(This post brought to you by anw overgenerous flight attendant.)
The holy spirit of Mardi Gras has descended upon me. I wear it like the headress of a Zulu chieftain.
I pity the poor souls in my new country that intend to celebrate Mardi Gras at TGI Fridays where they’ll pretend they’re having a good time, however, instinctively they’ll dknow there’s something missing.
Reunions with dear friends
Cocktails, just because
A chance of plastic showers (a’la GB)
Dance girls and bass lines
Sweet Feet and the Mohawk Drummer
Brisk air filled with the sounds and smells of…happy
The Gator, performed on the Civic Center floor
The Masked Observer
King Cake and extra cheesy broiled Doritos
Hangovers cured by the hangover inducer
The wherewithall to do it again the next day, with…
Swollen feet, that feel so good.
Damn, life is good. I just hope The Boy can keep up.