Last night, CS and I decided to take advantage of the babysitter we had arranged to watch Sun while we attended a ball. Not having the proper attire for the ball, we decided instead to take in our first parade of this carnival season, Krewe du Vieux in the French Quarter. This is the first time I’ve caught this parade (how is that possible, I ask myself). We started out meeting Pete at his sister’s place in the Quarter. She lives in the slave quarters of an old New Orleans manse. I especially liked the sign hanging over her sink:

Anywho, we visited the neighbors in the front apartment, bundled up, then stepped into the cold to see the parade. How does one describe Krewe du Vieux? Hmmm. Well, I’ll say that it is satirical, political, and carnal. I think that about covers it. The theme this year was “Magical Misery Tour” borrowing from the Beatles and highlighting the torments continuing to plague the city as a result of Katrina. Here’s the title float (pulled by a mule):

See that building in the background? That’s Nicholas Cage’s NOLA mansion (just around the corner from Brad and Angie’s)! Unfortunately, there was no sighting of him.

There was much ado about “Dollar” Bill Jefferson and David Vitter and their indiscretions.

Here’s a Beatles spoofed float:

Yes, they had marchers dressed like sperm marching in the parade. And the likes of this:

And there were marchers with replications of shit on their heads (”Shitty Hall” spoofing City Hall). Here’s their depiction of Hell (yes, more shit):

The highlight for me was the homage to Lafcadio Hearn quoting the same thing for which I recently quoted him:

The bottom line: this is definitely one for the locals. The locals that like libations. It is off-color and a bit crass. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I caught a cup, a funky hot pink bracelet, a compass, a rubber ball, a wooden doubloon, various paper items (this parade is big on handing out written materials distinct for each float), and one fuzzy die (well, CS caught that).

I am glad Sun was not there. First, it was too damn cold for a baby to be out there. And second, though she’s too young to “get it,” this is not a parade that is appropriate for a child. I should have known!

After the parade (it’s a quickie–it lasted no more than 40 minutes), we walked in the cold looking for a bar. Now, we were in the FRENCH QUARTER freezing our asses off looking for a bar?? Well, to be precise, we were looking for a bar that wasn’t too crowded. Not so easy. We finally stumbled into Flanagan’s Pub. Being a pub, I ordered a black and tan. I was told they were out of ale and Guinness. What kind of stinking pub is this, thought I to myself. Then I saw they have Blue Moon on tap. So I ordered that instead. It cost $4 ($5 with tip). Here’s what a $5 beer on tap looks like (admire the orange slice):

Here’s the cool “A Christmas Story” lamp they have there (that Bloody Mary was left over from the previous people sitting at our table. I call that alcohol abuse):

Pete and CS were not drinking. Errr. So, after drinking my one beer, we left the Quarter and picked up Sun and were home by 9:30pm.

Complaining about the cold? Expensive draft beer? Home by 9:30? WHEN DID I GET OLD?

I was tagged to do a Seven Random Facts About Me meme by Brandy at My Fertility Stories. Here goes:

1. I am left-handed. And this is a right-handed world. From scissors to school desks, from serrated knives to diaper bags (yes, diaper bags–many, if you look close, are designed to be worn on your right shoulder) and manual can openers. Did you know that over 2,500 left-handed people are killed each year using products made for right handers? Yup. On the other hand (the left hand?), we get the sewing machine; it was designed by a lefty and the work is done on the left side of the machine. So, there.

2. I have four siblings, and my entire family (the seven of us) were each given a name from the Seven Dwarfs. I was Bashful. Still am.

3. I am CS’s second wife. Thankfully, he had no children with the first, and she taught him to put the seat down. Thank you, former Mrs. CS.

4. My thumbs are double-jointed. When I do the Fonzie thumbs-up, my thumbs go waaay back. It comes from my mother’s side of the family. And I secretly hope Sun’s thumbs are the same.

5. I can touch my nose with my tongue. Except the other day I couldn’t and it made me sad. But it’s working again!

6. I am addicted to Burt’s Bees lip moisturizer. I go a bit nutty when my lips are naked. I have tubes of the stuff everywhere–beside my bed, with my make up, in my purse and baby bag, in my desk at the office. And I have back-ups ready to go into service if one runs out.

