This year, I thought it rather foolish to go to New Orleans for a 13th time and spend my 4th Mardi Gras, given my crossing into “upper thirties” territory last June and my work wife’s turning 40 just a couple months ago.  Also, how was I to top my Buddy the Elf does Mardi Gras experience of 2011?  Luckily, I pushed such foolish defeatist thoughts from my head and went, because basing plans on “I’m way too old and mature for this” or predicted rain storms are for the unimaginative and the perpetually homebound.

I’ve met those people, and I am not they.

I decided I would NOT get off the plane and go to Pat O’Brien’s to down 4 quick Hurricanes this year by 1pm like I did last year, so we met with a marketing firm that might actually help us get more business, so that we can go on more educational, life-affirming trips like this one.  After an hour of that, such plans ceased, and we dropped off suitcases with the bellhop and bolted for Bourbon Street without even seeing our room, because everyone knows stopping by one’s room at the beginning of a vacation only leads to unproductive and meaningless sex with one’s straight male work colleague, which is the last thing I wanted on a Thursday afternoon in New Orleans.  No sir.

“Get thee to a tavern!” the voice in my head said, and if I’ve learned anything in my 36 years, it’s to listen to that voice in my head.  You know the one.  So we went to Desire Oyster Bar AND THEN Pat O’s for some Hurricanes, because that’s what wise veterans of Mardi Gras do.  We met more lawyers and vendors who love to get lawyers’ business from our conference, and they said things like, “Hey- I didn’t know y’all were at the conference this year…you must’ve been sitting on the other side of the room!” so I said things like, “Bitch, I know what you’re insinuating.” and then stared at them until they shuffled off without suggesting I hadn’t exactly BEEN to the conference yet, because it’s THE BARS that are important in New Orleans, not continuing legal education.

According to Foursquare, we visited some other bars, and I met kind people like this medical illustrator, who became a close friend with her non-verbal communication skills:

Will you come home with me and babysit my children?

After around 1am, my fairly new boots started rubbing me the wrong way, so I went back to the room to change shoes, and while I was up there I thought:  “if I go back there, I’m going to spend the next 3 days in misery, convulsing and throwing up like the past several years.  Maybe I should go to bed.”  So, I did.  My work wife came in around 5.

After breakfast in bed–because that’s what same sex work colleagues do to take their awkward friendship to the next level–we headed to one of my favorite places to eat a dead pig in the world:  Cochon.  I love Cochon like I love hot coffee and a crushed ice blow job.

Then we went to the historic Columns Hotel in the Garden District to drink many many Pimm’s Cups that were delicious and made all the colors on the floats in the Krewe of Hermes parade more beautiful.  Especially after ignoring Yelp’s advice on refusing more than one margarita at Superior Grill, because heeding the advice of Yelpers is not what one does when the drinking began at noon that day.  Besides, they were delicious.

See the pretty colors?

This is 3 minutes long, but it shows more pretty colors and how much fun parades can be (even for the kids!):

After the parade ended, everyone returned to their rooms to put on nicer clothes for our Friday night on Bourbon Street.

At the historic Carousel Bar at Hotel Monteleone, we received several stares, a few laughs, and two roses from one older woman who found Mike’s pants and my lederhosen “very different.”

It’s hard to blame her, isn’t it?

I don’t always wear pants, but when I do, I will fucking blind you with them.

How come I don’t wear this to court…yet?

We then hit some bars with music and crowds, and I’m not sure what happened until we went to bed, but I’m glad it wasn’t too horribly late, because Saturday was approaching quickly, and Saturday matters.

Saturday morning, I stood in line over an hour to eat at Stanley Resturant in Jackson Square, but it was worth it (after the milkshake I had in line to stop the shakes…see the irony there?).  But then the forecast rain began, and it came hard.  We hit several costume shops for everyone in our group to be suitably dressed for the annual balcony party, and we happened to pass an Ace Hardware, and someone said, “Hey, why don’t we go as a German beer drinking team…with FUNNELS!” and that person became our leader forever.

