Last night, some friends and I went out to celebrate Fat Tuesday. We went to Bouborn St Bar and Grille on 46th st between 8th and 9th ave. Well actually, to be totally honest, I dragged my sister and my friend to the wrong Bourbon St up on the UWS. When I googled it, that location was the first one that came up so I assumed it was the only one. Such a typical me thing to do. My sister wasn’t even shocked when I said “Oh Mannn, we’re not in the right place!” We walked in and it was this teeny tiny bar with 4 people in it, one of which was a lady with no teeth. This place didn’t scream Mardi Gras to me, but I thought maybe the party started when I got there? Or when the lady got dentures? I officially knew I was in the wrong place when my other friend texted me that he was here and I was standing at the front door and he never passed me. Lightbulb moment. Apparently there is more than one Bourbon St. Who knew!?! So when we we finally arrived at the correct Bourbon St, it was like night and day. This place was packed with rowdy people covered in bead necklaces while drinking heavily. This is what I’m talkin’ about!! It was so busy we waited an hour and a half for a table so we could get some food. Meanwhile I was on a path of destruction drinking nonstop Hurricanes until we got a table. We didn’t just get a table though. We haunted this two groups until they HAD to get up. I mean, how long can you nurse a beer lady! GO HOME! Needless to say, I was VERY drunk by the end of the evening. I barely tasted my food, Classic Jambalaya in the Mardi Gras spirit, but just inhaled it and whined how spicy the sausage was. I still ate it, don’t worry. It just made my mouth feel like it was on fire and I loved and hated it at the same time. I blew some horns, danced badly, sang some Michael Jackson songs, talked to random people on the line for the bathroom. It was a lot of fun. Here are a couple pictures from the evening:
I had a blast. Haven’t been that drunk since college where I rightfully earned the nickname “Puke and Rally.” I made my parents proud don’t you think? I do. I knew I had hit my limit last night when I woke up this morning to this:
You know I must be REALLY drunk when I make a mess and leave it. It may just look like a pile of last night’s clothing and a strewn Mardi Gras necklace, but this occurence NEVER happens in my house. I am the person who puts everything in its place before I go to sleep. I clean before a mess can even happen. I read messes’ minds. This pile was a sure sign I must have had a few too many cocktails. So was my hangover.