An Orphanage, An Engagement And A Transvestite.

October 20th 2012

So when I was young and shit, I used to live in Louisiana for about 8 years or so before I packed up my slinkies, Tamagotchis and TY beanie baby amigos, and proceeded to peace the fuck out. I shuffled up North but found myself reminiscing for many years about the olden days when I used to partake in innocent follies such as chucking beads during Mardi Gras festivities, pounding copious amounts of jambalaya, riding alligators to the school yard, and listening to my mom tell the most up to par jokes

Christ Almighty, Youngsook. You slay me!

Fast forward just 9 years later and

I was back. Ready to relive my childhood glory days, with childhood friends in my childhood location and ready to embark on a variety of G rated activities from my past except…life had other plans…stranger plans… and I swiftly came to realize that this trip would be far from a re-enactment of my childhood days and it all started with one suggestion from Emma that sparked a whole onslaught of curious events that gave me no choice but to create this list:

12 Things That Went Awry During My Childhood Visit

Here’s the story.

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There we were

>>>> 4 amigos in a car >>>>

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Here are our faces.
Emma – Tanner- Olive- Luke

En route and ready to invest on an unplanned, unwarranted adventure through the streets of New Orleans. Tanner, Emma, Luke and I exchanged unruly banter in the car about our current, likes, dislikes feelings toward talking dogs, you know, the usual, all the while refusing to acknowledge our lack of planning for the ridiculous night ahead…until Emma casually chimed in

“Hahaha I freaking love Key lime chocolates and slow electronic jamz, but hey where are we staying tonight?”

“…………” – Tanner

“…………………………..” – Luke

“…” –  Olive

After pooling together our collaborative responses, Emma reassured us that this in fact wasn’t an issue.

That she knew just the place.

And not to worry.

.

.

.

.

.

Cue in the local orphanage.

We  s l o w l y closed our car doors as we cautiously stepped onto the gravel parking lot of the St. Vincent’s guest house inquiring with Emma in the kindest way possible “WHERE THE HELL WHY WHAT THE FUCK WHERE ARE WE” and approached the front gates

Feel free to play the phantom of the opera soundtrack in your head here, I know I did.

And checked in

This color scheme is indeed comforting.

As it turns out, this “vintage guest house” we were currently throwing down a deposit for, absolutely used to be an orphanage that housed a variety of abandoned children. And as far as decor, amenities, and service were concerned…not…much…had…changed…

We retrieved the keys from the suspicious desk clerk and made our ways down the eery hallways that looked like this:

Why

Began to climb a set of rickety stairs that looked like this:

Why

And ran into a woman who stopped the 4 of us, looked at us and said

“Don’t worry…the ghost of the children won’t bother you…they only do cute things like tug on your clothes…” and walked away…

.

.

Why…

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.

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And once we miraculously reached floor 3 we turned down a hallway that looked like this:

Currently writing my will en-route to our room. A ’95 Tamagotchi original anyone?

And terrifyingly made our way

down 

the

hallway

And to our room that looked like this:

Great stuff.

We entered our designated orphan bedroom

(now there’s something I never thought I’d say)

And attempted to make ourselves at home…

“I see you’re getting pretty comfy on orphan Annie’s bed there, Luke”

And upon further investigation we realized the following…quirks about our current residence:

Am I suspicious about these blood stains? Nah trick, I’m good.

Do I need bathroom amenities? Don’t be silly.

No way you lock the doors, you say? No worries. I couldn’t imagine that coming in handy anyway.

Totally dodged extra charges for this killer view. Hey ho large white van!

And I know this may come as a shock but although we felt right at home with the homely decor we decided it was best to flee the premises and indeed partake in the ridiculous shenanigans New Orleans had to offer, accepting that this creepy kick-off was only but a subtle hint for the bizarre evening that was about to ensue and realizing that so far, this trip was far from a re-enactment of my childhood days and that

1. Taking residence in the neighborhood orphanage

was only the first awry activity that made the list…and it was only 3pm…

So anyway.

