So after a few short weeks living in New Orleans, I ended up on Bourbon St. during the Southern Decadence festival. It's like a big pre-mardi gras mardi gras, for homosexual people. I was amazed at the sheer amount of nasty that was on the street that night. I did, however, make it down the street to the "mass of men grabbing each other" section of the place, and that was interesting, but all in all, I can't say that I enjoyed trying to get through the crowd and having my crotch and my ass grabbed, by other men. Remind me to stick to places serving drinks should I continue to go to this celebration in the future. If I can't walk, then I won't be able to walk to where all the half naked, screaming men are.

Okay, maybe I'm not getting where I meant to go with this story. There was a sea of litter in the streets, and there were massive, massive, copious, and vast quantities of people of all sexualities present. But the big rainbow banners and men in assless chaps weren't there for the straight women. This girl and I had a running contest on who would have the most guys checking them out if we sat down for a while. She won, but not by a lot, if I remember correctly... Anyway, we got our goodly drink on, and then we realized that it was time to get back home, because we all had class. Wait, scratch that, we all had to attend classes.

The streetcar, running at a fantastic $1.25 for a ride anywhere on the line, is full. It doesn't just have everyone filling its seats, it has everyone filling its seats, someone on everybody's lap, and people lined up all through the aisle. We were mashed into that car like Brahms in a bathtub. It was amazing and sickening at the same time. The car starts to go, and then I realize that, due to a certain amount of drinking that I've done over the course of the evening, I have to use the little boys room. I tried to stop myself. I held on to the seat for my life, but the constant jostling of the people around me, and the smell of rancid beer on people's breath was making me feel a little queasy as well. I couldn't take it. At the next stop, I bailed out the window. The night air was so refreshing, the Trolley Stop café was just across the street. I went in, did my business, and walked back outside. I realized that due to the frequent stopping of the car, I was barely away from the street I had started at, and would have a quite lengthy walk back to school.

No big deal, I thought, and started walking. I hadn't calculated walking distance at this time, and I still haven't, but I'm guessing that it takes about 2 and a half hours to take the trip. Let's put it this way. I was sober by the time I got home. Anyway, I'm walking, and walking and there are these people in front of me... Well, mom always said not to talk to strangers, and I'd not found reason to learn my lesson, so I introduced myself to them, and we talked a little on the way. Apparently, they'd dropped acid all the way to New Orleans on a Greyhound bus. They were genial enough though, so we discussed various laws on what was and wasn't legal to do around New Orleans, and what you can get away with that isn't. It was an interesting discussion, and I was left with the thought, "Geez, everyone I know from college is way worse at making conversation. I wonder why more people like this didn't end up at Tulane."

Anyway, they got off St. Charles quite a ways before I did, and I ambled home singing to myself... I got back to my dorm to find my roommate, passed out from drinking hand grenades.