After we left the wrong house, and successfully convinced the homeowners not to press charges for breaking and entering, we walked to the front and were once again greeted by the crazy hopscotch lady. And by “greeted” I mean “assaulted.”
The Nudist and I decided we would take a chance and ask her for directions to the address we were looking for. We hoped that our question about directions would divert her away from the fact that she never successfully forced us to play hopscotch.
I showed her the address and she grabbed the paper out of my hand, as if it had the secret to life on it, or maybe just the ending to the last Harry Potter book. Seriously, who dies?
She stared at the address and then told us to go down the street, to the left, and down the alley. Simple enough. A normal person would have said thank you, held onto her purse tightly, and walked away. But of course, I’m not a normal person. Regular? Yes. Normal? No.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fresh smell of urine from the street corner; but whatever the reason, I decided it would be a good idea before we left to make a joke to the crazy lady…the crazy lady who tried to force us to play hopscotch…the crazy lady who I was partially sure was attempting to hatch babies in her basement at that exact moment.
I looked at her and said “You aren’t sending us down a dark alley so you can rob us and have your way with us are you?”
I know. I’m an idiot. She looked at me as if I was the crazy one, and not her, who was sporting knee highs and a dress that any young Pilgrim would have envied.
The Nudist slowly began backing away from me, no doubt to avoid the splatter of brain matter that would inevitably occur when my skull was bashed open by the hopscotch enthusiast.
The crazy hopscotch lady looked at me with anger in her eyes, although it could have been a reaction from the chalk dust. She said “Clearly you don’t live in the city.” What?! I don’t, but that has nothing to do with my question.
I was trying to make a joke. A bad joke, yes, but a joke nonetheless. I was trying to make her laugh, and she didn’t seem like she would respond well to the chicken crossing the road stories that are so hilarious.
I wanted to respond sarcastically that I thought we were going to be robbed in the middle of the day among hundreds of thousands of people. And even if we were robbed, it wasn’t like we had anything of value with us anyway, unless she counted my purse full of binging food for drunken snacking.
Seriously lady? Get it together.
Since there was no way to recover from the bad joke and the crazy hopscotch lady’s anger, we retreated quickly down the alley, hoping for the comfort of a mugging to make us feel more alive.
Fortunately, we arrived at our friend Ore Ida’s house (not her real name), without any further difficulty or illegal trespassing. We found her in the basement with her husband, making gallons of hurricanes…just like a good host does.
This is one of the reasons I love her so much…she knows how to make a mixed drink.
I watched her pour 2 bottles of liquor into the concoction and immediately poured myself a glass of delicious goodness. I wanted to drink some of it before it disappeared, and I also wanted to take the edge off after the hopscotch debacle.
We slammed a drink or two and then headed down to the parade to observe the drunk mayhem. On the way to the parade we were propositioned to show our boobs for what appeared to be a half eaten sucker and Mardi Gras beads that had been making the rounds since I was in diapers and not just a few weeks ago when I had the stomach flu.
We kept walking, declining the invitation to flash a couple thousand people on a street corner. Ore Ida advised that the woman asking to see boobs was an equal opportunity offender, and frequently asked to see penises as well.
Sure enough, we heard her proposition some young guys to show their genitalia in return for some beads and a glimpse at the old woman’s cleavage. They too, declined, much to our chagrin.
After the parade we headed to the next party on our list. The list that was scrutinized by the crazy hopscotch lady, and was partially covered in chalk…and most likely a spell she’d cast.
I wasn’t sure where the next location was, but a friend of mine at Ore Ida’s place had already been to the second party, so she walked there with us. As we walked, I pointed to a building down the street, and reminisced about a Mardi Gras from days past, where my friends and I snuck into an awesome party undetected.
Somehow, we managed to sneak into an amazing party a few years ago that had covered areas in the backyard and a heated tent filled with food and bottles of liquor. Part of me wondered if that actually happened or if it was a dream, but the photos from that day confirmed we successfully penetrated the party.
The photos also confirmed that I don’t look good without a bra….and that whiskey makes me dance…and the combination of the two is less than attractive.
As I spoke about the amazing party from a couple years back, we approached the second party. As I walked up, I noticed the covered areas in the backyard and the heated tent filled with food and bottles of liquor….wait a minute….OMG!
The second party was the party I crashed a few years back! Memories of gyrating to Elton John came flooding back, and I secretly wondered if the homeowners ever got the smell of my farts out of their sofa. If experience is any indicator, chances are they didn’t.
We approached the front door and were met by a police officer, who asked if our names were on the list for the party. Clearly the homeowners got smart and decided to have security to keep out the riff raff, which in this scenario, would be me. Fortunately, I now know the homeowners, and my name was on the list.
The cop gave us wrist bands and granted us entrance to the party but only after commenting on The Nudist’s appearance and failing miserably at an attempt to get her number.
We found one of the homeowners almost immediately, and he gave us a tour of the house. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I knew his house quite well, especially the cold tile in the bathroom on the second floor. It hugged my face in just the right way.
He walked us around the house and took us to the backyard where the fabulous party was in full swing. I looked around and confirmed that this was the location of my prior trespassing at a previous Mardi Gras.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I seem to have a trend of entering homes uninvited each year of Mardi Gras….
We stayed for a while until I got a text from my husband asking me where I was. I told him I was at the second party, and he should join us, but he said he wanted to go to “the big party.” I told him to head there and we would be there shortly.
We said our goodbyes and left the second party to head to “the big party” to meet my husband and our other friends. I knew the party would be big (hence the clever name).
I knew the party would be a bit crazy. But I had no idea just how crazy, and awesome, the party would be, although I was about to find out…