Gringo's New Orleans Trip - Part I
Review By: Gringo

Damn it! I wrote some hilarious introduction about my holiday to New Orleans but because I was drunk I ended up deleting it. Damn it all to Hell! Anyway, I'll try and recreate it. Prepare for 50% less comedy! And with my regular level of comedy, we're talking negative numbers, baby!

So this is a tale of whimsy about the time I went to New Orleans. My grand plan was to get wasted the two nights I was there - a Friday and Saturday - in the French Quarter because, hey, let's face it, getting drunk is the only thing that city has going for it. Besides, I'd seen the movie The Big Easy so I felt like an expert on the place already, cher. I was going to eat gumbo and beignet (maybe together) and assumed that everyone would speak in thick Cajun tones and practice voodoo. If they did not do all these tasks, I planned to cause a scene. What kind of scene I was unsure. Perhaps I would have scowled lots.

My stay there was part of a four-stop wonder-skip across the US, which started with a few days in another American city, which shall remain nameless FOR NO REASON! On the last night in that city, my friend decided to take me to some bars. Great. It was after this night out that I came to the conclusion that alcohol and airplanes don't mix. I got ridiculously drunk and awoke the next morning naked on my hotel bathroom floor, my hair and body coated in vomit, a slave-labour factory's worth of cheap towels for some reason thrown across the room and having an intense desire to keep on vomiting. I was also shivering like a bitch, even though the room was ridiculously warm, and had a headache that was more painful than watching the McEnroe talkshow. ZING 2004!

So...back at the hotel. I sent my insides hurtling into the toilet bowl and somehow managed to get packed and even get to the airport. My intention was to sleep peacefully on the plane then part-ay in the place people with speech impediments like to call N'awlins. There's some clever literary reference I can make to best laid plans, but I don't recall it off-hand and I can't be bothered to Google and pretend I know it, so screw that. Suffice to say my night out before the flight ruined my holiday in New Orleans.

I should have known when I got to the airport that I wasn't going to have a good time in my second destination. I vomited twice in the airport restrooms, and if you're reading this chances are you've been in an airport toilet. No matter where you are in the world, they seem to be have been visited by the same person; a guy who pisses on the seat, uses up all the toilet roll, leaves his huge turd floating in a sea of toilet water and pee and manages to abandon a stray pubic hair or two. The cubicle I was in had been paid such a visit, but somehow I managed to avoid skin contact with the leftovers of the tiny room's last occupant as I let a spray of vomit cascade into the bowl. Despite the fact I heard someone outside saying "Ewww!" in response to my retching noises, at least I flushed.

Once finished in the toilet, I wandered around the terminal and then fell asleep lying across a number of departure lounge chairs. Which reminds me; have you ever fallen asleep in a public place but been really worried when you wake up that you got an erection during your nap? Guys tend to wake up in the morning with boners (unless they're impotent) and we've all done that thing back at school of covering up our members with a folder or bag when we got all excited (or pencil, if you're Ross' brother...don't touch the pencils). But to my knowledge I've never woken up with an erection in public. Still, there's always that awkward feeling, especially when the old couple opposite me stared in what looked like disgust at me when I woke up. Maybe it was because I stank of vomit. Who cares? They'll be dead soon anyway.

Holy [deity of choice here], I've written a buttload already and as far as the story's concerned I haven't even arrived in New Orleans yet.

Anyway, after puking my guts out at the airport, it was time to board the flight. Hilariously, the couple in front of me were bumped because the plane was overbooked. While the couple argued with a desk attendant, another desk person looked at my ticket, made a comedy sneer at the angry duo, then said to me (very loudly) "You're fine". Hooray! If you think that makes me sound like an asshole, be reassured by the fact I get treated like a prick day in, day out. Seriously, how many fat asses don't know how to walk in a straight line either on the streets or on the subway? Please block my path, I really enjoy it! Oh? What's that? You want to cut in front of me and then COMPLETELY HALT? Great idea!

I hope you know that everything up until this point was written while standing up, drinking $7.99 white wine, eating soggy lemon sorbet and standing at my kitchen counter because there's nowhere else in the house with 'net access at the moment. Yes, I am that pathetic. Please be my friend. I figure that if I can put that much dedication into writing this shit, you can show an equal amount of commitment by reading all of it. ALL OF IT, I SAY!

On the flight, I mercifully had an aisle seat. About 20 minutes after takeoff I made my first visit to the toilet. The rest of this paragraph is taken straight from my best and worst of 2004 article...I vomited no less than six times in the airplane toilet. You know how cramped they are? It's near impossible to crouch down and get your face near the toilet bowl. Even worse, the last of the six vomits, some fat cunt had taken a huge crap and the tiny little toilet stank. It made me throw up the minute I locked the door, and it went everywhere. I mean everywhere; the mirror, the door handle, my clothes, I think I even got some in those little cups for water they put in the toilet.

Eventually the flight was over, and I was in New Orleans. Maybe it was the fact I swear someone called me "honky" or maybe it was the fact the "Welcome To New Orleans" poster had the word FUCK scribbled on it, but I guess I should have known my brief stay there wasn't going to be a huge success. And now you know the rest of the story! Well, not really, but I'm going to have to split this into two articles. Stay tuned to read all about my super-fun happy-time in the City That Care Forgot.

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