The next half hour went like this:

1)  Choose your hose.

2) Get the Ace employee who greeted our entrance with, “Let me guess–y’all want to make beer bongs?!” to help.

3) Stand and smile, because this shit is about to get real.

Now it was time for another costume change and to see how this plan would work, because it was 4-something in the afternoon, and we all know what “after” and “noon” mean when used in concert:  you are behind on your drinking.

Lederhosen!

Photographs taken into mirrors connote the sensitive, artsy type.

If Dale Carnegie didn’t include “Go out on Bourbon Street in lederhosen while carrying beer bongs” in his famed “How to Win Friends and Influence People” book, then there clearly needs to be a 21st-centruy corollary written by me.  Learn why after the jump:

Take this kind lass, who decided to forego the beers and go straight for icy mixed cocktails, because it was daylight and rainy, and why not?  She was a friend, and she was influenced.

Or this skilled coed from U of Colorado:  friend.  influenced.

Or these teachers from Detroit:

Or the social workers from Houston:

And our friend, Mel, whom even the cops couldn’t stop!

And even a few dudes joined in the fun, buying one beer for me for every one they put in the funnel, because that’s how capitalism is SUPPOSED to work.  And, again:  friends who have been influenced.

Around midnight, I succumbed to the suggestion to try my first 5 Hour Energy vile, and around 4:30am, I decided donning a horse head and tutu on Canal Street would be a great way to conclude the evening.  This may or may not have caused us to miss the plane ride home.

This is what TSA agents saw Sunday morning, because I am awesome.
And you can’t coach “awesome.”

That being said, it bears repeating:  bring beer bongs and lederhosen to Mardi Gras.  It’s your civic duty.

Thursday evening at 5pm, I landed in New Orleans to finish what I started at Mardi Gras.  Or to live blog a mom blogging conference.  Or maybe it was to meet the last blogger I’ve enjoyed reading for years but had yet to meet.  Or I felt obligated to rejoin the friends I’d made at the M3 Summit.

Regardless, I went.  And, within 10 minutes of leaving my house toward the airport, realized I’d left my glasses at home and would be without them for the first time in nearly 30 years.  But no matter.  Vision is optional in New Orleans.

I grounded my gear in John Cave Osborne‘s room while waiting on the guys with whom I was sharing a timeshare to arrive.  JCO went to the gym with a stern “Don’t do any…MUSKRAT SHIT…in my room while I’m gone for 30 minutes.”  I don’t even know what that means, but I respected it.

That night was full of cocktails, catching up with old friends, meeting a few new ones, and exploring Bourbon Street until 3:30am.  Dinner was burgers at Port of Call.  At some point, I sneaked over to Cat’s Meow and put my name on the list before the rest of the group entered the bar.  An hour or so later, the dirty talk began:

I’m not sure who the short girl with curly hair is, but she certainly was NOT invited on stage.

The next morning, I was to “live blog” the Mom 2.0 blog with the “dads track” sessions, which was more difficult than I thought, so I was glad to have gotten 4 hours of sleep.

As was mentioned above, I had really looked forward to meeting Jim from Sweet Juniper and Heather/Jon from Dooce.com for the first session, and I was not disappointed.  All were as cordial and as interesting to talk to about the craft as I had hoped.  Turns out Jim went to law school with one of my best friends from high school and college.

Here are Jim, Doug the Laid Off Dad, and Jon:

That night, we spent a great deal of time eating Cajun and then consuming an amalgamation of beverages we affectionately (at the time) named the Louisiana Purchase:

Four Loko and Maker’s Mark?  Don’t mind if we do.

You know you’re a scintillating conversationalist, when the table is reacting like this:

Thanks for the attention, Georgia, Tania, and Karianna!

Judging by my FourSquare updates, we hit Igor’s Bar about 5am, where four of us stayed until sunrise, leaving only when a man with a dog came in for breakfast.  And some private time.

