Saturday Boringday?

The life of a single girl isn’t always as glamorous as it seems. Saturday was one of those days. A trip to Target, a venture to the suburbs to meet a friend for a beer, moping (and by moping, I mean eating Baked Doritos, drinking Diet Coke and writing blog posts) about on my porch due to the lack of a social life here – ah, the mundane boring things that married people do!

But then, sometimes the life of a single girl IS as glamorous as it seems!!

A call out to my assistant, pleading for girly time lifted my mood immediately. She had mentioned earlier in the day that she had made a verbal commitment for the evening (which depressed me immediately because I was being a negative nancy). Turns out, the verbal commitment was with a couple co-workers at a super cute restaurant with a fabulous patio.

She had told me a week or so prior about the exclusive “Veuve” parties thrown by one of our co-workers. I didn’t know him that well, but when someone says Veuve, I say how high? I agreed immediately and inquired about the dress code. Fancy schmancy, of course. And what better dress to wear than my new dress straight out of Sex and the City 2?! I of course wanted to wear my new shoes, but the pedicure I treated myself to the day prior dictated open toed shoes. Not wanting to change my yellow purse out for the black one, I settled on these, in blue snakeskin. Yum.

We met at my place and cabbed it here, an ULTRA cute restaurant in the Marigny that used to house servants on an old plantation. The history in this city is amazing. We sat in the little courtyard, sipping champagne, the sounds of water fountains dancing in our ears. While I wasn’t particularly hungry, the crab cake was toying with me, until I saw the macadamia nut cheesecake on the menu. Dessert for dinner? Sold.

After a while, we packed up and into the “bus”, and headed off to the house party. I assumed this would be a most extravagant event, with tons of fabulous people, and amazing appetizers. I was a bit disappointed it was just the four of us, only because the utter hotness I was radiating was completely and utterly wasted with three girls, one husband and the first member of my NOLA gaytourage. Once I got past that though, it was super fun. The house was pure southern charm – his partner is an artist and basically painted the whole house. It was stunning!

We made it through three bottles of Veuve before we cracked the absinthe….in fairness, I only had a sip, but it was much better than I remember it. Maybe it was in the presentation (traditionally with a spoon and flaming sugar vs. out of a bottle in Ireland), maybe it was the company (fabulous colleagues), but it was delightful – the anise danced all over my tongue and down my throat, warming everything as it made its way to its resting spot.

It was one of the best evenings I’ve had since I’ve been here – so thanks to all involved. I really appreciate and can’t wait for the next time.

This will not destroy me....

It will make me stronger! Cliché, cliché, cliché. I’m a walking, talking, living, breathing cliché. Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m also a ridiculous blonde sometime, most recently in the sense that I completely blew off a site tour at another hotel to watch soccer. Really?! I neglected to put it in my Outlook calendar; if it’s not in my Outlook calendar, it doesn’t exist. I felt awful about it, especially considering what transpired in the interim (future blog post), but because it was at one of our sister properties. Eventually the sales guy made it to the happy hour spot and I bought him a couple beers to smooth things over. How ridiculously unprofessional of me.

We all departed and with my plans for the evening in the same place my phone was a couple months ago (the toilet for those not in the know), I could have sat home and moped about. Instead, I went and had dinner at our hotel bar, and discovered a new bar in a new part of town.

At the Mono concert a couple of weeks ago, a fellow fan and I were discussing music in general and where to go to see it. Music is one thing that is definitely not lacking in this town. He mentioned that there was a similar band playing the following week called “This Will Destroy You” at a bar in the Bywater called Saturn Bar (though for some reason I always want to call it Sunset Bar). I decided to hell with it, I was going to go enjoy some decent live music. Even if it was by myself.

And enjoy I did. They were awesome. A little more rock-y than Mono, but the sound was great. The bar was slightly too small for a stage, so they were actually playing in the audience. I didn’t catch the name of the opening band, but met a couple of the members. Good guys and decent music. Overall, the night could have been a complete bust, but I made the most of it and ended up having a most delightful evening.

Amazing what a little positivity does to a person….

First weekend in the Big Sleaze...