7. And the last random fact that you’ll wish you never knew about me is that CS once drew two dots on the toenail of my second toe. And it made my toe look like the head of a Lego astronaut, à la:

We all recall that I was mysteriously invited to a ball, right? Well, let me expand on what has been happening on that front.

I asked one of my esteemed partners whether he received an invitation. I did so playing with him, teasing him (not thinking he was the person rumored to be the king). Another attorney overheard me and “fussed” me about my lack of manners–that you don’t ask someone if they’ve been invited to a ball because (a) what if they weren’t? and (b) what if he were the king? Uncool.

So I returned to the first attorney, closed the door and apologized for any breach of etiquette I may have committed and for generally being uncouth. He laughed and understood the playfulness of my questioning.

Anywho, I hustled to get a babysitter. I also found a formal dress that fit and confirmed that CS’s tux fit, I mean CS’s invition read “Costume de Rigueur” and God forbid we underdress–they’d deny us entrance! I assumed that fancy (French?) language meant that CS could choose to wear a costume (you, know, masquerade-style) or go in a tux. I thought we were ahead of the game seeing that CS actually owns his own tux. All was set for us to go.

That brings us to today. Yet a third attorney approached me to inquire if we were going (Hey, at least I am not the only one breaching etiquette here!). My feelings, if one of my esteemed partners was putting on TIGHTS for me to see, I was going to be there!

He mentioned the trouble he had getting tails. Tails? Why bother? I asked. “Well,” he responded, “the invitation said costume de rigueur and M [a fourth attorney in my firm] said that means tails and white gloves and all.” At that moment, the attorney who schooled me on ball etiquette walked past my door. And he confirmed that, in fact, tails, white gloves and a white tie would be required of my husband.

So, that’s it folks. We won’t make it. It seems this is Society’s way of separating the wheat from the chaff. We’re chaff, uncouth chaff. It’s probably just as well. Imagine all the breachs of etiquette I’d have made at the ball! Good news, we can now try to go to Krewe de Vieux. In jeans. With the baby.

As I was saying, what happened to K at Endymion several years ago merits its own post. We finished watching Mid-City and continued to enjoy ourselves. N’s husband, J, even bought a wig, too–a huge afro. And at one point in the day, J was quietly working on a project out of the trunk of my car. He’d found a pen and was making a sign out of the inside of a case of beer. It looked like a homeless man’s “Will Eat For Food” sign, but read, “Throw to the ‘Fro.” The riders responded to that ‘fro, too! The beads at Endymion were flung to J at a ratio of 4:1 to us gals. We were no longer amused with his sign.

As the night wore on and Endymion was winding down, a pair of long beads were flung from a float. They were headed straight to K. She was looking the other way. The beads hit her smack in the face. In the mouth to be exact. She yelped and put her hand to her mouth. She then screamed, “My tooth! It’s chipped!!” Sure enough, there was a small piece of her front tooth missing. Though small, it was noticeable.

Of course, that threw a wet blanket on the parade. We traipsed back to my office where we were parked. K called her mother and tried to arrange to fly home right then. We tried to talk her into staying, but it was hard to say that it wasn’t noticeable. She kept saying, “I look like a redneck!” which just made us smother our laughter.

To our delight, the cost of the airfare was too high and K decided to stay. We had dinner and then went for drinks at the Rivershack. By night’s end, K seemed to be calmed down about her tooth. She decided to get it fixed once she returned home.

K came back for Mardi Gras last year. And don’t you know that she never did get that chip fixed? She claims she has come to like her “redneck grin” and it reminds her of a great time she had with her friends. That, or she’s been too busy to get it fixed these some eight years!

If you have been reading me for some time, you may remember when Pete switched my blog software to Word Press. At that time, he set it up such that my website went from simply www.nolanotes.com to www.nolanotes.com/wordpress. Being the anal retentive person that I am, that “slash wordpress” has annoyed me ever since.

Today, Pete fixed it back. So, if I could bother all who have blogrolled me (and if you haven’t, then why don’t you?) to please be sure that you have simply www.nolanotes.com blogrolled and not that pesky “/wordpress” too.

