New Orleans Part Deux: The End

The last is always the saddest of any trip. Getting there might be half the fun, but going back fully sucks. The second trip to New Orleans with my bestest friends was completely amazing. Last year, our first visit was all about the city and sights. This time, it was more about connecting with the locals and each other.

…and by connecting, I mean fucking.

I bought a painting. I am completely obsessed with the feel of the houses in The French Quarter. Everything is shuttered up and closed off, yet charmingly so – like my heart. This is the painting I bought -

We hunted down Renny from Big Brother’s house and The New Orleans Real World mansion and took stupid pictures in front of them. There’s nothing I like better than gooning out about stupid reality television. What is wrong with me? We also stumbled by our good friend Angelina Jolie’s house. There were security cameras everywhere!

Renny’s house!

Real World Mansion

The Pitt’s House

Of course, a trip to New Orleans wouldn’t be complete without a trip to THE BIGGEST CHRISTMAS STORE EVER and a final meal at Coop’s Place. I bought a creepy/funny girl dressed up in a Christmas Tree. It’s very Dr. Seuss.

Then, we went to a church in Jackson Square.

I don’t go on many vacations. I should go on more. I have a trip coming up in March. It’s The First (and probably only) Annual Marx Family Cruise. Get ready!!!!

New Orleans Part Deux: Part 5

There’s nothing better than a nice romp through a cemetery. After a significantly long, and debateably disrespectful, photo shoot, the spirits from beyond the grave helped the boys make a horror movie. They had taken a video camera on their trip and decided to run around the tombstones, illegally filming a very underdeveloped script. It mostly involved Jeffrey breathing really heavily while Jeff and Pablo chased him around.

It was time for a massage. Jeffrey and Jeff spoiled themselves and indulged in a spa treatment on Magazine Street while the rest of the fivesome went thrifting. Bridget and Melanie were the trained professionals who rubbed down the gents. Jeffrey had never had a message before and couldn’t help but laugh. He felt ridiculous in his boxerbriefs in front of the very blonde and very buxom Melanie. Her spindly fingers were forceful, but he couldn’t help but think his muscles would have been much more effected had there been a set of beefy, man hands at the helm. Regardless, they felt like a rested, oily cloud after they left the spa.

The New York Crew went shopping at the most amazing vintage store EVER. It’s called Neophobia and has a wide range of selections from tiki bars to leather jackets to dining sets to Star Wars bed sheets. Everybody wanted everything.

NAP TIME!!

Once back at The Night of the Iguana, everyone fell asleep with the exception of Jeffrey, who had been trading flirty texts with Freak Puppy all morning.

“Whutchu doing?”
“On Magazine Street with the boys. You?”
“Doing homework.”
“Sucks. You wanna hang out later?”
“Yeah. Stupid powerpoint 4 my mythology class.”
“Lametown.”
“How about we go 2 Dicktown?”

He was so forward for a kindergartener. Freak Puppy had already arrived when the boys returned, so he and Jeffrey went to the back patio and chatted. This was the last time they were going to see each other before the boys left the next morning and Jeffrey wanted to get some answers from this whippersnapper.

“So, that’s a pretty big McCain sticker on your car.”

“Yeah, I was pulling for him, but I knew he wasn’t gonna make it”, Freak Puppy passed the joint to Jeffrey.

“Why’s that?”

“Everyone hated Sarah Palin too much. Black America finally showed up at the polls. Are we really gonna talk about politics?” Freak Puppy took off his jacket, exposing a tight, white t-shirt.

“We don’t have to”, Jeffrey passed the weed back to the young man, “but it makes me curious why a gay, pot-smoking, art student would be on that side of the fence. I truly ask in the most respectful way possible. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s cool. You’re cool. I don’t mind.”

“Is it racism? I could understand if it’s racism.”

“It’s not.”

“Really. I don’t get it.”

“In my mind, his political profile perfectly fits into Marxism, and the fact that he got elected as president of the United States scares the shit out of me, and therefore, me no likey. And no, even though I am a tad racist, he’s only, like, a quarter black, so that’s not why I didn’t vote for him.”

“Seriously though, Sarah Palin. I mean, come on.”

“Sometimes she’s scary, sometimes she’s cool, but her stances on gay marriage, gay rights, and abortion kinda weird me out”, he put out the jay and let his hand fall gently on his crotch.

“Do you think the way Katrina was handled had any effect on the voting down here?”

“Not really. I think everyone here is just trying to forget Katrina.”

“Right.”

“You’re damn sexy.”

“Thanks, you’re fucking hot as hell, too.”

“You wanna mess around? I gotta be home sort of early, ‘cuz my fucking dad needs me to help clean up the garage with him, or some bullshit.”

“Sounds like you guys get along.”

“Well, we would get along better if he hadn’t caught me jacking off to gay porn when I was 15 and then sent me to therapy for three years.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Random change of subject. Wanna suck my dick?”

Chris, the bartender from Good Friends Bar, called and invited the boys over to his house for a early evening cocktail party. The boys had always wanted to see the inside of a house in The Quarter and now was their chance. Jeffrey was obsessed with the creepy vibe of the shuddered windows. Everything elegantly closed off to the world and the weather. On the outside, a house could look like it was run down and empty, but on the inside – a beautiful castle.

Chris had set up some martini shakers and bottles of vodka. Chris seemed to glow with the excitement of hosting. Jeff and Chris flirted heavily while ‘Little People, Big World’ played on the TV. Once everyone was sufficiently boozed up, they stumbled over to The Pub for the weekly drag show.

A very drunk man came over to the boys’ table and started chatting. Chris seemed to know him, so no one hesitated when he offered to buy a round of drinks for the crew. Once the free drinks arrived, the man started rubbing Xander and Pablo’s shoulders. It was 30% creepy.

“I have a lot of money and I just need someone to tell me how to spend it”, he slurred, stumbled and walked up to the MC drag queen and threw a hundred dollar bill at her. She stopped the show and yielded all attention to the drunkard. Then, he threw another hundred dollar bill at her. She laughed and made a stupid joke. The man tucked a third hundred dollar bill in his pants and made her reach in and get it. She needed the money because you could still see her dick in her dress. New York drag queens might look better than the ones in the south, but the southern ones have more honest passion. They don’t do it for the money or the crowd, they dress in women’s clothing because they love it. Even while performing a generic salsa number, one drag queen showed her determination to The Spectacle by charging through the number even after her wig fell off.

Xander had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of Mississippi, the bartender he had fallen in love with two nights previous. When Chris broke the news that Mississippi wasn’t going to go out with them that night, Xander took it as a personal attack.

“But we really had a connection! Why doesn’t he like me anymore?” Xander instantly went from fun-zone to mope-mode.

“Maybe he didn’t like that you wouldn’t stop texting him all day, maybe he’s busy, maybe he’s been kidnapped!” The other boys all offered jokes as suggestions as to Mississippi’s whereabouts.

Xander wailed nearly as loud as one of the busted drag queens. “But we’re supposed to fall in love!”

“You blew him in the bathroom!”

“I don’t just blow anyone. I blow soulmates.”

To make Xander feel better, Chris offered up his nipple to be licked. Then, the entire group went to the Corner Pocket for one last round of putting dollars in hot boy’s panties.

Everyone was at the Corner Pocket. Joshua was tending bar, Alabama was drinking with some shady looking characters in the corner by the slot machines, and Billy the angry go-go boy was doing his best at dancing on the bar. Everyone the met all weekend was present, as if to send them off in style. They half expected the douchebaggy Bananas Foster guy to be playing pool in the back.

Merriment was abound. There was a Christmas tree aglow and nearly naked boys adancing. Drinks were gulped, butts were dry humped. Chris innocently made the suggestion that we get up on the bar and dance like the gogo boys. Joshua made a round of very strong drinks and, before you could skin a crawfish, Xander had taken off his clothes and made a full circuit around the bar. He made $14.00. Chris cheered and asked the New York Crew who was next. Without much prodding, Pablo and Jeff were up on the bar as well. The bartenders seemed to be working together to get everyone to take off their clothes.

