to the go gos: “You won’t put your nose in his ass! I bet you wont! Oh shit, she did!” That's one of the few things I vaguely remember getting someone to do... true story. I asked Nippy, and luckily I had enough wits about me to not do any of that myself.
Somehow, I ended up at the bar by myself AGAIN (thanks, guys). I started cruising outside like the drunken sketchball that I was (this part I actually remember). Someone later told me that a lot of hustlers do the same thing in the same area, but most of them are transvestites. Great. So this not-that-cute guy rolls by in a Cadillac. I thought he was a cab driver just being flirty, so I either winked at him or said something that I never would have said if I thought he was going to take me up on it. He drove down the block, and I turned the corner going the other way.
Just then I saw this cute, thickly muscular, Latin-looking dude. Reminded me of home (WaHi for real!). Right about then, Mr. Cadillac comes around the corner again. Shit! I think I may have told the Latin guy “come here,” but I may have just smiled at him and somehow silently beckoned him over. Basically, I made it really obvious that he had my attention. I avoided eye contact with Cadillac guy until he disappeared, and we hopped into a cab to his hotel, which happened to be the Hilton on the water. Okay, I’m not going into details, but it was definitely an I-don’t-usually-do-this night for him.
Happy Mardi Gras… shit, it’s like 2.
So after a ‘morning’ replay, we shower up and head out. We had an amazing lunch with the best margaritas I’ve ever had (yes, including the View Bar on Thursday nights; those are just good b/c they’re cheap). It was perfect until he wanted to split the bill. Ugh, no phone number for you. Okay, okay, kidding. But turns out he lives way out in the Bronx. Like WAY out.
Anyway, he walked me back to Bourbon. I really wanted him to meet my friends, mostly because he was hot, and I wanted to get a picture with him. But they were headed to eat right when we were done. So I decided it was finally time to put on fresh clothes (it was about 5 by now). That’s when I remembered that I’d have to pay $50 to take him to my room. Um, call me later? Side note: he really was amazingly nice, and we clicked well. All that neighborhood stuff is just bullshit. Not that it won’t factor into whether I see him anytime soon, but I just felt the need to say…
After about 4 hours of people taking naps and being slightly dramatic (yes, we waisted 4 hours of party time on Mardi Gras...we'll blame it on fatigue), we all set out together. Everyone was like, “Hurry! Everything closes at midnight!” I had my doubts about that. Sounds like something to get rid of dumb tourists, but if you say so. We went to the same how-you-doin’ bars (the 3 on Bourbon plus Society Page), and it was crowded as hell all down Bourbon. Girls Gone Wild had a balcony, of course. Everything was even louder and wilder than before.
So then around 11:30, I was like, “Fuck it! I’m asking some locals about this midnight bullshit, and I’m going to Society Page!” Turns out they do clear out Bourbon St. at midnight, but as long as you appear to be headed somewhere specific, you’re fine. Many places actually do stay open. So I went. The rest of the crew was not far behind.
Somehow, I ended up hooking up with the one white guy in the bar that wasn’t with us (Bottomless Pitt must have been taking notes). Sleazy as hell, but I was so into the Bayou accent. And he had a nice butt. Long story short, we went back to his place, but his boyfriend (huh?... okay) was still sick from drinking too much earlier. We played around in his building’s enclosed courtyard for a while, but when I found out they had no condoms, lube, or rules about safe play outside their relationship, I got the fuck outta there.
Approx bed time: 4:30am. Shuttle pick up time: 6:40am. Shit. The only good thing about Wednesday: Frenchy from the Bronx was on my plane. That and seeing an alumnus of my small liberal arts college (thank god!) do porn, but that’s a note I’m not willing to post.
The above picture was taken on one of the major intersections of Bourbon St. Someone had managed to get beads onto the cross, and these people were trying desperately to use the sign to get them off. I was raised Christian, but I thought this was possibly the funniest moment of the trip.
I haven't traveled nearly as much in the last year as I did in '07. But click here for a journey to Brooklyn!
Of course, Friday started at Chelsea Hotel. The first to show up was Morehead. And he had a friend. A very cute friend. Morehead whispers in my ear: “We met in the steam room [at Shequinox, the gym].” Did I mention that snarfing screwdriver is the worst buzzkill ever (even when its free)? Yeah.
Pecs isn’t exactly the most punctual person, and he likes to switch things up sometimes. He told me at the last minute that he’d be late and that his friend, whom I didn’t know, would be joining us. Well, at least his friend was on time. Basically, instead of showing up 30 minutes early, Pecs showed up 20 minutes late. But the accidental date with his friend went very well (since Pecs couldn’t find us once he got into the show). That’s definitely not the first time something like that has happened, but luckily, his friend was pretty cool.
I spent most of the hour and a half talking to a former hookup and his friend (while said former hookup’s partner [who was standing with them] ignored me, which turned out to be more hilarious than awkward) and texting dumb-dancer jokes back and forth with 5-foot 8x6. 
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