Mardi Gras Day

We start out by walking down Burgundy at 8 a.m. to avoid the crowds. We have to get from Canal St. to the Marigny for Gretchen's breakfast in less than 30 minutes. I'm in full on Disco Angel attire. Patrick does not dress up. Me and 95% of the adult population have already been drinking.


At Gretchen's people sachet in tutus and sequence and feathers. Mostly, it's bloody mary's or jack daniels on the rocks. There is egg casserole and organic figs and, praise Jesus, donut holes. After gorging, it's time to go find the parade.


All through the the Marigny, sections of the St. Anne's parade snake through the streets yearning to meet up and finally march down to the Quarters. You can tell them by the colorful streamers waived high in the air by the Flag Carrier.


We tag on to one of these groups and follow them through two bar hops before they meet up with the larger group. By this time, we are to Frenchman St., and we see some friends dressed as pirates. They make us drink rum from their flasks and growl "Arrrrrhh Matey."


Pushing our way forward with the parade, sometimes both feet leaving the ground for extended periods, I can't remember how we made it up to the Chart Room. Helen held out a beer. I think I've had enough liquor. I need a nap, so I take one.


Thereafter, we make our way to Decatur near the French Market where I find myself sat in a self-made RV between two of my oldest friends. Some kind of homemade rum punch, there is a fight with a smart-assed guy in a wheelchair who pushes himself dangerously into the street holding up both middle fingers to us all.


After that, it all gets a bit fuzzy.

Yeah, laissez les bon temps rouler because tomorrow it's ashes for everyone.