Significantly liquored up, it was time for Joshua to be off duty and to take Pablo out for a “little tour of The Quarter” which the others believed to be code for “go fuck somewhere”. Chris invited the rest of the crew for one last omelette at The Clover Grill. It was completely empty with the exception of the homeless man in the corner. He talked about Obama and rednecks and the proper way to grill a sausage. Xander was still harping on the disappearence of Mississippi, but thankfuly let it go when all the tasty, greasy yum-yums arrived to the table. The waiter asked us if we had any special requests for the jukebox.

“We got Britney. We got Cher…”

“BRITNEY!!!”

Jeff and Chris tried to out-flirt each other over the course of the drunken meal. Touchy, touchy, smiley, touchy. It was surprising that Chris didn’t invite Jeff back to the shuddered house when everyone was saying good-bye in the street. Chris hugged everyone and thanked them for a fun evening.

“You guys were the best thing to come around here since Milwaukee.” He grinned.

“Oh please. You guys are gonna talk about New York from now unil Mardi Gras.”

They parted ways and the boys collectively swooned over Chris. Jeff lamented that he wanted to go back to his place. Xander moaned about Mississippi again. Jeff and Jeffrey were so drunk that they fell down in the street. Then, Jeff got a text message.

“Come back home with me, cutie.” It was Chris.

“OK! Bye guys! I guess I am going back to his place! Woohoo!” Jeff ran away.

With Pablo and Jeff out and about, Jeff, Jeffrey, and Xander went back to The Night of the Iguana to pass out.

New Orleans Part Deux: Part 4

The rain had been washed away and replaced with warm sun. The New York Crew decided it was time for a nice, early (11am) breakfast. Brennan’s is a world famous breakfast stop in New Orleans, which serves turtle soup, crabmeat omelettes , and is the birthplace of Bananas Foster. Very fancy, rich people were eating at the indoor garden, so it made it hard to talk about the sexual exploits of the previous evening. The boys told their debaucherous tale in hushed voices while being served by waiters in tuxedos.

“Well, we met Chris’s boy-toy last night.”
“Mississippi got plastered last night.”
“Did you hook up?”
“I blew him in the bathroom. I think I’m in love!”
“Was it big?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Joshua let me fuck him on the pool table.”

“Pardon me, are you gentlemen ready for dessert?” A portly, young man graciously ignored the fuck-talk and placed an order for Bananas Foster. “Would you like ice cream with that?” Jeffrey remembered from the menu that it was an additional 5 bucks. They declined the ice cream for two reasons: they didn’t really want ice cream and they were finished racking up the bill, which had surpassed their wildest dreams.

After a few minutes, another tuxedoed waiter came over to the table. He had been preparing Bananas Foster for other tables on an open flame at the front of the dining room all morning. He had nicely combed hair and seemed to take his job very seriously.

“Pardon me, did someone here order the Bananas Foster?”
“Yes, me!”
“And did I hear correctly that you didn’t want ice cream?”
“Correct. No thank you.”
“You do realize that Bananas Foster is just bananas and brown sugar, yes?”
“Oh yes,” Jeffrey lied, “I just am not in the mood for ice cream.” (and to be honest, I’m not in the mood for your snotty, little, condescending tone right now, either, mister bratty, i-clean-up-real-nice-for-work-but-am-a-high- school-theater-stage-manager-kid-who-plays-video-games-by-myself- or-sometimes-with-my-mom-who-still-picks-out-my-clothes-to-wear now shut up and go make me some sweet, sweet bananas)

The Bananas Foster Guy marched up to the front of the dining room and triumphantly announced that he was about to prepare another serving of Bananas Foster. He displayed the ingredients and threw them in a sizzling pan. He looked up and made uncomfortably piercing eye contact with everyone at the gay table. With one hand, he made the bananas dance on the open flame, with the other, he raised a bottle of cooking sherry high in the air and announced in a slightly Shakespearian cadence, “On the count of three, I will add the sherry to the bananas, creating an intense open flame. One… TWO… three!”

An uneventful flame rose out of the pan and Jeff and Jeff sort of applauded. The Bananas Foster Guy was very pleased with himself. He presented the cooked bananas that swam in a bowl of sweet, brown sauce to The New York Crew and walked away. The boys tasted the famed dessert and quietly agreed that maybe it would have been better if they got ice cream.

After Brennan’s, they got a real dessert. Booze. Luckily, there was a zydeco band playing and Jeffrey tried his hand at playing the washboard.

After breakfast, the boys saw ANGELINA JOLIE!!! Click the link HERE to read all about it because Jeffrey sold his picture to a trashy paparazzi website!

The faggots acted like faggots after their encounter with Angelina, jumping up and down, shrieking, and waving their arms around in the air. It was time to see some real art. They waited for a bus to take them to the Lower Ninth Ward for the Prospect New Orleans art shows.

The bus came every hour, so the boys wasted some time walking around the Harrah’s Casino. It was full of sad people throwing their money at brightly lit machines. Mardi Gras was the theme for everything in sight. Jeffrey almost put 100 bucks down on black at the roulette table, but then he realized he was too high and that would be a really stupid thing to do. Instead, they all got on the bus.

Driving though the Lower Ninth Ward feels heavy. Not only do you feel the mournful weight of the spirits and souls that occupy the space, but there is a palpable, sinking deepness that strikes your heart. For every five homes that are ruined beyond repair and have no sign of life attached to them, there is one house that has a truck in the driveway and perhaps a sign on the front door that says, “We’re still home!”. The nearly empty bus silently drove past an abandoned Walgreens that had it’s signage ripped away to expose an outline of letters that had been there, a boarded up Kentucky Fried Chicken where the parking lot was littered with debris, and a quiet church whose congregation had moved on to other neighborhoods or Heaven or Hell or whatever you believe in, if, in fact, you believed in anything after Katrina.

In the middle of all the destruction, there was one house that had many visitors. Artists had turned one of the homes that had been ravaged by the hurricane into an art gallery. Amongst all the darkness, there was lively, track lighting that beamed on new work by young, local artists. A sense of magic and hope lived inside this house, which was next door to a horribly decayed building that had government markings on the walls, telling how many people were discovered dead at that particular location and on what particular day.

A little closer to The Quarter, the bus stopped at a high school, where more installations were mounted. The boys encountered a giant flamingo, a classroom with very organized chalk, a metal mermaid, and a winged captain of death that sailed on a wooden boat.

The favorite piece was found in a shadowy high school auditorium. When the boys walked in, three giant orbs flashed in a random sequence and lit up the room, like man-made fireworks. At the front of the auditorium, they found a row of massage chairs, much like the ones you would find at The Sharper Image at the mall. Jeffrey tried to sit in the chair at the end of the row, but discovered the fattest cat he had ever seen. She was kind and gentle. She also wasn’t moving anywhere for anything. Her gracious energy welcomed the boys and she seemed to take notes on their behavior, much like she surely had done with many previous visitors. Pablo was convinced that the cat was part of the installation.

“I wish it wasn’t raining the first three days we were here, I would love to have seen more of this crap”, lamented Xander. The bus was on it’s final loop and the exhibits weren’t open on Monday or Tuesday, so this was the last chance to see this cool shit. Well, time for a rest back at The Night of the Iguana.

Everyone took a traditional nap. They were awakened by a loud knock at the shuttered windows. “Open up! It’s Satan Chicken!”

“Oh fuck, I forgot he was coming”, said Jeff. He had failed to mention that a friend of his, who refers to himself as ‘Satan Chicken’ was driving in from Austin, Texas for the weekend. Satan Chicken was staying with friends somewhere else, but that didn’t matter because he was here, now, pounding on a window like a drunk dad who had lost his keys.

Satan Chicken burst into the living room and promptly brought out a can of whip-its and a giant balloon. He thoughtfully offered the cannister to anyone else. “You guys want first go?” No one took the bait, so Satan Chicken started huffing on the sofa while everyone started to get ready for the night out.

