pig out

H1N1

us little piggies had a seriously fun halloween

We rode the bus down Magazine Street with all the other crazies in costumes, then walked through the French Quarter where we ran into a bigger, fatter Swine Flu pig (which made us look more like piglets), then found ourselves on Frenchman Street with everybody else and their mom, but you couldn’t tell because they were all in costumes.

We watched some guys in helmets fly down the ramp of a Budget moving rental truck in a shopping cart and call themselves the New Orleans’ bobsledding team.  I later found out that they were all charter school principals.  That felt like a grand finale for us so we started walking back through the French Quarter to make our way home and ended up outside a bar called Mollie’s.  We stood outside this bar for awhile watching a drunk vampire call out, “Nipples.  Show me your nipples.”

He wasn’t talking to us.  We looked like pigs.  I think he was talking to Alice in Wonderland.

We bought some Beignets to make us feel better and pigged out like piggies do.

But the best (and most disturbing) part of the night, by far, was when we couldn’t find a cab home and ended up sharing a taxi with The Big Lebowski and his wife.

I thought maybe they were tourists, and then they told us that they were born and raised New Orleanians.  She was very nice and smiley.  He was not. He kept making fun of whatever his wife said and calling her stupid.

This was awkward.

But the worst part was when he told the cab driver to go a certain way, then got mad at him for going past the street, then told him to take me and Sam first even though we were literally passing his block, then said it again in a louder, harsher voice, then threatened to call the cab driver’s boss, then started mimicking the cab driver’s African accent, and finally threw up his hands and got out of the car when Sam and I did.

As the cab drove off, Sam and I stood there wondering why Halloween makes people act so scary.  We watched The Big Lebowski and his wife saunter away.

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