Mardi Gras Madness

Cool art at Envie

Mardi Gras has truly taken over both our beloved city and our lives. I am so terribly behind on updating the blog! There are several shiny new posts still swimming in my head, and (once the laundry is caught up around here) I'll get it all blogged out.

In the mean time, check out some of the photos from the last several days and enjoy the tease!

~Anna

The Only Math I Like

This math problem is a two-parter: What do you get at The Bulldog when you order a beer on Wednesday nights? To keep the glass it came in! And what do you get if you return 20 of those glasses? A free t-shirt and 1,000 good karma points for helping the ASPCA! That, my friends, is math I'm willing to study.

If you follow the official New In Nola Facebook page (as you very well should!) then you knew about our planned outing to The Bulldog on Magazine. A few folks actually showed up! Dustin and I got there first, and after a little while of hovering near the people who looked most likely to vacate a seat we were able to snag a couple right at the bar. Once the others arrived we had a gay old time, just sitting there drinking and talking. Paige, a fine member of our party, and I shared some southwest egg rolls that were fab-u-lous. They came with raspberry chipotle dip, which I love (especially over cream cheese and served with crackers). I was the designated driver that night, so after two beers I stuck to Coke (no free glasses- boo). Dustin took one for the team, though, and we ended up with 9 glasses when it was all said and done.

I like to repot to those of you readers that are of the female persuasion what the bathroom situation is like wherever I may roam. It's important to know whether the facilities are suitable for our delicate natures. And besides, who wants to unknowingly walk into a barn? I can gladly report that The Bulldog possesses the best ladies' room I have ever encountered in a bar atmosphere. It was clean, aesthetically pleasing and had some pretty cool stuff in it. They have a Dyson hand dryer that you lower your hands into and it shoots the water off with air. They also have a pull on the bottom of the door so you can open it with your foot rather than recontaminate your hands or waste a sheet of paper towel (like I did before I noticed it). Three thumbs up in the powder room department.

Once the party pared down to four of us and the little hand was on the 12, we decided it would be fun to find a tattoo parlour and a few of us (who are not me) get some fresh ink. But alas, we couldn't find any that were operating. It makes sense, though. Back in Texas, the bars close at 2 am and the tattoo shops close whenever. Here, the booze flows 24/7 and the ink stops early. While it put a bit of a damper on the high spirits of the evening, I can appreciate the thought behind it. So we all just went home and went to bed.

Now I have a shiny new set of drinking glasses, most with different variations of Bulldog logos and a very coveted pink fleur di lis, and a mission: I want to collect enough to get a free shirt (though if you had to buy 20 beers first, is it really free?). Once the trade is made they donate to the Humane Society, which I dig. I'm sure we'll be seen there again.

The Neighborly Things We Do

I've never lived in "attatched" housing before (other than two months of dorm living that first semester of college), so sharing a wall in our shotgun-style home is new, and a bit weird, to me. What makes me feel better about it is that the person on the other side of that wall is wicked cool.

After securing the sitter I walked three feet to Laura's door and visited with her, her man Curtis and their equally awesome friend Emily (Midwifery nuts unite!). Post introductions we had Curtis, playing the roll of Hoke to our collective Miss Daisy, drive us girls to Cooter Brown's for oysters, hot wings, broccoli bites, those chili fries I've heard so much about and Abita Mardi Gras. While the oysters here have a bit more shell in them than some, they're still delicious, and the rest wasn't shabby, either. Classic collegiate fare.

Once our glasses were dry we loaded up again and decided to stop by Ms. Mae's. As great as I'm sure a $1 drink offered in a dimly lit, seedy looking establishment sounds, resist. Stick with the stuff that comes in bottles that they open especially for you. Can't go wrong there. (I'm still shuddering over that thing floating in my plastic cup that looked like it might have once been a lime wedge...)

Emily had to get up early for wedding errands the next morning, so we dropped her off and went to Buddha Belly for the awesomely bad karaoke and ice cold PBR in a can. Nothing can beat listening to people who think they can sing belt it out, and watching people who know they can't sing but rock it out anyway, while sipping the official beer of rockabilly. Throw in a drunken, lengthy conversation with the surprising friendly biker-looking dude that's wearing a live snake as a necklace and I call that a successful night out! Laura and I have decided to go back after the Mardi Gras hub-bub is over and flex our golden pipes. After a little liquid inspiration, of course.