Everyone, including Satan Chicken, went bar hopping. First to Good Friends, where Chris seemed to be expecting The New York Crew. He gave them a free round and said he was off in a couple hours and wanted to hang out with them at the Bourbon Street Pub. He was definitely flirting, but none of the boys could tell with which of them he was flirting. Chris said, “It’s no wonder I can’t tell you guys apart. You all dress the same!” Somehow, the boys knew that he indeed was able to tell them apart AND remember names, but this was all part of his game.

Jeffrey had met a cub couple online a few weeks prior and had made flimsy plans to hang out while he was in town. Turns out, the cub couple was right there at the bar at Good Friends! They were regulars and knew Chris and Mississippi and Alabama. Jeffrey introduced himself and the cub couple launched into a chatty introduction, telling the story of how they met, what their favorite foods were, and why they love New Orleans so much. Alabama, who had been serving drinks, made a squawky-talky motion with his hand and then pointed at the cub couple. Jeffrey didn’t mind the constant chatter because they were genuinely interesting and if he had to endure some talk to hook up a threesome at the end of the night, that was OK by him.

Jeffrey went to a seedy bar called The Rawhide with the cub couple, while everyone else dashed off to The Pub. The trio had blended into a very talkative, touchy-feely, yet strikingly unclear flirting. Jeffrey was definitely sending out the flirt vibes, however, he couldn’t tell if the couple just wanted to get drunk and chat all night or if they were trying to suggest going to into the darkened corners of The Rawhide.

“You know what’s behind that archway, right?” They giggled.
“No, I never went back there last time I was here.”
“That’s where naughty stuff happens.”
“Oh? I like naughty stuff.”
“We do too!”
“Cool. I’m scared to go there by myself, though.”
“We’ll protect you!”
“You guys will go back there with me?”
“We’ll watch out for you from here.”
“Oh. OK. You guys want another drink?”
“Sure. We’ll have what you’re having, stud.”

It was a strange mix of sexual tension and grade school friendships. Jeffrey had a few more cocktails and a few more conversations with the couple about arts and crafts and dildos before he bailed and joined everyone at The Pub. Chris was well on his way to being hammered and declared the back corner they had comandeered as “The Shirts-Off Club”.

The rest of the night was spent yukking it up with local bartenders and their friends. Chris’ little boy-toy was the bartender at The Pub and the boys didn’t pay for a drink the whole time. The New York Crew was very popular amongst the local gays, but the local gays were just as popular with The New York Crew. The boys felt like they were on a gay foreign exchange program, only instead of it being overseas, they were just in New Orleans, and instead of studying at school, they were drinking in bars.

New Orleans Part Deux: Part 3

Everyone except Jeffrey slept in the next morning. He went for some delicious beignets at the classic Cafe Du Monde and browsed the art galleries on Royal Street. He visited the fortune teller, Phillip, which he had spoke with last year. He didn’t remember him, but told him some surprisingly and specifically true things – your sister is back at school, does she like it?, your job is secure and will be a better environment once they replace the carpet, and stop feeling guilty about being the other woman, it’s not your drama. Phillip undressed Jeffrey with his piercing eyes, just like he did last year, and told him to go to The Phoenix after midnight tonight if he wanted to see “the dirty side of New Orleans”.

After the rest of the gang got their act together, Jeffrey met up with them at the historic Napoleon House for giant muffalettas. As an appetizer, they ordered the most delicious spinache-artichoke dip, which was served in a sourdough bread bowl. The steam rose into the wet air and made mouths water. Immediately, everyone dug in and immediately, everyone burned their tongues.

Everyone had some food in their system, so it was time to get a drink on Bourbon St. They rushed through the rain into the world famous Pat O’Briens where they were greeted to the jubliant sounds of Babs Woods. She was a blonde ball of musical energy. The piano room was on the empty side and the boys found seats right away. Babs threw barbs in between songs at anyone within her view. She jabbed at a rowdy bunch of college kids from Texas, insisting that they were, in fact, from Alabama. The college kids cheerfully booed her at the thought of being from Alabama. Apparently, Texas is way better than Alabama. Babs told how she went from the least successful secretary at a law firm to the most successful “piano wench” in New Orleans.

Babs hair was spun up into a happy lump on the top of her head. Her hands jumped and bounced along the ivories while guests wrote down requests on napkins which they tucked a couple of dollars into before they set it on her piano. Money was overflowing on the ground. Clearly, she was a favorite. Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey pooled together three bucks and wrote down on a napkin, “Brandy (You’re a fine girl) or anything Dolly Parton. Your the best! Love, Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey“.

“See, now here’s proof we got some people in from Alabama! Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey!”, she howled with glee. “And where is Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey?” We waved wildly, knee deep in hurricanes. “Well, thanks for requesting one of my favorite songs, Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey and my other brother Jeffrey!” She launched into the most amazing cover of “Brandy” ever sung by an aging piano queen.

Out from the depths of the darkened bar, another pianist arrived and took seat at the piano on the other side of the stage. Her name was Debbie and she was from Ohio. Her sad, sucky face sucked the good times right out of the room with some lame Billy Joel song. Babs and Debbie took turns back and forth singing songs. Everytime Babs finished a song, the crowd cheered. Everytime Debbie sang a song, the crowd went to the bathroom. Every song of Debbie’s sounded like a hospitalized Billy Joel song, sung by a hopeless patient on her deathbed. The boys finished their hurricanes and left after Babs announced she was taking a break and left the stage, leaving the pumped up crowd to linger in Debbie’s bedpan of damp vocals.

The rain had washed out the idea of going out into the Lower 9th Ward for an art exhibit, so everyone decided on going back to The Night of the Iguana. They played cards and took naps – the new favorite activity.

The evening began at Good Friends, where Chris was bartending. His face lit up at the sight of “New York”. He referred to everyone in the group as “New York” because he was bad at names. Chris served up some absinthe to the boys. He made a big presentaion of setting the liquor on fire, melting the sugar cubes, and pouring the ice water over the foggy concoction. Jeff gulped his in one shot. Jeffrey hated the taste and barely was able to sip his down, “It taste like black licorice poop!”

Chris warned that too much absinthe will make you trip out and “see shit you ain’t wanna see”. Mississippi had joined The New York Crew at the upstairs bar and told many stories of how absinthe fucked with your mind. Mississippi was finished with his shift, but he didn’t join in on the absinthe. Xander tried his best to get his crush to start drinking, but Mississippi was holding off until “another bar, a little later. You don’t wanna see the mess I become when I drink here at my work.”

Chris didn’t get off for another hour or so, so he told the New York Crew that he would meet up with them later at a new bar called 700. Mississippi had to run a few errands and said he would see them later too. 700 was a new bar, and while the sparse crowd was nice and the space was big, it sort of felt unfinished and tired. Some other homo-travelers chatted up the New York Crew, but Jeff and Jeffrey were bored by them.

“So, you guys are all from New York City, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool. So, you guys tried absinthe for the first time, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you guys tripping out yet?”
“No. Can you tell that crawfish to stop staring a me.”

Chris texted Pablo and told them to meet him at The Corner Pocket. The New York Crew left the busted 700 club for shadier and seedier good times. At the door to The Corner Pocket, a sign said, “Cover charge, 5 dollars”. Nobody wanted to pay, so they stood outside wondering where to go next. Depending on the crowd, perhaps it was worth it, so they popped their heads inside. There were about fifteen go-go boys and exactly 3 creepy old guys sitting around the bar. The New York Crew turned to leave and one of the dancers said, “Wait don’t leave! How about 4 bucks to get in!”

The crew stood outside debating the 5 dollars. An older guy came outside and removed the cover charge sign and said, “Nevermind, come on in”. Well, that did it. It was time to put some dollars down some panties.

Almost immediately, Jeff had a super gay, super thin twink shake his giant dick in his face. He was vaguely ethnic. He looked like an emaciated Aladdin with a tightly cropped hair cut that was neatly plastered to his head. His dark eyes lit up at the sight of young, hip costumers. He cozied up to Jeff and slipped into his lap. He threw down anchor and made himself a permanent fixture to Jeff’s pants.

