#MMGMMD Post Mortem


I’m finally recovered from the Mardi Gras trip, and I’m almost caught up on all my work. It was, all in all, despite the injuries, a very good trip with a lot of really great people. It started out Wednesday, getting packed and driving to Dallas to see AryaBlueBaby and her husband. We had wine and he grilled steaks; it was a lovely time seeing them again.

The next morning we had what was supposed to be a seven hour drive to the hotel in New Orleans, but due to the traffic jams in Baton Rouge and on the endless bridges of stopped cars between Lafayette and NO, it took an extra three hours. We met up with Mitch and Jeremy at the hotel, had a couple of drinks, welcomed Matt to NO, and headed on out to Bourbon Street.

It was pretty deserted, but the weather was nice and so we wandered around there, seeing the sights and the most beat strippers I’ve ever seen. One poor girl had the worst case of flapjack boobs, and I really wanted to tip her heavily to help fund her future boob job, but I didn’t have any cash, and she probably would have just blown it on rent or food or something stupid like that.

I had the worst hangover Friday morning, and I rarely have hangovers. I’m blaming it on eating nothing Thursday except a couple slices of Jeremy & Mitch’s leftover pizza, drinking one sickly sweet hand grenade (gag), a bunch of $10 beers, and then going back to the room and drinking a bunch of bourbon and rice beer.

Friday we finally got up and about and decided to go eat at IHop. So gross. Floppy little pieces of meat with undercooked eggs drowned in some sort of questionable industrial oil. I forced what I could down the gullet, and then DoktorBill and Jeremy took care of my pancakes and hashbrowns. We hung out at the hotel for a while to meet up with Dr. Illusion and Mistress, and took off back to Bourbon Street.

It was a little more crowded on Friday, but after going to another (the same?) beat strip club, we settled upstairs in a nice little bar with a balcony. It was the perfect amount of people and craziness and noise, and we had a blast. We went back to the hotel late and gabbed until the wee hours. The next day we had a new member of the group, B.A. I didn’t see much of him, but he seems like a cool guy.

Saturday we went to see a big parade, Endymion, and those suckers were mean. They were throwing bags of crappy beads, and they were throwing them to maim. They hit Matt on the head and left a good-sized scab, and then they hit our Styrofoam cooler and blew that thing apart. I couldn’t even tell you how many times I got hit in the head with stuff. The closest restroom was at the Wynn Dixie, about six blocks away, which was handy; one stop to empty your bladder and then get supplies to fill it back up!

After the parade, we made the stupid move of going back to Bourbon Street. So stupid. It took so long to get there in the traffic jam that Matt at one point jumped out of the van and pissed on a fence. My husband and I had to go so bad that when we finally did arrive and get out of the cab, we ran to the nearest bar to pee. They said there was a one drink minimum, but after peeing, we just left. No incentive after.

The crowd was thick and full of fat old drunk zombies wearing beads. I bullied my way through the crowd until we finally found the bar from Friday. After paying $20 to get in, DoktorBill and I saw Mitch’s yellow hat at the back door. I bullied my way to the door and just barely was able to grab his scruff before he was lost to the crowd outside. Mitch, Jeremy, DoktorBill and I went upstairs and had a few beers. Did I mention that we might have ingested some LSD? There was too much noise, sensations and adrenaline in our systems to get any good visuals, but I was strangely sober and DoktorBill was very wasted. I tried to hammer some beer to get unsober, but it didn’t do any good.

Our phones didn’t work. We were unable to call or text anyone to try and find the rest of our group, so we hoped they knew where the hotel was and would be able to make it home. We left the little bar we were in and got back into the crowds; the streets were twice as crowded, and Jeremy was leading, pulling me along, DoktorBill was hanging on to me, trying to not fall down, and Mitch was bringing up the rear.

We literally were crushed by the crowd. I don’t know how we made it out of there, but all of a sudden, we stepped into an open space, a cab pulled up and the doors opened. The driver’s window was open so I asked if he was for hire and he said, “Get in!” The loveliest words I have ever heard. We got in and finally made it back to our hotel.

We never saw Dr. Illusion, Mistress and B.A. again; they all left early Sunday morning. We should have, if we knew better, all just gone back to the hotel and partied instead of going to Bourbon Street. We all would have been a lot better off and Matt and I wouldn’t have injured ourselves. Matt twisted his ankle badly and it was swollen and purple, and my innards were crushed.

I was so sore Sunday; my entire torso hurt from bullying my way through the crowds and being crushed. I didn’t know it at the time, but between eating nothing but crap, over-extending my bladder capacity, and being crushed, my organs weren’t working properly. Sunday night we chatted in the room until I started nodding off, and then Mitch, Jeremy and DoktorBill solved all of the world’s problems until early the next morning.

Monday we were supposed to meet for lunch and get some po’boys, but there were no cabs available and after Saturday night, we had little incentive to return to any sort of crowded environment. My gut was much worse Monday morning, and it was then that I realized that my whole gut/elimination system were not working. I took some cranberry and felt a lot better for it.

We just stayed in the room the entire day tripping. It was just the last five survivors, hobbled and crushed, tripping in a dingy, smoky hotel room. It was awesome! It was the best day of the entire trip. We had a ton of glow stick jewelry that we cracked open and played with and DoctorBill’s duct tape came in handy to tape the curtains shut to blot out that nasty sunshine.

Tuesday morning, I thought I was going to have to go to the ER. I was doubled over in pain and couldn’t even roll over in bed on my own. As grimy as New Orleans is (they take pride in their “historic” grime) I really didn’t want to see what the inside of their hospital looked like. I was in the throes of a burgeoning upper urinary tract infection with terrible constipation and crushed innards. It was really bad. Then I realized that I needed to take action, so I started taking a ton of cranberry geltabs. I felt a little better immediately.

There wasn’t any way that I was going to be able to travel on Tuesday, and it was cold and rainy, so we didn’t want to see parades. I just kept drinking water and taking cranberry until I felt halfway normal again, and I went to bed early. I wasn’t able to really even eat anything even though we went to a nice restaurant with yummy food. The next morning, I felt a little better and we got up early, packed, and hit the road home.

I did go see a doctor when I got back to make sure all of my internal organs were still intact, and he said that I was definitely crushed, but there was no indication of permanent damage. Since then, I have been trying to recover and catch up on work. I’ve been eating good, healthy home-cooked meals and started a batch of bone broth. I can’t wait for the next meetup! Please let it be more tripping and less injuries 🙂


3 thoughts on “#MMGMMD Post Mortem

  1. Pingback: #MMGMMD Post Mortem | Manosphere Me

  2. LostSailor

    Sounds like an, uh, interesting time. But one huge mistake was confusing Bourbon Street with “New Orleans.” Bourbon Street is for the rubes. When I visit, the only time I’m going to be on Bourbon Street is if I’m going to eat at Galatoire’s or crossing it on the western end to get to Acme Oyster’s. There are tons of more authentic NOLA bars in the Quarter that you never need set foot on Bourbon Street, and most have no cover (unless a very well-known band is playing) and great music.

    The only comment I’ll make about IHOP is that you have to work really, really hard to eat bad food in New Orleans. ‘Nuff said.

    Still, it sounds, injuries and crushed organs aside, like many a weekend from by sordid past. Glad you’re recovered…

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