Smoking Heels
While other New Orleanians were in Pensacola last weekend getting a lot of sun and attitude (the boys from Atlanta were there, you see), I stayed home to attend school. Corporate Communications and Financial Accounting. The only good thing I can say about that is that I aced the accounting quiz (100%, thankyouverymuch) and my presentation on a software idea generated a lot of excitement - no investors, but excitement. Guess I can't complain.
The other piece of news is that my out-of-town clients bid on a house next to Anne Rice's while I was in class. They didn't get it (they were outbid), but it was damned exciting in a 'six degrees of separation' kind of way. A colleague and I spent today with them and I'll see them again tomorrow. I think they're starting to focus on one particular house. They want to be in Uptown yet live in a new, all the modern conveniences type of place - granite countertops, CAT-5 cabling, post-1999 appliances. This is an area that hasn't seen new construction since the Reconstruction. But I'll do my best to make them happy. Why? Because I haven't had a paycheck since April 2001 and it'd be nice to make a DEPOSIT into my bank account for a change.
So while others were enjoying the sun and 'tude of Pensacola, D and I spent the weekend in our apartment in the French Quarter. As long as I remembered not to tip the 'dancers' at the Pub and Oz and not feel (grope?) their rock hard asses, things went well. D, ever inventive, organized a BBQ picnic in the apartment. Dessert was a watermelon float - watermelon soda (probably only available in New Orleans) and vanilla ice cream. I hate watermelon, but it was fantastic.
The Mascara Drag Race (we called it the Mascara Run) was held Memorial Day. There are about five gay bars in the area bounded by St. Ann, Bourbon, Dumaine, and Burgundy. The Mascara Run operated as follows:
I'm unsure whether the race's organizers were hoping for some projectile vomiting due to this agenda, but I didn't see it happen.
Obviously, success required a good pit crew and each person had a pit crew. The winner strolled through the checkered flag in an incredible time - she could have run laps around the others while waiting their arrival at the Clover Grill. But I think the pin wheel titted contestant was the crowd's favorite - her tits were spinning as she raced down Bourbon! My favorite overheard statement made during the race was "Her heels are smoking!"
Prizes were awarded for fastest time, best costume, most points, and most money collected (all contestants were raising money for charity). I don't remember the winners' names, but they all looked mahvelous!
While other New Orleanians were in Pensacola last weekend getting a lot of sun and attitude (the boys from Atlanta were there, you see), I stayed home to attend school. Corporate Communications and Financial Accounting. The only good thing I can say about that is that I aced the accounting quiz (100%, thankyouverymuch) and my presentation on a software idea generated a lot of excitement - no investors, but excitement. Guess I can't complain.
The other piece of news is that my out-of-town clients bid on a house next to Anne Rice's while I was in class. They didn't get it (they were outbid), but it was damned exciting in a 'six degrees of separation' kind of way. A colleague and I spent today with them and I'll see them again tomorrow. I think they're starting to focus on one particular house. They want to be in Uptown yet live in a new, all the modern conveniences type of place - granite countertops, CAT-5 cabling, post-1999 appliances. This is an area that hasn't seen new construction since the Reconstruction. But I'll do my best to make them happy. Why? Because I haven't had a paycheck since April 2001 and it'd be nice to make a DEPOSIT into my bank account for a change.
So while others were enjoying the sun and 'tude of Pensacola, D and I spent the weekend in our apartment in the French Quarter. As long as I remembered not to tip the 'dancers' at the Pub and Oz and not feel (grope?) their rock hard asses, things went well. D, ever inventive, organized a BBQ picnic in the apartment. Dessert was a watermelon float - watermelon soda (probably only available in New Orleans) and vanilla ice cream. I hate watermelon, but it was fantastic.
The Mascara Drag Race (we called it the Mascara Run) was held Memorial Day. There are about five gay bars in the area bounded by St. Ann, Bourbon, Dumaine, and Burgundy. The Mascara Run operated as follows:
- First eat a chili burger at the Clover Grill. You had to breathe on a judge as you left before you could proceed to Lafitte's.
- At Lafitte's, you put on your hose and heels. You then run to the Rawhide. Run, I said, in heels.
- At the Rawhide, you down a shot. You then run to Good Friends.
- At Good Friends, you put on your make-up and down some ice cream. Off to the Pub.
- At the Pub, another shot and you put on your titties. To Oz.
- At Oz, on with the dress and a hat. Back to the Clover Grill.
- Once you've returned to the Clover Grill through the Dumaine door, you put on your wig and race to the checkered flag through the Bourbon St door.
I'm unsure whether the race's organizers were hoping for some projectile vomiting due to this agenda, but I didn't see it happen.
Obviously, success required a good pit crew and each person had a pit crew. The winner strolled through the checkered flag in an incredible time - she could have run laps around the others while waiting their arrival at the Clover Grill. But I think the pin wheel titted contestant was the crowd's favorite - her tits were spinning as she raced down Bourbon! My favorite overheard statement made during the race was "Her heels are smoking!"
Prizes were awarded for fastest time, best costume, most points, and most money collected (all contestants were raising money for charity). I don't remember the winners' names, but they all looked mahvelous!