“I’m Jason!”
“Hey Jason!”
“Where are you guys from?”
“New York.”
“Wow! Like, the city?”
“Yes!”
“It’s so nice to have younger, hotter costumers in here! It makes the job so much easier”, Jason writhed and wiggled up and down Jeff’s entire body like a bony, faggy leach.
“So, do you go to school too or do you just work here?”
“I’m going to school to be a teacher.”
“Oh? That’s awesome. I used to be a special ed teacher. What kind of teaching do you wanna do?”
“I’m gonna be a teacher at Aveda. I wanna do facials.”

Jeffrey and Jeff couldn’t help but laugh, but that didn’t deter Jason. His affection and consistent insistence was starting to make Jeff feel uncomfortable.

Joshua, the Queen of Go-Go Boys, had been dancing and flirting with Pablo while Xander chatted with Mississippi. Chris still hadn’t shown up, which was a bummer for Jeff, who had developed a crush for the drink slinger. Everyone was in the middle of extreme merriment when the angry go-go boy clumped and clawed his way over to the popular side of the bar. His eyes were glazed over with a misty blue cloud and his mouth was distorted and rubbery. He came directly over to Jeffrey and whipped his cock and balls out of his underwear. He violently shook his dick in Jeffrey’s face and yelled, “You think your shit don’t stink? You come in here and laugh at me? Fuck you! FUCK YOU! My dick is bigger than your dick, faggot, and I ain’t no faggot either, so FUCK YOU!”

Jeffrey laughed. So did Jeff and Jeff. Pablo and Xander giggled too.

“Let me see your little dick, you fat faggot!”
“Trust me, my dick is bigger than yours.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see it!”, the angry go-go boy tried to grab Jeffrey’s package, but managed to slip on the bar and lose his balance. He was a vision of drug addled malfunction.
“You can see it if you get it hard.”
“MY DICK IS BIGGER THAN YOUR DICK, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
“Ok, look, your balls are huge. You win with the balls, but your dick is just normal. My giant dick wins over your dick. Your dick wishes it was my dick.”

The angry go-go boy leaned down and got dangerously close to Jeffrey’s face. He barked and slurred a bunch of rageful words together that didn’t make any sense. Spit flew from his mouth to the floor and his face turned red. Joshua adjusted his crown and walked over to the dancer, “Billy, shut the fuck up and get off the bar.”

With one glance and a few stern words from Joshua, Billy the angry go-go boy retreated to the other side of the bar and snuggled up to an old, creepy guy who clearly was in charge of selling whatever drugs Billy was on. Billy lit a cigarette and angrily gestured towards Jeffrey for the rest of the night.

Joshua launched into a monologue, which seemed eerily rehearsed. “Don’t worry about him, his mouth is a firecracker, but he’s just a lonely and fucked up kid. He is an Iraq war veteran. He came back from the war and his girlfriend left him and he couldn’t get a job, so he dances. He hates it here, but the money and the drugs keep him on the bar. That’s why I never do drugs. I dance because I love dancing and I love men.”

Jason unglued himself from Jeff’s skin and went to go change out of his dancer gear. Jeff took that as an opportunity to exit. He was drunk and didn’t want to hook up with Aladdin. Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey snuck out and went back to The Night of the Iguana. However, the evening wasn’t over for Pablo and Xander. Joshua and Mississippi had other plans and they knew where Chris was hiding…

New Orleans Part Deux: Part 2

The boys woke up to the sound of violent rain. They had escaped from New York’s cold weather only to be subjected to harsh, muggy wetness. They were optimistic, but what they didn’t know was that the downpour wouldn’t stop for two full days. After a slow-start morning at The Night of the Iguana, they decided on a nice inside activity – The Audubon Aquarium of the Americas!

Every nice, Southern family was in attendance. What else are you going to do the day after Thanksgiving? The homos walked through the aquarium with a bright, pink spotlight on them. Jeff had painted toenails, Xander shrieked at the sight of starfish – it was hard to blend into the fray.

Jeffrey thought a fish had fallen in love with him. She followed his face up and down through the glass. Jeff pointed out that the fish could only see it’s own reflection. Love can be so cruel. Creepy seahorses were a crowd favorite. They were in the section of the aquarium that displayed the stout-hearted creatures of the ocean floor. This section was called “Hard Bottoms”.

After the fish, they went to the locals favorite restaurant, Coop’s Place. Traditional jambalaya, cooked by homeless Cajuns in the backyard, was a real treat. Filled with shrimp, rabbit, sausage, cats, crawfish, stray toddlers and southern soul, this meal just couldn’t be beat.

Everyone was stuffed and a sleepy voodoo curse had hit Jeffrey, He needed a nap and he needed it now. They all decided to go back to the house to rest. Immediately, Jeffrey zonked out on the bed in the front bedroom. When he awoke, the others were drunkenly playing cards in the kitchen.

“I thought you guys were all going to take a nap?”
“Well, you thought wrong, bitch!”
“Wow. Drunk already?”
“Shut your pussy-ass face!”
“I’m gonna take a shower and get ready to go out.”

When Jeffrey exited the ridiculously tiny shower, the liquored up gents all were taking a nap. “You have got to be fucking kidding me! Why didn’t you guys nap when I did? What am I supposed to do now? Play cards with myself?”

“You can go fuck yourself”, cooed Jeff.

“You can go suck yourself”, sang the other Jeff.

Instead of either of those options, Jeffrey thought he would check in with the art kid who voted for McCain. They chatted on the phone about reality TV and power point presentations for the kid’s homework assignment. The kid also talked about some surprisingly disturbing sexual fantasies which cause Jeffrey to nickname him ‘Freak Puppy’. They made plans to meet up in a few hours.

After everyone’s nap, and after Jeffrey played solitaire for too long, they all headed to a neighborhood bar called Good Friends. Mississippi and Alabama were working as bartenders. What a small, gay world. A gentleman named Chris was working at the beautifully decorated upstairs bar. He was handsome and had striking blue eyes. His playful masculinity made it hard to decipher if he was a genuine dick sucker or if he was just an expert at making good tips. Pablo flirted with him heavily and found out that Chris had been in The Navy.

Freak Puppy texted Jeffrey 8 times. It had been about two hours and eight hurricanes, so Jeffrey told Freak Puppy that he was at Good Friends. Again, it just so happned that Freak Puppy was right around the corner. Freak Puppy liked Good Friends Bar because “they don’t card my ass”. Just to make sure everything went smoothly, Freak Puppy asked Jeffrey to order a Whiskey Sour for him and meet him upstairs on the balcony. It was too wet outside, so Jeffrey and Freak Puppy transferred their booze into a to-go cup and went back to The Night of the Iguana for some freaky-fun sexy times. Jeff and Jeff giggled at the sight of the lopsided couple running through the constant rain towards Freak Puppy’s car.

Xander had developed a heart-crushing crush on Mississippi. Xander’s bewilderingly extensive knowledge of all things Broadway paired with Mississippi’s adorable drawl and friendliness had made for quite the great drunkersation. Jeff and Pablo chatted up Seaman Chris between shots of Jager and handfuls of pretzels. The other Jeff got boozier and snarlier and almost got in a fight with an annoying twink with short man’s disease. He tried to make friends with the out of towners. He was sort of cute, but his obnoxious know-it-all personality made him completely repellent. The twink had a dippy, drugged out sidekick who liked to raver dance to Kelly Clarkson songs. For some reason, the twink wanted to show the boys a night on the town and asked if they needed a tour guide. After politely dodging the invite several times, Pablo finally made up a lie – “We’re all very tired and we’re all going home now. Goodbye!”

The foursome made their way to The Pub, The Quarter’s most corporate gay club. Good times and boys swirled all around. After six or sixteen more hurricane’s, they met up with Jeffrey at The Clover Grill for a late night meal. The place was congested with burned onion smoke and was packed. They had to fight off a black tranny for a table, but no blood was spilled.

“So, how was it with Freak Puppy?”
“We did it three times. I’m disturbed by how hot it was.”
“Why? Cause he looks like an eight grader?”
“Ugh. Yes.”
“The best thing about being an older guy is that you get to fuck younger guys.”
“Yes, I suppose that makes being 31 a little better. Thank you.”

