The GPS Screamed turn around turn around as if the raven screaming never more never more,
I ended up in the place where a girl could get a dime bag or so much more so much more.
I saw the hood the projects and some kick as heels fishnets a couple weaves and long ass nails,
finally the guy turned around and I asked him how the fuck to do I get my white ass to the Ritz Carlton.
He came back at me with, " oh shit pretty woman you all lost and fuck aint you?"
No shit Nyquil, Help a speckled bitch out.
I get there and drive my crusty dusty missing a hub cap from the bumper car extravaganza french fries in the seat belts empty mt dew bottles littering the floor boards over flowing ashtray cracked windshield from a kayak totally hoptie mini van up in the Ritz Vallet. BAM. Suck on THAT bitchez. They open the door and hug my ass. Can I just say, THAT RIGHT THERE IS THE WAY TO GET A FUCKING TIP? yeah you roll my fat ass out of a car after playing bumper cars in the projects and breathing in a paper bag and hug me and hand me some wine? YOU ARE GETTING TIPPED! possibly a blow job. just saying, that is service.
All I can say is that NOLA was awesome as it always is, I have the luxury of going there whenever I want. So do my children. It's just next door. So we are "locals". But it was nice to see some old friends, put some faces to some names, and then meet some new people.
I also nearly stabbed a few bitches. Just saying. I didn't pass out 1 damn card the entire time. I know you're shocked right? Not. yeah. you know me. In fact I used my real first name
Then the entire Joe and the Volcano luggage chick? Shit, I nearly flung myself on a friggin fork, seriously. Thank Bob for Brandy in the Club lounge.
The Highlight was a tie. I can't decide whether it was when I out drank this guy in the French Quarter because he was being all douchey ( he wasn't a blogger and I am not naming names here). OR The Reading at the Eiffel Society ( not so much the reading as what went down in the bathroom and no I can't name names or give details for like 7 years or some shit).
So there, that's how it went and I came home and I didn't get anything pierced or inked and there's nothing new on MY record, and my husband and kid used every dish we have and my dalmatian was left outside overnight and got attacked by a chupacabra and now he is all red, white and black, so they immediatly did the entire buzz kill from my awesome 3 day New Orleans trip like being drunk off your ass and getting the most awesome thrown against the wall lay of your life in high school and then walking in to your moms church group at the kitchen table while you have your panties in your purse and your Grandad walks up to hug you. Yeah. BUZZ-KILL.....
*Disclaimer- He totally could have gotten his own ass out of jail and didn't need a bondsman, it's called an OR, but Mr. Drunkfuck was too drunkied Drunkfestified Drunkfucked to even know how to sign his own fucking name on the OR bond ( Own Recognizance) . Don't ever fucking try to go shot for shot against me douche face.