My husband and I decided to head to the French Quarter the Saturday before Mardi Gras. Now, for those of you that have never had the pleasure of visiting the Quarter the weekend before Mardi Gras, there is no way to describe it without using words such as cluster and ass clowns. But, if you can stand to be crammed onto a nasty, dirty street with thousands of sweaty drunk people in various states of undress....then this is the place for you. The Quarter during Mardi Gras is unlike the Quarter any other time.
My dearest husband and I took a taxi down there because we didn't want to have to deal with the impossible task of finding parking...and because we knew we wouldn't be in any shape to drive. A few drinks, a few bars, some rain and bitter fucking cold later, the husband turns into a raving bitch. Apparently, he doesn't like crowds....HELLO! This is NOT his first time in the Quarter at this time of year. What the hell did he think was going to happen...the crowds would part for us like the Red Sea? Yeah...and that reminds me....the crazy psychotic Christians that feel the need to carry crosses and signs on Bourbon Street at this time of year...complete with "heavenly" security guards that look like they just broke out of prison...seriously...how many drunk ass people have you converted? All you are doing is causing bottle necks in the middle of busy pedestrian traffic as people take pictures...you know...to get the whole Mardi Gras in New Orleans effect to bring back to their friends back home.
So, hubby comes completely unglued and looks like he's ready to start a fight. Joy. I called him names that make most women cringe, but I was completely justified. I mean...we went from having a blast and being silly together to him just being a butthead. We trudge through the rain and wind to Canal Street to try to find a cab. Here's where the poor planning comes in....
EVERYONE ELSE DOWN THERE WAS HAILING CABS! Cabs get to be VERY selective when there are literally thousands of people needing them. So, no luck on Canal Street. Stark raving bitch is literally having a melt down. My God! And they say women are dramatic. We start wandering towards the river and I see Harrah's Casino. Little lightbulb goes off...there are always cabs around there so we trek there and go inside to thaw out (did I mention I didn't have a jacket...and it was raining...and the arctic winds were a-blowing). We thaw out and head to the valet area where there are only a few people trying to hail cabs. After about 30 minutes, though, I'm noticing fewer and fewer cabs coming this way, but I see tons of them on the other side of Harrahs...so we go back inside (no one asks for our ids...we both were a little insulted) and out the doors on the other side. Tons of cabs come down this street. And....at least 50 other people trying to hail them. Cabs would fly by without even slowing down. Other cabs would stop and ask people where they were going and take off because they didn't want to go there. People were literally walking into the street in front of taxis to make them stop.
FINALLY...3 HOURS after we began this little search for a cab, we finally got in one and went home.
Needless to say, the husband never wants to do it again.
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