Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Hungover and Hoarse

My friend Amanda and I brazenly headed down to the French quarter yesterday (we don't need no stinkin' boys!) to continue our adventures in scandal and debauchery. We negotiated with greedy tourists for pieces of plastic which only hold value in the currency of Mardi Gras ("local girls don't show their tits for beads, assholes"--unless they're really spectacular beads, then we might consider it). What that boils down to is that Amanda and I make out with each other for choice beads ("Oh My God I just HAVE to have those light-up Jägermeister beads!) Teamwork makes it happen.

I also told any moderately attractive male I encountered on Bourbon street that Amanda gives good head--and likes it, which got us quite a bit of attention.

Later on we met up with Amanda's pseudo-boyfriend, Brad, and his friend Jacob (who's super hott) and went to some party uptown. Amanda complained the whole way there that she desperately had to pee. Apparently the urge to urinate was so strong that she was in excruciating pain, so naturally as soon as we got there she headed straight for the bathroom. However, to her dismay, for some strange reason she was unable to pee. After several attempts in various venues (hall, upstairs, bedroom bathrooms), Amanda’s fragile nature combined with the excessive amount of alcohol she’d consumed overtook her and she laid down on the floor to cry. I had to laugh.

Thankfully, as I returned from downstairs with a glass of water she emerged from the bathroom smiling and laughing. Success! Disaster avoided.

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