Remember Melanie?

Yo! I haven’t seen you since you pounded ketchup!

The girl who chugged ketchup, unhooked her bra and ate 46 pickles all in a night?

Oh okay well she was there. Lives down south, you see, and my above description should be an accurate hint as to the unexpected events that brewed per her presence.

But first, a drink – Or 8.

Stop 1: Daquiris to-go at Fat Tuesday’s:

The answer is yes, this was at 4pm.

Stops 2-10 were spent at various locations involving delicious snacks such as nachos with all the works and styrofoam cups of margaritas. But it really wasn’t until stop 11 when Melanie insisted that she knew of “just the place” and requested that we take a swift right down…Pirate’s Alley that I realized, my friends, things were about to take yet another usual turn for the weird.

A casual right on Pirates Alley?…You…got…it.

We wandered inside the tucked in establishment located in the obscure street corner. Melanie casually shimmied to the bar and requested “A TALL GLASS OF ASBINTHE PLEASE!”

“Whoa whoa, Melanie, Absinthe?”

“Take a look at the sign, Olive”

Never did I ever think that I would see the words pirate…cafe…and absinthe…in one sign. And that I would be there…obeying it.

Now, not only was the bartender at the ready to serve us a tall glass of historically described as distilled highly alcoholic beverage with it’s anise-flavored spirit derived from botanicals, including the flowers and leaves which is also occasionally called Artemisia absinthium, together with green anise sweet fennel, and other medicinal and culinary herbs but – they were also dressed in a pirate gear.

Thanks for the absinthe…Pirate Cynthia…

2. Taking a Hit of Absinthe…From A Pirate

My list had recently updated to 1. putting a deposit down for an orphanage an 2. taking an unexpected hit of absinthe to the face which is when I realized…long gone and fleeting were my chances of ever recreating my glory days as a cajun baby and that there was no turning back now.

And so the list went  on.

And it was as follows:

3. Discovering a man wearing assless chaps and air spanking him just to make the lad in the background with the blue tee uncomfy who wasn’t paying attention anyway? Check.

I would say put your pants back on…but I’m not sure that would make a damn difference…

2. Pulling together street furniture so we could add a little Feng Shui to Bourban Street? …Check.

Just some light decorating on Bourban street, naturally.

3. Screaming about the hot weather in New Orleans thus naming in “No pants New Orleans” and somehow making the decision to ironically make my only souvenir purchase…pants….that I continued to wear underneath my dress…all night…long? Check.

Originally chose the size small. Cashier asked me to turn around…and suggested a medium instead…oh okay.

4. Begging the local banjo players to strike up another set because I had something very important to do..which was this:

If anyone has their priorities straight, it’s me.

5. Giving a stranger a hug who happened to set my outfit aflame? Check.

A lovely treat to find in the morning.

6. Voluntarily crashing an intimate conversation on someone’s doorstep and proceeding to tell them my faux engagement to my fellow friend Luke. Elaborating on his lack of finances and exceptional favoritism towards tea? Check. 

This cheap bastard loves a nice glass of chamomile

7. Conjuring up drama with the local unicorn? Check.

Bring it.

8. And then making amends and snapping a pic with it? Check. 

My bad about the rude comments.

10. Performing a variety of tap dances with my friends down the street whilst accidentally inflicting violence along the way? Check. 

What I thought was a light pat on the back…but really…

11. Forcing a local transvestite to take a picture of me because “SHE JUST REMINDS ME OF MY BEST FRIEND SO MUCH” (Needless to say I felt a little differently upon second glance at this photo the next morning) …check.

Classic case of Absinthe goggles

And after

1

2

12 occurrences that were unbelievably astray from my original plans, and hitching a pricey cab ride back to the orphanage I realized that maybe it was okay that this trip wasn’t an exact reenactment of my innocent days frolicking in my lawn and consuming mass amount of gumbo and that if anything, passing out in an orphanage, faking an engagement and snapping pics with transvestites on the grounds of my childhood memories…was only just a sign of how far I’ve really come…

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