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.
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.
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