As the boys were leaving the grill, the “straight” go-go boy from The Corner Pocket walked in with a very much older guy. They sat at the counter while the go-go boy counted a fat wad of one dollar bills. The grampa that was with him asked him what he wanted to eat and the go-go boy was barely able to respond with a muffled, “…cheeseburger…”. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he almost fell off the bar stool. On the way out the door, the go-go boy and Jeffrey made quick eye contact. Jeffrey felt like he was looking into the eyes of Nothing. The go-go boy had a flash of angry recognition fly across his face. He tried to focus his dark eyes on Jeffrey before he broke away and asked the waiter for a glass of water.

As Jeffrey and his friends ran home in the vicious rain, he couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t seen the last of the angry go-go boy.

New Orleans Part Deux: Part 1

Jeff, Jeff and Jeffrey arrived at the new JetBlue terminal at JFK airport about 24 minutes before Xander and Pablo. During that time, they explored the Lacoste store, where everything had a tiny alligator on it, and a weird Japanese store called Mungi or something, where everything was $15.00. Jeff, Jeff, and Jeffrey took inventory of the dining options around the concourse and decided on one of the restaurants that looked exactly like all the other restaurants. After the timely trio sat down, the remaining travelers showed up just in time to order the first round of cocktails.

After the fivesome spent a small fortune on gormet Ruffles potato chips and 8 rounds of Blood Mary’s, they hightailed it to the gate. Along the way, Jeff and Pablo each bought a blood orange colored umbrella from Mungi or something. Everyone was entranced by the shade of perfect orange. They hopped on board where Jeffrey discovered that his favorite headphones had been crushed and broken. This was a situation that could ruin the entire trip for everyone if not handled in a quick and efficient manner. Luckily, Pablo had an extra pair of headphones and everyone was able to breathe a little easier.

All of the boys had either a window or an aisle seat. They had hoped that they would make friends with whoever their center seat partners turned out to be, but as it turns out, both center chairs were occupied by creepy, asian men. Between Jeff and Jeffrey was a tiny, young, Vietnamese guy who had long, curly fingernails that were yellowed and holding dirt captive in every crevice. On the other side, between Pablo and Xander, was an older Chinese man who wrapped his entire head in a wet towel and fell asleep for the duration of the flight, snoring and letting his head droop down on Pablo and Xander.

In the air, after just a few more celebratory cocktails, Pablo and Jeffrey started chatting up the flight attendants. They were big and busty and loved to give the boys extra snacks. The ladies told them where they would be staying in The Quarter. Pablo and Jeffrey took a mental note should they want to yuk it up with these women and their bouffants.

The smell of mold smacked them in the face when they got off the plane in New Orleans. The cab was quick to deliver the group to a house that Pablo had rented off craigslist for the week. A small, Cajun man greeted the faggots at the front door.

“Welcome to The Night of the Iguana”, he hesitantly beemed. “I’m Elmo!”

There were spirits in this house for sure. See the white orbs in the photo? Absolute, undeniable PROOF!

Elmo fussed and poked at the TV with three remote controls before leading everyone throughout the house, pointing out all of the amenities. His accent was as thick as the swampy air and he had a sparkle in his eye. Jeffrey was pretty sure he was planning on undressing all of them with a voodoo curse. Was this funny, old man a dicksucker?

“…sometimes I’ll have ladies stay here and I tell them that if they need something washed in the machine, to just let me know. They are always concerned about a gentleman like myself seeing their dirty drawers. I tell them, ‘Honey, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen or worn before so just calm down’”. Elmo’s eyes seemed to sparkle brighter. This must be the way he told every group of homos that rented his house that he was a homo too. How sweet. He went on to talk about his other life when he lived in San Francisco and wore leather everything.

Seeing as how it was Thanksgiving, the boys changed clothes and went to a nice meal at Tujague’s, New Orleans’ second-oldest restaurant. There was a debate on how to pronounce the name of the restaurant, but it turned out that everyone’s guess was wrong. The less-than-stellar waiter informed them that it was pronounced “Two Jacks”. He was allowed to perform underwhelmingly as the food was overwhelmingly delicious. Worth mentioning was the refreshing shrimp romoulade and spicy stuffing.

It was time to dip their feet into the nightlife. The first, and what ended up being the last, stop of the evening was The Corner Pocket. One couldn’t help but feel slightly sinister entering this watering hole. There were go-go boys on the bar dancing to top 40 hits, a vicious looking drag queen spinning records in the corner, an empty row of slot machines, and a pool table in the back room by a giant Christmas tree. A few busted regulars were lounging about and talking to the tranny bartender while others helped themselves to the makeshift Thanksgiving buffet that had been set up along the wall. Jeffrey immediately ordered a Hurricane and got his dollar bills ready for the dancers.

A couple of locals rushed into the bar and greeted everyone they knew, which were many. The blonde one with a drinking problem yelled “Mississippi!” to a large black guy who yelled back “Alabama!” This continued for several moments too long – “Mississippi”, “Alabama!”, “MISSISSIPPI!”, “ALABAMA!”, “MISSISSIPPI!”, “ALABAMA!”… Their southern drawls were sickenly sweet.

A straight looking dancer with fucked up teeth hobbled over to the group of clearly younger gays and started talking about nothing. He was railed up on coke or speed or something and didn’t make too much sense. He had a tribal tattoo on his shoulder and liked to whip his junk around in everyone’s face. Jeffrey tried to talk to him, but the straight dancer thought he was being told to go away. He made a prissy face, stuck out his tongue, and walked away.

Jeffrey felt bad for half a second and then forgot about it when he looked up and saw Joshua, the same go-go boy who was working at The Corner Pocket last year. He looked much older and didn’t smell like a masculine flower anymore, but his charm and smile were definitely familiar. Pablo had missed meeting Joshua last year and was unimpressed.

“THIS is Joshua?!?!?”, he barked at the others. About an hour later, Pablo was flashing Joshua behind a counter and kissing him, falling victim to his southern charm.

Xander’s face was buried in every crotch that was available, he was drunk on men and his goofy smile showed it. Jeff and Jeff drank heavily and laughed a lot. Jeffrey had been texting a 20 year old art student he had met online before the trip. Turns out, the kid was in the area and wanted to pick him up and drive back to The Night of the Iguana for a little frisky fun. The evening was winding down and it seemed that everyone was going back to the house. The kid told Jeffrey he would just come over and get high and they could hook up another night. Two minutes later, the kid pulled his junker up to The Corner Pocket. Pablo hopped in the back seat, just in case Jeffrey was gonna get murdered, and the three of them rode back to the house while the other three walked.

The kid was tiny. Like, much, much smaller than Jeffrey’ s large frame. He was adorable and the scruff on his face helped him look like he wasn’t 13 years old. He wore camouflage pants and smoked hand-rolled American Spirit cigarettes. The new Of Montreal CD played in the trashy car while they chatted. Piles of art supplies, fast food wrappers, discarded wood, and who-knows-what-else filled the compact vehicle. Pablo barely fit in the cramped back seat. Jeffrey’s dick was halfway hard.

Pablo and the others got ready for bed while Jeffrey and the kid smoked a left-handed cigarette in the backyard. The light from the pool was pretty bright, so Jeffrey turned it off. After 30 minutes of get-to-know-you bullcrap and playing with the kid’s new pocket knife, the kid revealed that he had a triple tongue piercing. Jeffrey used to have a tongue ring back when he was in his twenties and still cared about being cool. He knew this guy would be a hot kisser.

“Random change of subject – How long have you lived in New York?”
“Five years.”
“Cool…”
“Random change of subject – You wanna make out?”
“Sure…”

They kissed while the kid stood in front of Jeffrey, who was sitting on a wicker chair. The kid may have been half Jeffrey’s size (maybe more?), but he had definitely earned a place in the top three kissers of which Jeffrey had locked lips. Many minutes went by and the kiss didn’t stop. One touch led to another and suddenly dicks were out and the kid’s jockstrap fell to the ground. He was very talented and very thirsty, so, as a courtesy, Jeffrey fingered him until he finished himself off. Jeffrey had to use a flashlight to lead the kid out of the house because everyone else was asleep.

