widowcentauri

I am sorry liver. That was totally uncalled for. Please forgive me.

In Adventure, deviance, drinking, fun, pissing, Widow Centauri on May 2, 2013 at 6:27 pm

Some time back I assumed that finishing school would make me a little batty. I have been a career student for a long time. Being a never quite finished graduate student has become part of my identity. I assumed that I would be a mess when I finally finished. I was right. I have been throughly enjoying my post grad school breakdown.

Months ago I decided I would make a trip to NOLA, immediately after my thesis deadline. I figured that I could be a total fuck up drunk and really sort of celebrate or that if I was not finished I would not be able to relax in the big easy, and that was just not going to happen. So I finished on time and I went to New Orleans.

I spent the first three days Dancing at the Deja Vu on Bourbon street. The money the first two days was crap and I assumed that I would not be able to cope with the situation if it continued as such. But day three a drunk tourtstia gave me a grip of money and we had a fine time in the champagne room. At some point he tried to call me a girl, as a way to insult me. I figured I already had his money so I began to tell him about my thesis. Then when he tried to get a little handsy I showed him the nerve tumor in my foot — sexy, I know. I went home and counted my money. I had enough to entertain me, and the people I had invited, for the rest of the week.

On our way to the festival we had breakfast at Elizabeths and then asked the bartender to call us a cab. We were waiting outside and the cab came. Some dude in a NY Yankees cap moved toward our car. I snatched it right up and jumped in. The cab driver said I couldn’t bring my drink, so we all pounded our beverages as the yankees fan started to whine ‘I called a cab too, how do I know this is your cab?” “Cause I’m in it” I told him. No Yankeess fan was gonna make off with my ride. Me and my people left him standing there looking like the sad man child he was. To the fairgrounds!

At the festival we got wet. Like really really fucking wet. Thunderstorms passed through all day. We saw almost no music, eyeballed some totally amazing and WAY out of my range art, had a couple of beers and pretended we would be able to get into the tent that had BB King playing. As we approached the tent the rain and lighting and thunder and running drunk muddy tourists started to whirl around. We assumed there was no way into that tent. We did not however anticipate the storm only getting heavier, and lasting for hours. We were flooded out of the fairgrounds, drenched. We found some coffee and tried in vain to get a cab, or get on a bus, or somehow make a plan. We were the very last group of wet tourists to get out of there.

But I did manage to pee on a tree in a way that was so super I was really impressed with the level of public pissing that I have mastered. Few women will ever achieve this level of skill. I was able to lean up against the tree, pull my panties aside, shoot piss right out under my skirt and in the massive downpour, no one even noticed.

By the time my people were scheduled to leave, I was trying to figure out if I should stay in NOLA another week, and work the second weekend of Jazz Fest, or come home. I was really on the fence about it. But I had been totally wasted drunk for about a week. I was taking pills and drinking. I got so shitty drunk the last night I was there that I smoked a cigarette with a french guy. I bit the filter off and just puffed the whole thing. I have only smoked two other cigarettes alone in my life. Both times I was drunk and with some french people. I have the disposition of a smoker but I’m a tender flower, my lungs really don’t like tobacco. Yes I am a tender flower DAMIT! Despite the consumption of more alcohol in one week than I had had in two years. I straight didn’t give a fuck. I was on a bender. Drinking, popping pills, smoking cigarettes.

And now I’m home. Home to deal with my life. To deal with the eight months of unwashed laundry shoved in garbage bags, bulging at my closet door. Home to deal with the fact that I didn’t pay the electric bill and I was really pretty stoked to see the lights are still on. Home to dodge my landlord for a few days while I go find a random club to dance in. Home to call the department of education and see what the damage is. Home to deal with all of my undone bullshit.

I really wish I had been able to stay for the duration of Jazz Fest but my inner responsibility got the better of me. And I kept bumping into Hollywood people. All these shit actors were fucking everywhere. Everyone at the pub was second city, I was drinking with the same people I had been drinking with in LaLaLand, only there were flying cockroaches and rats everywhere. I took it as a sign and came home to salvage whatever resemblance of adult life I can.

  1. If ‘home’ is San Diego, let me know and you can do some public pissing or whatever you feel like and get your bankroll refreshed.
    Lee

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