New Orleans baby, New Orleans

It was the fall of 1992.  I had graduated from College in the Winter of 1991 and was teaching at my first job.  I was recently divorced and had rejoined 2 of my of high school buddies for a summer of endless parties.  We
capped off that hot (and I mean it literally as in temperature and as in 4 and 5 girls in bikini’s living on the beach most of the summer)with a trip to NOLA and a day trip to Baton Rouge and back for the Alabama LSU football game.  Not only did we not have tickets, we weren’t concerned about getting them, after all, who in their right mind could turn down the charm of 5 Southern Belle’s.

The other four had gone to NOLA the previous fall when I was still married and of course, they had a better idea of what we were walking into than I did.  We rented a van to make the travel easier as we were all sporting 3 and 4 seater auto’s and it wasn’t possible to pack all five of us in one car. And, even though the four of them had been to NOLA previously, I, with my keen sense of direction, was given the final leg of the trip to drive.  Go figure, the only one who had never been was the one given the responsibility of getting us into NO and our hotel (which by the way resided on the corner of Main and Bourbon Street).

I did get us in with minimal problems and from the second we unloaded our bags, the party was on.  It was nearing midnight on Friday night and again, being the only rookie to NOLA, I simply walked down Bourbon Street with a sense of tourism coupled with the desire to wonder in and out of bars, grab hot guys and make-out and then move on.  We ended up in a bar with mostly Alabama fans and some great karoake performances.  It was standing room only and we were drinking enough that we might not should have even been allowed to walk, definitely a good think we weren’t allowed to drive.

Having tagged up with the guy I was dating, it was awesome as we made our way back to the hotel in the early morning hours.  We had made an agreement that because of the diversity of our group, we would not take any men back to our room.  So, as we had all managed to hook up with our hometown beau’s, we made te best of what Bourbon street is known for and were ducking into corners for some serious snuggling out of the cold wind and some stolen kisses.

The next day I was again given the assignment of driving as I was known as the residential navigator of the crew.  Once we arrived in Baton Rouge, in our short shorts and sweatshirts, we were on the prowl for tickets.  Found.  Five tickets in the student section and “baby, with those legs, you can just have these tickets”.  Bam, exploiting our 21 to 24 year old bodies was exactly the game plan.

Once inside the stadium, one by one we found our hometown beau’s who we had spent hours on Bourbon street with the night before, drinking and “socializing” and one by one, they arrived, with a girl in tow…and not one of us was “that” girl either.  Furious to say the least.

It was a great game.  Who won?  Beats me, we left Baton Rouge, seething over the men and not even concerned about a football game.  Until, we landed back in the karoke bar that night with mostly players from the Alabama football team.  My recollection is that we did indeed win and thinking back, I can’t imagine that they would have been partying quite so hard otherwise.

That night, we avoided those hometown beau’s and just flirted with hot athletes, one right after the other.  Mostly Bama guys but a few LSU players thrown in for good measure.  That night, we drank more than anything and stumbled into our bed around 4 AM

So, me the chosen one for driving the first leg this time, had a hangover.  The others, not so much.  They were ready to hit the Hard Rock for lunch and then some local shopping markets.  I barely made it through lunch and then slept in the van while they shopped.  I don’t recall them returning to the van nor do I recall the trip home but I do know that the didn’t force me to take my turn at driving on that trip at all.

Alas, a tradition was born.  I had to give it up several years later as it was just too much for me as I aged and my relationships matured.  But, I can promise you this, the magic of Bourbon Street can never live up to even the words I’ve given you here.

Now, I’d love to return just my husband and I, enjoying the magic that I know NOLA has managed to bring back after the devastation and I have no doubts what so ever that I can rekindle the fun I had and probably won’t be near as shocked by the scenes around ever corner and in every bar on Bourbon Street.

So take me to #happyharrahs