Man gets intimate with dog in Mardi Gras beads.  That shit don’t happen in Atlanta, y’all.

Here we are a few minutes before I tapped out and crawled next door to the hotel:

Saturday, I didn’t quite make the morning sessions, but did have lunch at the conference, and enjoyed a Jazz Tour sponsored by PBS that was absolutely excellent.  Even for a cracker who doesn’t really listen to jazz.

Here’s some outstanding musicians schooling us on ragtime and jazz funerals at Preservation Hall:

You can’t NOT have chills and permanent grins while sitting this close to a bunch of guys doing what they love and doing it well.

And, I got to visit the 2nd most visited grave in the U.S., which was cool, since I’ve been to Graceland three times:

Queen of the Voodoos?  I’ll never know for sure.

That night, it was more parties and some readings by 11 writers.

From the roof of the Ritz Carlton with Pauline (who was part of a rooftop group with me in Manhattan last summer):

But it wasn’t all debauchery.  Unlike the BlogHers I’ve been to, I actually spent a fair amount of time discussing this hobby (or job, to most attendees) of ours called blogging.  Is it dying or growing?  Does it matter?  Will dads ever have the prominence and clout with markers that the moms have?

And one of the many great benefits of late nights and free flowing Louisiana Purchases is that people don’t have a problem being candid about such topics outside the sessions themselves, even when the feedback is personal.  Am I a dad blogger?  I wasn’t on any of the panels, but I’ve been writing longer than most of the folks who spoke.  Is it because I don’t take this seriously?

Doug asked me after announcing the brand spanking new Dad 2.0 Summit coming out in March 2012 if I pictured myself reading a post on stage like he and Ron did this year.  Or leading a panel.  And you know what?  I do.  I gave him several ideas about topics I think dad bloggers would be interested in–topics I can actually educate others about regarding online marketing, building a brand through humor, etc. — all lessons I’ve learned from blogging that translated to marketing my “real” job.  And if Doug wants my assistance, I want to give it.  I like the guy and respect the hell out of him.  The same can be said for the other guys with whom I spent several hours after all the normal people went to sleep.  This might be surprising to those whose acquaintances are only seen at work or the monthly HOA meeting.

So between the conversation with Doug and the few I had with Britt and other mom bloggers about how I’m “not nearly the asshole portrayed online in real life” and should “write more of my serious posts,” I may veer into some more honest, traditional “dad blogging” posts from time to time.  Keeping it real.  More to follow on that.

As long as I don’t abandon my cowboy status or turn into a loser.

1.  Cut a hole in a box.

Wait.  Wrong list.

To Win At Mardi Gras 2011, One Must:

1.)  Bring the right ammunition.

2.) Power through the sleep deprivation.

3.) Pick the right balcony.

4.) Pay attention to the signs.

5.) Remember the children.

6.) Watch for mythic creatures.

7.) Honor thy Captain.

8.) Go with a Christmas theme.

9.) Come strong.

The rest of the story:

Before arriving in New Orleans, my work wife and I shipped four boxes filled with thousands of high end beads and 50 feather boas to the W.  Upon checking into the room and our conference at 11am, we promptly left said conference for Pat O’Briens, where I declared it time to have ONE hurricane.  But that didn’t work.

Three hurricanes each later and still without lunch, we wandered up to the Tropical Isle for hand grenades.  Inside, I saw the sign pictured in the blurry shot above (#4) and thought I’d call the phone number listed underneath the bar owners’ names, figuring I’d leave them a nice voicemail.  A lady answered the phone.