Oh, and what inspired Pete to do this today? The fact that he transferred his blog away from my website and to his own (sniff, sniff). Go check him out at www.mybigeasylife.com (and if you’ve had him blogrolled, now would be a good time to update him, too).

I apologize for the inconvenience and any trouble this may have caused! I promise it won’t change again!!

All,

I was happily wearing my blue wig (generously donated to me by Southern Mom two years ago) all day Saturday. During Endymion, she was getting a bit loose, and before I knew it, she was off my head. So as not to be K screaming, “who took my wig? They’re NOT throwing them from the float!” I grabbed the head sock thingy and my wig and admitted defeat. DAMN.

I turned to CS aghast. My hair was slicked back and stuck–it’d been socked too many hours and I didn’t have a brush. CS could see my situation and lovingly and without hesitation offered me his knitted cap and traded for Ms. Blue Wig. Wow! To complete the ensemble, I gave him the pink boa I’d just caught off a float. All was well in the world. Endymion riders threw like it was the end of the world and everyone was happy. Did I mention CS had drank a bottle and a half of wine by himself by this point?

The parade ended, and we all go back to our friend’s house. CS, again, graciously and selflessly loaded the car with pots and beads and coats and ice chests and, oh, Ms. Blue Wig. We gave the pink boa to a friend visiting from D.C. I am sure that boa has stories to tell!!

Then Monday rolled around and we were heading out to Orpheus. And I realized Ms. Blue Wig was <gasp> MISSING!!!! ohmygod! This was awful! I searched my car and trunk, called Pete to see if it was in his truck–he’d driven our BBQ pit to and from the parade route, and called friends to see if it was with them (which I was adamant it WAS NOT). No one had seen her. ALAS. I didn’t even want to wear her for Orpheus, but the thought that she was GONE from my Mardi Gras experience was too sad to contemplate.

So ALL NIGHT, people, I BADGERED CS and scowled at him and would not let it go (yeah, you know me and know what I’m talkin’ ’bout). So FIRST thing when we get home, I’m all, “so, where’s my wig???” And CS is all, “it’s with my coat–I haven’t seen it since Saturday night either, and I am sure it is here. CHILL OUT.” Then moments later with a smothered chuckle he says, “oh, well, here’s my coat.” Of course, NO MS. BLUE WIG!!! Dammit.

Now I am good and angry. So, of course, I’m all, “well, go check my car again.” I am now working in my head a sad eulogy for Ms. Blue Wig. He’s outside for three long minutes and finally comes inside with a Sav-a-Center bag and says, “Apologize.” Ms. Blue Wig was safe and sound and not even too tangled!!! So I willingly apologized–and called him all kinds of heroic and endearing names! But that wasn’t enough. He, deservingly, wants a PUBLIC APOLOGY–not only to those who witnessed my scathing treatment of him, but also to EVERYONE on the parade route tonight. Well, that I could not do.

So this will have to do: CS, I apologize. I truly thought Ms. Blue Wig was gone. And you never lost faith. I am humbled by your strength and ability to put up with my pestering. You are a good man. Indeed.

To those of you who know Ms. Blue Wig, you will of course rejoice with this GLORIOUS NEWS!!

HAPPY MARDI GRAS!!!!!!

-Nola (and Ms. Blue Wig)

Note: This was originally an e-mail sent on 19 February 2007.

Several years ago, I had friends in for Mardi Gras. Though “foreigners,” they were no strangers to Mardi Gras. We went to the parades be-wigged, me in a blue wig loaned to me by Southern Mom, N in her purple wig, and K in her lime green one.

We went downtown and caught Mid-City awaiting Endymion. During Mid-City, I stayed in the back soaking in the scene, not fighting for catches. K, being that foreigner, jumped into the crowd scene in hopes of catching long beads.

To K’s delight, a float stopped in front of the crowd. The riders began to rain down on the crowd throws galore–beads, cups, doubloons. The crowd was frenzied.

Then one of the riders gave up on a tangled mass of beads and threw the lot to the crowd. It landed squarely on K’s head. Bodies dove, hands scampered. It was like feeding time in an aquarium.

