https://www.angelfire.com/art2/dream/index.html
writegirl2000@hotmail.com
Ten years ago, when I turned 19, my boyfriend Harold took me to New Orleans. He said we must go because it was an exact hit: February 27th and Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras anyone?
Damn! we had a great time sloshing through puddles of puke and drinking tall wear-around-your-neck glasses of whiskey. My man can drink whiskey like water and still talk like a normal person. One day he may become a big alchie, but right now he rocks. On Bourbon Street he lifted me up to reach the balconies and I flashed every man and woman there. I got twenty-four strings of purple, green, and gold beads and one woman sampled my nipple. Music, blues and Cajun washboard stuff screamed out of the open-door bars. We danced in the streets while the cops were busting other college peeps. I just considered the strobing red lights another form of disco ball.
Like I said, Harry could hold his booze. Good thing too. I don't remember how I got back to our moss-ridden fleabag motel in the French Quarter. All I do know is that Harry saved me from those packs of sleazy, roaming men, late 30 to early 40 year olds looking to score with some drunk 19 year-old hottie who wouldn't give him a second look if she was sober. Puke!
Those sickfuck guys ruin Mardi Gras.
I wanted to go to Burning Man, do a performance piece, but I have heard that it has been invaded by ogling Frat boys who wouldn't know art if it slapped them in the face. Burning Man is held in the summer in the desert. I would be naked the whole weekend.
For art that's cool, for them, no.
So those Frat boys should go to New O, the old weird guys doing Mardi Gras should go to Las Vegas. Any woman over 23 in New Orleans comes with her boyfriend or husband. They aren't dumb. In Vegas you will get anything you desire from women who sell such trinkets.
Me? I'm going to Mardi Gras again. I have a new plan.
Do you know those ubiquitous girls-gone-wild tapes? Of course you do. You probably own a set or two. The latest commercial shows how the boss, some antique silver-haired guy, flies around a group of older "professional" women who get the sisters drunk so they show their tits and more.
Well, my plan is this. I will take my video camera and do a satire…old-men-watching-girls-go-wild tapes. I will shoot the drooling men watching the tit-flashing, naked girls. Strictly PG. Then I will offer the tapes on teevee. I will headline it "WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND OR HUSBAND HERE?" and I won't show the men. I'll tease by just showing big gutts and bald heads. You buy the tape for, oh…$2.99 to view it. "SLOBBERING OLD GUYS!" "CHEAP BEADS, CHEAP MEN!" Oh, better yet…I'll hire some to-die-for hotties to encourage the men to drop their jeans. HA! It's getting better.
My project would either get the men to shoo! away from the college peeps on Bourbon Street OR I would get very very rich from all of the men who continue to come and get naked. I would be tricking them back. Even Steven.
I can't lose. As Harry, the business major, would say a WIN/WIN situation.
