Summer Update #5: Fake-cation*

…and her tombstone will read: It was the chocolate shake that killed her.

Every summer we put our SUV to good use.  We pack it up and head East, to the land of sunshine and clean beaches, Destin, Florida.  This year was different and we hoped it would give us the same feeling only closer to home.  George has 4 fairly new businesses that he is keeping fed, diapered and producing.  It would be too much for him to pick up and leave to go 4 hours away for 5 days.  What if one of his babies hiccupped or his employees let them go hungry?  So we fooled ourselves into thinking that we could get away in our own city.  I mean, New Orleans is tops on many a tourist’s list and we live only 30 minutes away.  So, we decided to become THOSE people that I constantly yell at to MOVE and threaten to run over.  We would walk aimlessly down the middle of Bourbon street, before it closed to traffic, and wander in and out of the t-shirts shops giggling at the dirty sayings.

We found a hotel with a pool, which was the main requirement of the children and headed across the river for some hot and steamy fun.  Not that kind of hot and steamy.  More of the kind that makes you want to drill a hole in your head for ventiliation.  You can pretty much swing your screaming credit card anywhere in the French Quarter and hit a very nice and expensive hotel.  Being the summer, we got a deal.  As a rule of thumb, there are not many visitors to our fair city during the summer. The heat level gets raised to above hellfire and many a northerner has burst into flames at the mere mention of our temperatures.  However, we were so lucky to pick one of the few weekends where our hotel was booked.  No matter, we still paid less per night for the Royal Sonesta than we normally do for the Holidome in Destin.

What I would come to find, after plastering my face with a smile and trying very hard to ignore the small whiny humans that kept following us around, is that the only thing to break my carefully planned facade would be a chocolate milkshake all over my dashboard.  Even the act of cleaning up fresh vomit containing grits and yogurt (Don’t ask) would find me with a shakeable smile, yes, but still a smile.  However, the milkshake incident of ‘08 would be the thing that killed me.   

If we were to do this again, it is very important to shake these little whiny humans from us and run for the Quarter where we can eat, relax, and walk without a care. Not worrying about certain unnamed humans complaining about the heat, food, walking and the fact that she ONLY got to swim  10 times in the hotel pool .  Even when the heavens opened up and rained down on the Quarter, it would somehow still be us, slightly taller humans, just keeping the smaller whiny humans down by not letting them SWIM ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY!

It wasn’t all a complete waste of time, I got some lovely pictures of the memories of good food, nice weather (after a big ole rainstorm the Quarter was absolutely pleasant weatherwise, although the smell…) and rediscovering the wonders of our city:

First up, our hotel:

Fancy, do you think we can fit it into the suitcase?

Comfy, wake me when it’s over.

Courtyard.

Look, free oranges, if you can get them.

Oh look, water.
Then I fell over and never awoke, after looking at the price.
But before I died of sticker shock, I warned the children that if they dare to open one of these bottles
all the unicorns and princesses in the world would die.

Oh, the sights we will see in Da Quarter:

Our alcohol is large and our women are naked.
Be careful if taken together, someone may wake up with a wallet missing.

Our street performers are very kind and kinda pushy.
For our “donation” we got this picture and I got advice:
“Watch your man, Miss, there beez loose women out here.”
My reply: “Where do you think he found me?”
He didn’t know who he was messing with.

Things you should never put in your mouth.
There are many others along Bourbon street, but this is a family blog.

Weird bird like children. 

Beads, beads and more beads.
Don’t worry all you have to do to get these beads is flash a few Washingtons.

Iz holds the secret to cheap ATM fees.

What you mean we have to keep walking?
It is the law of Da Quarter, you walk to get to the next goodie.
You walk and walk and walk and walk…

Zoltar will tell your future for ONE DOLLAR.
Your future, little girl, is to continue to walk until your legs fall off.
And yes, your mother is the devil.

I fall under your spell, oh great Blue Dog.

The food:

The fairy princess is not happy to sit next to other’s cast offs.
Bring her beignets, stat!

AH, the elixir of life has arrived.
I had to stop taking pictures, because the carnage was just not suitable for publication.
Not responsible for short circuiting of any computers.

Napoleon House Bruschetta.

 

Best red beans and rice in town.
Again, Napoleon House.
We fought a torrential downpour to get to these.
It was worth every drop that fell.

Half a muffuletta.
Because a full one will kill you.
But you would die happy.

Claiming that red beans and rice are disgusting (Can’t blame her. She has been
served red beans and rice every Monday for 4 years), Amber opted for the Casear salad.
Don’t worry it got the New Orleans treatment, with some kind of creole mustard Casear dressing.
Even lettuce tastes good down here.

A little too spicy.
I am sure we have something for you to wash it down.

The last stop of the day, Storyland, not to be confused with Storyville:

Finally, smiles.

Now, there is something you don’t see everyday.

Quick, they are trapped, RUN!!

It is always good to move in a good school district.

Big bad wolf or Katrina?
Does it matter?
Your house is gone.

 

Amber shows love.
Sam shows his ability toward either government work (FEMA) or insurance work.
“Are you sure it was wind and not flood, because you know you are covered for wind, but not flood?
It looks like flood to me.”

 

Happier times.
Before her Linda Blair act in the car.

 

Hello, anyone home?
MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

 

…and Mother Goose watches over all.

To see all of over adventures, go here.

 *Fake-cation was coined by this woman’s husband.  I always give credit, because if I don’t I will never hear the end of it.