And there was nothing sleazy about it. Friday after work, we were in need of cocktails, so my assistant and I headed to the local. We sat around chatting for a while when the douche from the previous evening waltzed in. Wearing a backwards hat. Sweet, sweet vindication. I love when I make good decisions.

A good friend of mine mentioned that he had another friend that just moved here. We had tried getting together the during the week, but couldn't connect. Anyhow, he said he'd meet us at the bar. In the meantime, another couple of guys had come into the bar, one of whom was also from Minnesota! Finally!! Backup for me!! I wasn't outnumbered by Saints fans!! The five of us laughed and drank and then departed. My assistant needed to get home, so C and I dropped her off. Then he decided he wanted to try his hand at being a "tour guide". So I capitulated and agreed to let him drag me down Bourbon Street. I had been there on a Wednesday, but that was nothing compared to a Friday night in the Quarter.

It's all really fuzzy, but suffice to say, we had some decent beers at the BeerHouse (I think that was the name of it), a Hurricane at Pat O'Briens (during which I NEEDED to call Andi and share the news with her, even though it was 1:30 in the morning and she was DYING to hear from me at this time), bought a "wish stick" at a voodoo shop, and then ended up a a blues bar. The last place was pretty cool. We were testing the theory of bars never closing around here, but only lasted until sometime after 4:30....what can I say, there were cocktails involved?! Suffice to say, I didn't really move out of my bed on Saturday. I ventured out for a bloody at Jean Lafitte's Old Absinthe House, and a gyro, and that was about it. Until 4 or so, when my assistant called again.

She was my tour guide for the afternoon/evening, and let's just say it was a MUCH different tour. We drove around in the Quarter, the Marigny, Mid-City, Bayou St. John and a couple other places. I showed her the house I was looking at and she agreed that it was adorable (more on that in a future post). It happens to be just a few blocks from THE Irish pub in NO - Finn McCool's. Irish as in, owned by Irish peeps right off the boat. A few pints of Guinness were had, and then it started...the whiskey drinking.

I do not generally drink whiskey. I do not generally do anything with whiskey except look at it with disdain. Or pour it out. I strongly dislike the flavor. In the last couple of years, I have been ok with drinking Jameson when it is the only thing in the house, or bar, or garage. I rarely enjoy it. However, when a "nice"* Irish guy that reminds you of Ireland buys Red Breast whiskey (which apparently is pretty good stuff), you drink it. And then you return the favor. And before you know it, you're extremely jealous of your sister, who happens to be a certified whiskey taster.

*in yet another future post, I will explain further the quotes surrounding the whiskey buyer.

Another friend had made an introduction to one of his friends, so I cleared with my assistant that it was cool for me to take off. Plus, I figured she was in good hands. So, off we went to Mick's for karaoke. Drinks were had, bad music was listened to, some good music was listened to and eventually I just needed to sleep....called a cab and made it safely to the confines of my bed, Sunday was pretty much a repeat of Saturday - minus the bloody. I did drink about three gallons of Gatorade though, and was still thirsty. Ordered a pizza for dinner, took a long, hot bath, and watched a ton of chick flicks. Of all the places to have a Sunday Funday, this is the place for it....I just wasn't having it yesterday. There will be many more opportunities, I'm sure.

Tonight will be another low key night. Hopefully picking up keys for my new apartment(!!!) and then watching the season (and series) finale of 24. Have a packed week of training at work, volunteering at work, and still figuring out exactly how I fit in around here. I'll get there. And then I hope all of you do too.

P.S. I WILL be at the Vikes/Saints game 9/9/10. It's official. My buddy bought two tickets and I have my name on the other one now. So, my offer still stands....I'm going to buy 4 tickets - first peeps to send me flight confirmations have first rights to purchase said tickets from me. I'll sell them for what I paid....though the one I'm going on is just south of $200. Do with that info what you wish!

The more things change...

The more they stay the same.....

I'm glad my phone wouldn't let me write this portion of the blog - a few too many Guinness coupled with an irritated lady do not make for niceness. I checked out the apartment in the Quarter, and it was, as expected, quite the fixer-upper. I could see the cuteness of it, but the lack of laundry is really what made me say no. So the search continues.