Her:  Hello?
Me:  Hey!
Her:  Well…hello!
Me:  I’m at your bar!
Her:  Really?  That’s nice…which one?
Me:  Y’all have more than one of these things?  I’m on Bourbon.
Her:  Why, yes…three on Bourbon!
Me:  I’m at…Hell, I don’t know!  I think I’m at the original.
Her:  Well, that’s nice.  Is everything okay there?
Me:  Did you know you caused me to miss a formal in 1994?
Her:  Oh no–I’m sorry about that…
Me:  Yeah, I woke up a few hours after trying a few of your “hand grenade” drinks on the floor of my hotel room, and while my fraternity brothers, dressed in tuxes, laughed at me sprawled out on the carpet.  It was humiliating!
Her:
Me:  Well, I just thought you should know that.  I’m doing better today.
Her:  Okay, well, thanks for calling…

Then we walked outside to find a child turning a hand grenade vertical on the sidewalk (see picture #5).

Dinner was at the jacket-required (sorry, Phil Collins) Galatoire’s, where we were handed “to go” cups and our ticket before we’d finished our meals, because of my affinity for loudly declaring that THIS TOWN IS FILLED WITH WHORES!  I think we went back to Pat O’s and to the Cat’s Meow and some other bars with music and drinks and people in them, where I seem to have found that a nap was in order, only to wake up to find most everyone I’d come with was gone, along with my iphone, so I walked back to the hotel to cuddle with my work wife.

Day 2 began with a couple hours spent at the conference we were there to attend.  Then I think we had some oysters, and the weak napped while I got got educated some more at the conference and FINALLY figured out where my iphone was (one of the guys I was with picked it up for me after I walked off from the table where it sat).  That night, my work wife and I had arranged for the balcony at Cat’s Meow (see picture #3) after enjoying some strange beverage that’s been outlawed in most of the country (see picture #2).  The girl next to me on the balcony was 19 and was there with her father, who was in the middle of a divorce and was trying to win the “cool parent” title.  Most of my “overheard” tweets from Friday night demanding to see more tit were from her.

Oh yeah, even though the costume party was set for Saturday night, I thought I’d wear the coat on Friday night, because everyone loves a singing Robin Hood:

Saturday, we watched the Krewe of Tucks parade (see picture #6), which had a theme called “iTucks: what’s APPenning.”

So, the floats were about Farmville.

And Twitter.

And spam.

And Lindsay Lohan.

Next, it was the House of Blues for crawfish and beer, followed by a nap, and then– the highlight of the trip:

Picking a Buddy the Elf costume (from the movie “Elf“) for the Christmas-themed party Saturday night and then walking up and down Bourbon and Royal Streets in said costume has to be the best decision I’ve made in at least 2 years or so.

I was asked for a group picture between 40 and 500 times.  I heard screams of “Hey Buddy, what’s your favorite color?” and “I KNOW you!” and “I’ll help you find your dad, Buddy!” and “What are the 4 food groups, Buddy?” and “Buddy!” from every direction.

Being surrounded by Santa and Mrs Claus for said walks up and down Bourbon made it even better:

And so concluded another monumental Mardi Gras!

At about 4am (or, right after I got asked to leave the bar where I perched upon a stool and declared it my stage).

Am I ready to declare this better than last year’s Mardi Gras trip?  Absolutely.

1. Fleur de Lys Cookie Cutter, $17.95, Paris Market & Brocante
2. Fleur de Lys Dinnerware, $16, Anthropologie
3. Fleur de Lys Bookends, $35 for set of 2, $Ballard Designs
4. Fleur de Lys Sugar Pot, $10, Anthropologie
5. Fleur de Lys Hook Rack, $38, Anthropologie
6. Fleur de Lys Custom Ink Stamps, $48, Horchow

Last weekend we went to the great city of New Orleans to visit our good friends the Andersons who just brought a sweet bundle of joy into the world in September and are living on a boat like crazies. 

Since KT is a loyal watcher of MWS, we invited her to guest star! We had difficulties squeezing movie-watching into all the fun-having, but we made time! I chose Little Shop of Horrors because nobody would vote on/choose a movie, and I just couldn’t bring myself to watch Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. Maybe next time.

Katie’s boat provided a cocoon-like set for the recording, so the sound is great and the lighting is moody. ENJOY!