Au revoir la Nouvelle-Orléans, jusqu’à la prochaine fois.

So I’m sitting at my hotel at the moment waiting for the time to pass so that I can make my way to the godforsaken greyhound station and hope that my 24 hour trip back to West Viriginia is not full of scary shit like my trip to New Orleans was. Spending 6 hours trapped on a bus with someone who had very very bad gas to the point that I had to hide my face in my jacket so that I didn’t dry retch was bad enough. Let’s not go into the fact that I had to come face to face with dirty underwear sitting on top of the toilet roll holder in Atlanta. Because every woman needs to see that when they are dying to pee.

I’ve sworn next time I’m just going to pay for flights. Unless greyhound have started doing a direct service that doesn’t take me half way around the states before getting me to my destination.

On the plus side, New Orleans sure knows how to put on a party. Mardi Gras was… well. Amaze. I have a suitcase full of beads (they are being used as padding for my breakables).


I have a cat-woman leather mask, a headband of feathers that make me look fabulous and so many many beads that I’m not sure what to do with them all, so I left them decorating my hotel room.

My bead haul

The best bit? I didn’t flash my girls once for beads.

Mind you, there weren’t that flashing of boobs going on. I was expecting more. However the 30 degree weather would have been the reason I’d say. Everyone had at least 50 layers on. Nevermind that we also had umbrella’s, scarves and gloves on! Because it was raining for the main parade. We got to see 2 days of parades, the night before the main parade and the main parade. Catching beads turned into an Olympic sport. Women were snatching beads out of you hands, they were racing around bending over and grabbing anything off the floor that wasn’t glued down. Broken beads or not. It was interesting and a wee bit painful. Some woman scratched me worse than my cat ever has.

My princess moment might have been brought on by the fact that my fingers were so frozen that I couldn’t feel them so her scratches hurt even more. And that I was so hung over that it took me 3 hours of getting out of bed only to get back into bed that morning so that the world would stop spinning. Drinking trauma was just not the right words to describe me that morning.

Trying to explain me right now is just a story in itself.

You see, I have a bruised ass.

Stop laughing. I squeak when I sit down and stand up. And every so often walk along the french quarter holding my left ass cheek to try to relieve the pain.

I had this brilliant idea. To hire bikes and ride to Audubon Zoo – which was a great idea. If the zoo had been a wee bit closer to the french quarter. Uh huh. 5 hours later, my best friend was ready to kill me and I was walking funny.


Apparently Americans don’t necessarily like geared bikes. Fail. Nor do they come with enough padding.

Look at me go!

I might need to take pain killers for my ass. There’s a first time for everything no?

On the plus side, we saw a lot of furry beasties!


    • Sharn

      I know right. That was just a mornings haul! No boobies flashing in sub zero temps. I ain’t getting no sick just to get frozen nipples! And possibly some beads lol

  • bethteliho

    Stinky man on the greyhound? Never! hahaha. I think they stock them with stinkies just to torture people. Poor Sharn! but I did laugh about your sore butt cheek. And the zoo look amazing. And mardi gras! I’ve never been. Cool.

    • Sharn

      Actually I think it was the woman sitting next to me lol

      It’s still sore! How long does butt trauma last?! O.o

      And thanks, it’s really beautiful!

  • cellulitelooksbettertan

    Yeah! You’re back….well probably not back, but it’s good to hear your words again. Mardi Gras – never been, but I would love to maybe one day. I hope you plan to tell us more about your fun in the French Quarter. I’ve been to New Orleans one time, and I think the only thing that kept me going was drinking away the hangover. The first day, we went straight to some bar famous for their hurricanes, and needless to say, we missed the meeting we were supposed to attend that evening. Whoops!! Day drinking, night drinking, morning drinking…welcome to New Orleans!!
    I’m still reeling from the dirty underwear in the bathroom. My question is…why couldn’t he/she just throw his/her dirty drawers in the trash can? Why make you have to hold in your gag reflex while pee pee dancing? I will never understand people.

    • Sharn

      Yes I will write more, just hard to when at a public venue!

      So wrote a shortened version! More detailed updates to follow when I get home!

      Hahah yes, I think that’s how the French quarter is for a lot of people! I avoided rue bourbon this time around though 😉

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