“See you tomorrow?”, the kid asked.
“Sure. Got any plans?”
“Homework. Then you.”

Hot. Dirty-hot.

As the kid drove away, Jeffrey noticed a sticker on his rear bumper….

Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

As soon as I got off the plane, New York City slapped me in the face. It was freezing cold and people were fighting each other for taxis. Babies cried. Cops yelled. New Orleans faded away from me while I stood in a 30 minute cab line and watched the world collapse.

I woke up the next morning with a balloon head so I called out sick to work. Once the afternoon rolled around, I felt fine, so I did every ounce of laundry from my trip. Everything smelled like booze and boys and needed to be washed immediately.

Last night, my alien roommate told me that he was going out of town from December 18th to “sometime in January”. He informed me that his friend, “Dimitry from Europe”, will be staying in his room while he is visiting family in Texas or Jupiter or somewhere.

“Do I get to meet Dimitry from Europe before this is official?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird, since I’ve never met him?”
“Well, you can’t meet him. He’s in Europe.”

A couple months ago, when Joaquin from Jupiter first moved in, we had a conversation about our travel plans during the Chrismukkwanzakkuh Holidays. I mentioned that I had plans for a friend of mine to come to town and spend Christmas with me. Joaquin said no problem.

When I tried to explain why it is strange that some dude is gonna live in some other dude’s room without having met some other dude’s other roommate, a blank look of stupidity washed over his face. Joaquin from Jupiter said that it’s the same thing as me telling him that my friend was staying with me. He failed to understand the difference was that I would still be physically present with my friend for the duration of his week long visit, while Dimitry from Europe would be alone with me for an indefinite amount of time. Seems different to me.

Dimitry from Europe could look like Jake Gyllenhaal and have a thing for chunky gay boys and we could fall in love and he would take me to Europe where he is a DJ and I get to sleep in late, or Dimitry from Europe could be a murdering, drug addicted, sloth who steals everything I own. Either way, Joaquin from Jupiter is a complete moron.

My alien roommate’s and my trails of thought are from two different planets. There are many hilarious stories about what a dense piece of cat crap he is, but this is the one that has broken my will. I’m trying very hard to not escalate this to The Great Christmas War of 2008. How do you reason with someone who has no reason? How do you explain anything to someone who is tuned out to the world around them and only interested in the world directly in front of their loud-eating, smacky-gross face?

I will have my New Orleans blogs up as soon as possible, but my computer is full and won’t let me download all my photos. Of course.

New Orleans! I miss you!

I even miss that tiny, bullshitty shower I had to shower in every day.

Everything On My Mind Fits Into This Picture

1.) I’m going to New Orleans the day after tomorrow!

2.) The Killers’s new CD is fucking awesome!

3.) Brandon Flowers, the lead singer, is super hot! And gay, right?!

4.) He’s not gay?!

5.) Wait. He’s a mormon and married?!

6.) He must be a closet case. He wore peacock feather shoulder pads on SNL!

7.) I’m still really bummed about Prop 8!

8.) I’m going to New Orleans the day after tomorrow!

I hope I get Mardi Gras beads and make out with Mormons too!

18 Days Until New Orleans!

The countdown begins… I can’t wait to go back!

Maybe THIS time, I’ll get bitten by a sexy vampire!

Oysters!

Tonight, 4 of the 5 fags that went to New Orleans this past Thanksgiving relived our drunken tomfoolery at Acme Oyster House in the West Village. We called Jeff to say hello, so it was almost a reunion. Somehow, pictures were allowed to be taken and this happened -

I also just downloaded Jesse McCartney’s new single, “Leavin’”, but I choose to blame the Hurricane’s from Acme for that one…. even though it’s totally gonna be my Summer 2008 Anthem.

Stop laughing at me.

New Orleans – The End

We all had separate flights going other places except for me and Jeff. We checked out of the hotel with the sassy black lady who had been ever present all weekend. She was adorable. I went across the street to the deli to grab some bottled water. Inside, I was accosted by a frightening, Cajun homeless man. He spoke to me in harsh, garbled, nearly unrecognizable English.

MAN: Can you give me some money?
ME: I don’t have any money.
MAN: How are you going to buy all that crap? He points to the single bottle of water in my hand.
ME: That’s all I have. Sorry.
MAN: Well give me a job then!
ME: I can’t. I’m from out of town.
MAN: Oh shit.
ME: Sorry. Have a good day though.
MAN: Give me some money. Come on, just do it.
ME: I don’t have it. No matter how many times you ask me.
MAN: Oh is that how it is then?

The man stumbles into the street. I realize he is barefoot.

MAN: Someone just tried to kill me! He tried to shake me down! Help! Police!

With that, I was off, back home to New York City. The past few days have been inexplicably perfect. Not a care, not a worry. Good times with great friends. No bullshit. All groovy awesomeness. I have recharged my batteries, taken a deep breath. I should go on vacations more often. Here are some more fun pictures…

That’s me making a sad face because I want to be there still. Maybe this will have to be a new Thanksgiving tradition. I’m sure there is still more to see in New Orleans – the aquarium, plantations, Philip’s cock. Bye New Orleans! Thank you!

New Orleans – Phase Five

My goal today was to purchase some New Orleans art. It was our last full day in town and I also had realized that I had yet to get a famous Hurricane. I still had not found live Zydeco either, which was rather disappointing. Also, as much fun as the gay clubs were, we hadn’t seen anything too outrageous. This was all about to change.

First stop – we all went shopping in the plentiful art galleries, bookstores, antique shops and souvenir shops. I had accidentally eaten a chocolate chip cookie, more beignets, and we found a groovy street musician. He looked like Jesus with a Dulcimer. After zoning out on his quirky songs, I got sucked into The Neverending Christmas Store. I am not sure how long I spent in the store, called Santa’s Quarters, but I know I was in there long enough that Jeff called me to find out where I was…. I had to be rescued. You can see why…

Next up, a different cemetery – one that was open. The sign out front said “Enter at your own risk. The city of New Orleans and the Parish of St. Louis is not to be held responsible for your safety and security while on these grounds.” I wasn’t so much afraid of the immediate presence of spirits that I felt, but the homeless junkies that probably used the cemetery for a nice, secluded area to shoot up. The four of us banded together and took a creepy stroll. Here are some of the better shots from the St. Louis Cemetery…

Wow. After all that creepiness, we needed a good stiff drink. Where better to get one than at The Corner Pocket, one of the few gay bars we had yet to visit. I opted for a Captain Morgan and coke, my usual this trip. The place was super empty, granted it was a Monday at noon, but the bars never close in New Orleans, so I thought there would be someone. The kind bartender dryly asked us the standard questions – Where are you from? How long are you in town? A weird couple came in and ordered shots. The younger one looked like a druggie pirate and the older one looked like he was recently featured on ‘To Catch A Predator’. The couple, the bartender and us all got audibly excited when ‘Cops’ came on the TV and it was revealed that the episode was entitled ‘Bad Girls’. We were instantly bonded. I noticed a giant, black cat that seemed to live in the bar. I asked the bartender what was the cat’s name… “Oh, him? He ain’t got no name. He came to us as a Katrina survivor. No one ever has named him.” The scary pirate guy said, ‘Oh, he gotsa name, he jus’ ain’t tellin’ no one what it is..’ Adorable, for a gay pirate.

We broke for lunch at Coop’s Place. I had eaten there earlier in the weekend and had some amazing Sausage & Rabbit Jambalaya and homemade cole slaw. Coop’s is definitely a local bar with a modest sized seating area. Cajun gypsies make the food in the backyard next to the restrooms. I went to use the restroom and saw them all sitting on the ground and drinking from flasks. I’m down to party, thats cool. Jeff and I had mojitos and waited for the food to come. In the meantime, we made friends with the regulars. Seriously, that was the biggest regular we’ve ever seen in our gay lives. We didn’t have any problem with scarfing down the grub though, so fucking good. We just pretended not to think about where it was being made.