One of my colleagues was having a day from hell, so happy hour was a must. I had an appointment to look at another place, but we were having too much fun, and so I rescheduled it for today. After my counterpart left, it was just myself and our assistant. We were laughing and discussing the plans for the rest of the evening when a cute boy sat down next to me. He had been in the bar before, and while I thought he was cute, the first thing I noticed was his height. Or lack thereof.

Anyone that knows me knows I'm a tall drink of water. I'm 5'10" flat footed and can frequently be found in 3+" heels. While I'm not opposed to dating someone the same height, I generally don't date guys that are shorter than me. Not that I had any inclination to think he'd even be interested, just throwing it out there. There have been exceptions to the rule, and it's not to say I wouldn't again, but my preference regarding the male species is that they are taller than me. I applaud Nicole Kidman for doing it for so long, but even she upgraded in the height department.

Eventually he introduced himself to us ladies, and apparently works pretty close to us (he also happens to have the same name as my sisters fiancé, so that's strike two). He challenged me to a Google duel with my iPhone (he works for Verizon) and I handily kicked his ass. As such, he bought us a round of drinks. My lady friend departed to some pool thing with her brother, and so I was left to my own devices with this boy.

Pool sounded interesting to me, so we went to some divey place called Chucks. On the walk over, he was telling me about some dating service and arguing about why it was ok for Clinton to get his knob slobbed in the Oval Office by some intern (he for some reason felt it was - strike three). Drinks were ordered, pool table was racked. He made mention of getting laid and I made mention of if he wanted to get laid, he was hanging out with the wrong chick and should probably find somewhere else to get tail. He apparently kept trying, but would not acquiesce to my request for at least a couple of dates first.

Here's where I get irritated. His exact words (or close enough since by this point things were a bit fuzzy) were, "I think you and I will be great friends.". Which I'm completely fine with!! Duh, I just moved here! Dating is the last thing on my mind, and even if it weren't, you're STILL shorter than me! So, my response, in typical me fashion, was, "That's cool. I don't usually date guys that are shorter than me anyway.". Apparently he felt this was a hit below the belt. I was simply stating a fact. When a guy says "I think we'll be good friends", a chick hears "I'm not interested in anything other than sleeping with you", which I had made VERY clear wasn't going to happen. Why is that so flippin difficult to understand!? I very clearly stated my intentions, and he gets upset and calls ME a game player?! WTF?!?! THIS, this is the precise reason I'm not dating! Men are too effing stupid! That's not to say I'm even remotely entertaining the thought of going the other way about it, but whatever.

So he gets huffy and leaves. I'm standing there, in complete disbelief that I've just been left in a bar, by a somewhat cute boy, pool cue in hand, and about ready to cry. I walk to the bathroom, look at myself in the mirror, and say, "He's not worth it. He's not worth crying over. You said what you needed to, and he couldn't handle it, and there's no sense in being upset over someone that's being an idiot.". I pulled it together, sat down at the bar, smoked a cigarette, thanked the bartender for taking care of us and walked out the door, head held high.

And there he is. Across the street on the phone (likely looking for a backup to nail). He crossed to my side of the street and anything he said, I really didn't hear. I just kept walking. I made it to the end of the corner and turned around. He was still standing there. Looking forlornly at me, I think hoping I'd come back. And so, of course, in typical me fashion, I did. He tried to pull me in for a kiss, but I was so steamed I was having none of it. I tried to stop being so emasculating earlier in the evening, but I just couldn't help myself. I pulled up the keypad on my phone and told him he had 5 seconds to give me his number or it was the last time he'd see me. And the countdown was on. He kept trying to speak, but nothing that came out of his mouth was a number. So when I got to zero, I turned around, wrested my arm from his grip and walked away into the night. Part of me hoped he'd come running after me, but the smarter part of me is glad he didn't. I didn't turn around once. And when I got back to my room, and put my head on the pillow, all was right in the world.

He said us meeting was fate, and while it may be, I still think he's a douche and doesn't deserve even the lowliest title of acquaintance.

On to happier things! There is a festival here this weekend called Bayou Boogaloo. I'm so in, it's ridiculous. Will report back on Monday. Have a good weekend all!