When K came up for air, her wig was gone. On her head was the hair sock. Oh, I will never forgot that sight. Little tufts of blond hair sticking every which way from beneath that sock. K was not amused; N and I, watching from behind, were enthralled, laughing hysterically.

K then screamed authoritatively to the crowd, “WHO TOOK MY WIG? THEY’RE NOT THROWING THEM FROM THE FLOAT!!” I swear, there was silence. Then a thin black arm appeared from the masses, lime green wig in its hand. She thanked the child, returned the wig crookedly back to her head, took a sip from her daiquiri, and resumed enjoying herself.

What happened to her at Endymion, well, that’s another post entirely.

Over the weekend, the hubs and I received an odd missive in the mail. It was an invitation to the ball of a very old Mardi Gras krewe. CS was also asked to “serve on the Committee and participate in the general dancing after the fourth dance,” and I, addressed as Mrs. Captain Sarcastic, was asked to also join the Queen’s reception.

To our knowledge, we do not know anyone in this krewe. The ball is this coming Saturday. I’d have to either squeeze into an old formal dress or buy a new one in one week (not likely) and get a babysitter. We were inclined not to go.

But at lunch in the office today, I mentioned my odd missive and lo! several in my office got them, too. So many, in fact, that there is now the suggestion, a rumor, that the 2008 king of the krewe is a member of my firm.

I LOVE a good mystery. I have made gentle inquiries and studied responses. I’ve learned very little.

But intrigued I am. So now I have to get all dolled up and get a babysitter. Because even if I didn’t go to learn for myself who invited us, I am curious about the goings on at these august balls. Plus, I’ll have something good to blog about come Sunday.

Update: A dress fits! A dress fits! Now, to get a babysitter and an appointment for an updo.

Further Update: We have a babysitter!! A teenage relative. Oh, lordy! I am scared! But we are GOING!

When I moved out of my parents home, I had a new vacuum cleaner. Everything else was secondhand–bed, dresser, kitchen table, sofa, coffee table, TV, TV stand, side tables, appliances, washer, dryer, refrigerator. And over the years, I’d upgrade to new or better secondhand furniture.

When I moved to my last apartment before getting married, I bought a kitchen table and four chairs from a friend who was moving to California. When I moved in with CS, I reluctantly gave/threw away my junky furniture. I knew that if it didn’t work with CS, I’d have to start over with every last stick of furniture. That was scary.

That table and chairs, though, I could not part with. The table started out in the kitchen and the chairs scattered in the dining area. Then that was too crowded. So the table got moved to the spare room to be used as my sewing table and the chairs went into the attic. But I wasn’t using the table for sewing so the table ended up being stored in the attic, too.

All the while, CS kept asking me to get rid of it. We’d use the set every Christmas Eve. But it seemed a bit excessive to keep for use just one day a year. But I held on to it. Something nagged at me to keep it.

My friend had recently moved back from California and had a nice new kitchen set. She gave no thought to her old table and chairs.

Then Katrina hit. Our home and its contents were fine. My friend lost everything. Except her table and chairs. We gave them back to her. It’s as though I had been storing them especially for her.

Katie over at Overflowing Brain challenged her readers to do better than her on an Eighth Grade Science test. I failed said test
The site she linked to, however, has all manner of fun quizzes. Quizzes to test whether you’d survive a zombie apocalypse (36%), how much your dead body would be worth for its parts ($4,200), your odds of eating your friends in a blizzard (33%). You know, fun stuff.

I took the geek quiz and scored only about a 30%. The hubs, however, scored 85%. I have now had the explanation of “who shot first” relayed to me twice. Errr. If you don’t what that means, it’s a good thing.

So I settled in on a quiz I thought I’d thrive at–whether I am a lush. And lo! I AM! I scored 83%. I know, big shocker! I am better at knowing my booze than, apparently, a lot of odd things. I attribute that to growing up in New Orleans. When my friend tells her daughter to grab a screwdriver, the daughter grabs OJ and vodka.

Weird that CS is more of a geek than I am a lush. Anywho, all this testing has made me thirsty. So while I go get a beer, go here and have fun with all the quizzes. I’d love to know your results!