More goddamn beignets.

Time for a ghost tour! With Mideon Von Thorne! He was very knowledgeable and nice, just not exactly Captain Ted level. I love Captain Ted. I love that the ghost tour incorporated a bar break at the halfway point of the tour. I love it even more that it was at that fucking Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop that the manager had almost kicked us out. Hilarious! We had vowed to never go back there, each time we walked by it cursing it’s name, and now, here we were again. I didn’t order anything though, we were drinking red wine out of a plastic water bottle which I kept in my pocket – which is totally legal there by the way. As long as you are carrying your booze in a plastic container, you can take it anywhere! During the last leg of the ghost tour, we saw Philip the Psychic. He was wearing his instantly recognizable black feather coat. He just stared at us. Creepy/Awesome!

Once the tour was finished, we headed down Bourbon Street for one last hurrah. We came upon a fancy jazz place that sat us in the front row. It was here that I finally got my Hurricane. OH MY GOD, WHY HAD I NOT BEEN DRINKING THESE THE WHOLE TIME???? What an idiot I am! We watched a pretty decent jazz band and left when they went on break. Almost immediately, we found my live Zydeco at the Cajun Cabin. The band, Mitchell Cormier and The Can’t Hardly Playboys, were fucking brilliant. We ordered fried alligator, fried crawfish, more Hurricanes, and a trio of sausages – alligator, andouille, and crawfish. Jeff even got pulled up on stage!

I got to play the washboard too. We ate up good and had a blast. The waitress made me order a drink called Swamp Water, made with Everclear. Everclear is like 100 percent alcohol. It was tasty! She also suggested that we go to The Corner Pocket. Funny, we had already been there, but she told us that there were live dancers every night. We took our Hurricanes and Swamp Waters in plastic to go cups and headed to the Corner Pocket again…

Armed with one dollar bills and a smashing sense of humor, I entered The Corner Pocket. There were 8 dancers and 8 customers. Joshua, the cutest of them all, came up and danced in my face. I tucked a couple dollars in his very fashionable underwear and waited for him to do a little dance or something. He said, “You can stand to have a little more audience participation”. I told him that “I am used to being stabbed in the face if you touch the dancers”. He asked where we were from and we told him New York. He laughed, dropped his act and said, “Now what the hell are you boys doing down here? We all try to move there, and you come down here?” After chatting with the blonde and blue eyed, Joshua, he took our monies and rubbed all up on us. He was very good at his job. Smelled like Boy Heaven and lingered close enough to you that you could feel his hard-on. Classy fun!

More of the dancers came over throughout the night. One guy’s signature move involved wrapping his legs around your head and quickly thrusting his giant balls (shielded by his Calvin Klein’s of course) in your face – like a rabid washing machine rinse cycle. It was not sexy, it was funny. They were all cute, but not as much as the adorable Joshua. He was definitely the Queen Bee of this gay harem. We got a taste of all the dancers except for one. He was wearing red briefs, smoking a cigarette, listening to his ring tone on his cell phone over and over. He didn’t even look in our direction once. I think Joshua had marked his territory. Joshua got the cute boys from New York and Red Briefs was regulated to the old, obese black guy in the corner. I really wanted to know what the drama was between Joshua and the red briefs guy. The tension was visible, but they were more than professional to each other. I’m glad Joshua won us, he was hot. A few more Hurricanes and alot less dollars later, we decided to meander back out into the streets where I met my new friends and their hats…

We walked around and looked for ghosts, vampires, and more beignets. We were gonna head back to The Leaky Cauldron from the night before, but were so drunk and tired we decided to cut ourselves off. We chatted in the streets a little more, and headed back to the hotel. Nighty-night!

New Orleans – Phase Four

The sky opened up. The clouds crashed. Thunder, lightning, thunder, lightning… Our nap last night turned into going to bed. We made an attempt to go out, but it was raining so hard. We did not eat oysters on the half shell. We did not try to find Philip. We did not seek out a jazz club. What did we do? We downloaded zydeco music in our hotel room and bought some black cherry rum and cherry coke. We tried to get ourselves revved up to go out, but Jeff fell asleep on the couch and Jeff went back to his hotel room to go to bed. Jeff was still sick from the night before and went to bed while Jeff and I half-heartedly looked at boys in the NOLA area on manhunt.com. We were all asleep by midnight! Old! Losers!

It was still raining crawfish and oysters this morning, but we felt great. Jeff and I had a perfect crab omlette in a restaurant that was right out of New Orleans Square Disneyland (or New Orleans Square right out of this place, rather). Jeff had opted to stay in the Quarter and catch a play about slavery and racism presented by a community theatre (brilliant) but the rest of us went to the Garden District via the St. Charles Trolley. There were amazing houses lining the street. I took a picture of what I believed to be the Belfort Mansion from my favorite season of The Real World. I got the address from several confirmed sources. We were on the way to a cemetery, so I thought I would come back and get a picture with the mansion.

Unfortunately, the cemetery was closed. So what are four faggots supposed to do in an isolated area of New Orleans in the pouring rain? A photo shoot naturally. Headshots to be specific. The cemetery was enclosed by a great wall of old brick, making a perfect gothic background for our pictures. Here are my favorites from the shoot…

After we were done fagging out in the presence of ghosts, we made our way to Magazine Street. A neverending collection of thrift stores, vintage clothing, and retro furniture. We all spent our fair share of money to help support the local businesses. It was a win/win situation. I got to spend money guilt free on handbags and scarves while I helped New Orleans re-build. I fell in love with a painting and got into a fight with a stupid girl at Starbucks who messed up my drink and tried to give me attitude. I actually had the nerve to say, “I used to work for Starbucks for six years, I know the chemistry behind making this drink.” Ugh, what an asshole.

We went to find a bar that was recommended to us for “The Best Po’ Boy’s on Earth”. The po’ boy was great, but I couldn’t help but think I might get beat up in this joint. I couldn’t tell if we were caged animals that the locals kept looking at or if it was us, roaming free in a foreign zoo, hoping no one would pounce on us while we enjoyed our tasty sandwiches. We didn’t hang out for long. The rain still hadn’t let up, but we marched on towards the Real World mansion to get my picture.

The address I had did not match the address to the mansion I had taken a picture of earlier. The address was nowhere to be found!!!! I looked up and down the block, getting drenched. Finally, I had to give up. I have come to the conclusion that either the mansion has been torn down and made into a new branch of Chase Bank or MTV never even filmed the show there. It was all a hoax. So, what do we do next?

DRAG QUEEN BINGO!

This fat bitch was such a cunt. Now, I love drag queens, but this was one busted pig. She lathered so much attention on the “pretty” boys in the ‘crowd’ (seriously, 25 people at most, five of them was a family from North Carolina). She made herself look pathetic. Now, I understand that I am not ‘hot’ or worthy of being asked to be in a shirtless contest, but I expect that when you come over to my group of friends and start talking about how you used to live in New York (lies) and joking around with them (bad puns) that when I try to talk to you, you should NOT ignore me. Dirty Whore! Her name was Blanche Debris (trash!) and her stupid bifocals (old man) under her terrible sunglasses (bad taste) was a look that was too much to take. What an old, chubby cunt-rag. Fuck you.

We all left in the middle of the game because we wanted to go watch ‘The Amazing Race’ back at the hotel room. Blanche asked me where we were all going and to please stay so my friends could be in the contest… I lied and said we were gonna get something to eat and that we would be back in time for the contest. Suck it.

After our reality TV fix, we went to dinner at Acme Oyster House. Captain Ted had recommended it and we we not disappointed. So great! Charbroiled oysters, raw oysters, fried crawfish, rum, and what I thought was seafood gumbo. I was corrected and told that it was actually crawfish and corn bisque….

After many more rum drinks, we looked through some of the photos from earlier. I was amazed that I found I had captured the likeness of a spirit! I photographed a ghost in the wall at the cemetery! Here is the picture, see if you can find the face of a bearded man in the wall!!!

I was so flipped out that I flipped out!

