New Orleans

Oddly enough, the trip that would end up being a nightmare began the day before my youngest brother’s wedding. A little bit of backstory: when my mom was hit by the car and put down, I had a little bit of a mental breakdown and decided that traveling would cure me. I spent the next four years taking planes, trains, and buses from sea to shining sea. Certain cities I fell in love with and spent some extra time there (Las Vegas, New Orleans, Boston) and others I opted to stay a night in a motel and get out before the crappy continental breakfast even opened (I’m looking at you, Atlantic City, Moline, and Boise.) 

As Buttons was playing a bachelor game of frisbee with my brother, (I am not athletic and was therefore on my cell phone) I saw that one of our favorite comedians would be performing in just 2 months in NEW ORLEANS!!! “BUTTONS!!!!” I exclaimed. “Buttons, Daniel Paws is going to be doing a show in New Orleans in November!! Want to go?” “Sure” was his disinterested response. (Apparently I made him miss a throw or catch or something.) So, it was decided. As my brother and my best friend discussed bitches, I booked our flights and hotel for a quick, 3-night trip to one of my favorite cities, which I was unbelievably excited to show to my best pal.

Eight weeks later, we were on our way! We each had a small backpack with our essentials (only suckers pay to check bags) and took the two-hour flight to NOLA. The Crescent City. Home of beignets, sazeracs, and women exposing their bare breasts for plastic beads.