KAJA KAJA GOOOOOO (kajakajago) wrote,
KAJA KAJA GOOOOOO
kajakajago

Okay, so maybe my last post was a wee bit misleading: I love New Orleans.

(cut for the courtesy of the people who hate hearing about this topic)



I love every dirty, retarded inch of New Orleans. If New Orleans was a person, I wouldn't marry it because it would have every STD known to man and have the habit of abusing every drug available (including over-the-counter cough medicines), but I would probably make out with it in a corner or something.

When I trip over the jauntily-angled streets, usually on my way to the bus, I faceplant - on concrete broken up by the growth of a 200 year old oak tree that for some reason has been allowed to literally grow right in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk. Yes, this means that my knees look like a cheese grater got to them and is also a pretty poignant example of The Mayor Just Not Getting It Done, but it's also an interesting picture of nature taking back what urban development has stolen, yada yada yada. Claws of inconvenience. See, this stuff inspires me. There's beauty in every city, but New Orleans is My Thing.

Working in the Quarter during Carnival fucking sucks, and I know because I've done it two years in a row - once at the souvenir shop, once on Bourbon. That being said, it's not a soul-crushing, Mcdonalds-lackey-with-no-future-whatsoever kind of sucks. It's the kind of sucks that gets you cynic rights and huge discounts at the local bars and street cred from people who don't know any better. At the end of the day you're tired as shit and probably a bit cranky from dealing with drunk-asses, but one thing I've found is that it's amazingly difficult to properly mope during Mardi Gras. I had mono on my first Mardi Gras, dehydration to the point of puking on the second and some kind of cleverly-timed flu deal on the third, but even through the puking and the fatigue and the railing at the gods, I still eeked out a good time despite my body's sincerest efforts. It's impossible not to because despite the massive and I mean massive tourism draw, there's a sense of city-wide unity underneath all of the drunken, grimy layers: we are all here for the same reasons, namely celebrating being alive and probably intoxicated and fighting amongst ourselves for beads.

Also Bobby Jindal sodomizing a pelican with his dick which has turned into a pencil complete with eraser while he holds a check made out to the fundies, best float in the universe no contest.

This year I'm definitely requesting Lundi and Mardi Gras off, and I'm allowed to do that because I worked New Years Eve and New Years and Christmas Eve and fuck all y'all. I would really like to see Muses this year too, and I'll probably be working for Krewe de Vieux but they pass right by the store so it's cool.

My head hurts.

I will not quit my job and go back to working at Cafe Bad Times, no matter how tempting the store drama might make the prospect look. It's not worth it. The money might be slightly better but nothing short of 12 bucks an hour is worth becoming intimate with the smell of Bourbon Street at 7 in the morning.

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