Jeff had to fly back to Florida the next morning, so we decided to hunt down some live music. First, we stopped for beignets at Cafe Du Monde. What scrumptious, little, delightful, pieces of fried dough! Topped with powdered sugar! Wow! But, live music called our name, so I didn’t get all gluttonous and order more beignets. We stumbled into a few different places that were all great, but our favorite place was a nameless bar that simply had this chalkboard sign sitting out front.

For the Harry Potteraphobic, ‘muggles’ are non-magic folk. So this sign was telling us that only witches, warlocks and magic faeries were allowed inside. OMG. The bartender was this sort of Scooby Doo-esque bluesy rastafarian, a large group of dirty, alternative kids were all making out and laughing, a burly gay couple shot pool, a yuppy looking straight couple drank red wine, and a girl in a red skirt danced by herself. The jukebox ran out and I got to select the soundtrack for the bar. Such a great place. It was the real Leaky Cauldron.

We were spent at that point and trudged back to the hotel. We all had to say our goodbyes to Jeff and he waved farewell as we stumbled down the street.

Time for another nap!

New Orleans – Phase Three

Wow, the evening had so much to offer last night, I fear that I may not remember everything. It’s all coming back in fast edit clips and slow motion montages, like MTV on quaaludes… a hot tranny waitress gave me the best flautas I have ever eaten, hooked up with a cajun cub named Jeff, we wandered into a butch, leather bar where we were clearly marked as the ‘out of towners’, an annoyingly loud gay dude kept telling Jeff to ‘put your ass on the table and play some pool’ so the butch bartender told the loud guy that they were going to play ‘the quiet game’ and he only wanted to here his voice if he was going to order another drink, we found the dueling gay clubs, Oz and Bourbon Street Pub, across the street from each other and met the local gays, Jeff and I danced on a huge dancefloor with a 400 people capacity – if only there were 398 more people to get the full effect, I had my 47th glass of rum at a cozy, candlelit bar called Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop – the oldest building in The Quarter, a bitchy pianist nearly refused to play our request (Do you know anything by Judy Garland?), we went to a low key gay bar next door also called Lafitte’s, a cute boy named Ricky served us booze then said, ‘I hear you guys are from New York’. Was he psychic?

No, he was not psychic. The manager at the straight Lafitte’s bar is also the manager at the gay Lafitte’s bar. I overheard him tell Ricky “yeah that’s them, I almost just kicked them out next door, they told Marianne they are from New York, find out what the fuck their story is…” and then the a-hole manager left. WTF? How are we more loud and obnoxious than any other loud and obnoxious group of people? Anyway, Ricky was a peach. Jeff was too drunk and tapped out, going back to the hotel by himself. So Jeff, Jeff, Jeff and I went to the gay diner across the street before stumbling back to bed.

THIS VIDEO HAS BEEN REMOVED IN EFFORTS TO KEEP MY JOB.

So yeah, that was last night. Thankfully, Jeff gave that shitty sweater to some crazy, but cute, cub guy who wandered in the diner. Good move to get rid of that sweater, but the crazy cub texted Jeff all night long – “I love orgies! HahA! LOL!”

Today we went on a “Cajun Encounter Swamp Tour“. We were all pretty wrecked, but we wanted to be good little tourists, so we marched forward. We drove about an hour away from New Orleans on a bus with alot of old people from Scotland, England, and China. We drove through an area that was described as “one of the lighter areas hit by Katrina”. Holy shit. It looked worse in person and I was prepared for some fucked up shit. Most of the homes are completely destroyed and empty. The few people who are still living there are living in little white trailers in their driveways. They can’t even live in their house! I can’t believe that we are stuck in Iraq, spending zillions of dollars on Bush’s war, while our own people at home are fucked without homes. Yay America. I felt like Kanye West driving through these towns.

The roads are decaying and bumpy from water damage, the stink of mold is everywhere, and the feeling of spiritual unrest is heavy. I made a mental note to myself that I did not want to play Ouija on the board I had packed. By the time we got to the swamp, we were all so jostled by the bumpy road, we thought we were going to throw up. Thankfully, they had real, live cajun rocking chairs to relax in!

It was cold and the forecast had predicted rain, but the five of us picked the uncovered swamp boat to go in with Captain Ted, the better seeming of the two guides. The other guides boat filled up because it was a canopy boat. Our open air boat was just us and a happy Scottish couple – her cheeks were rosey and he walked with a cane. Captain Ted spun many tales in his little swamp boat, his thick cajun accent covered my hungover brain with a spicy gumbo. Here are some excepts from his tour.

He told us a story of how a mouthy fifth grader wouldn’t stay seated in his boat. The kids spit at Captain Ted and the teacher refused to intervene, saying that it was the child’s self-expression. Captain Ted pointed to some poison ivy within arms reach of the boat and said, “See, that’s a magic bush! Anyone who touches is and smashes it up in their hands will be granted one wish.” The boy did so and the thought of the boy going home and hugging mommy and daddy made him giggle. He blamed the parents for their bratty kid. I thought it was odd that he would never look us in the eye while telling his stories. Whether they are true or not, I love Captain Ted.

Now it’s time for a nap.

New Orleans – Phase Two

We ended up not meeting up with the druggie-stripper. Instead, I passed out in the kitchen on an uncomfortable rollaway bed. I had a dream my ex-friend-crush-person started dating the Mexican dude from ‘The Biggest Loser’. They weren’t really in love and I laughed at them because the Mexican dude was a mean cheater on the show. I woke up and immediately shat my Thanksgiving dinner all over the place.

Jeff and I went to meet Jeff down in our hotel lobby for a free continental breakfast. We decided ‘continental’ translates to ‘gross, free crap’. Stale danish and muddy coffee were our breakfast soulmates. Jeff joined us and Jeff and I called Jeff to see if he and Jeff were coming over. We chatted with some French couple. She was reading the newspaper and wanted to quiz the table on our vocabulary and asked us what we thought ‘locavore’ meant. I told her that it was a person or animal that only ate choo-choo trains. I was wrong.

First item of business was to get a reading from Philip at Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo. He was a fantastic reader. Seriously, he saw into me. Dressed in a black feather coat, red vest, and stunning eyes, he was definitely the vision of New Orleans psychic to me. He took my hand, his own hands shaking with energy, and asked what side the diabetes is on in my family. My mom, I told him. He told me I don’t have it and I ain’t ever gonna get it. My blood was his language. Then, he asked me how I lost the weight. I told him about my three month/fifty pound challenge. He said that I would not reach my goal of fifty pounds in that time frame, but that I would be very fulfilled with ‘my quest for loss’ in about six months if I kept with the program, that there was more than fifty pounds to lose and that I would succeed. He told me I was going to become financially successful using my unique sense of humor, but that he couldn’t see specifically what aspect of my comedy or how it was used in the role of the success. He said how he has a very uniques sense of humor as well, then showed me a picture of his huge pee-pee. It was his screensaver on his cell phone. We both laughed and he was like, I thought you would think that was funny. I am positive he was hitting on me.

He went into two very important relationships – my dad and my ex-friend-crush-person. Unprompted or informed in any way, he went on to tell me amazingly specific things about each relationship. He truly blew my mind. All in all, I feel great about my journey with my ex-friend-crush-person, but he told me that if/when I decide to talk to pops, I should be prepared to have that be the last time I talk to him. I started to say how I felt compelled to talk to pops and Philip cut me off with a flip of his middle finger to the air and said, ‘Fuck it, why is he so important, you are the important one’. Then, he told me about a bar in The Quarter I should go to later… I used my own psychic powers to tell me that he is a regular there and that he wants to buy me a drink.

Philip mentioned that my next relationship will be my last, that it will not end in divorce or break up. He said it might be awhile until that happens and that between now and then I ‘just need to get your dick wet’. So classy, Philip! He predicted all sorts things regarding employment, living situations, sexual prowess, friendship, family matters, and future written works of mine that will be published, all without any personal background or information being told from me. Creepy! Awesome!

I tipped him ten bucks and he again told me which bar I should go to later tonight and even told me the drink specials they have there. Hilarious. I am now going take a little nappy-nap and see what the evening has to offer me.