Gosh, I Hate New Orleans

Last weekend we took our first trip back to New Orleans after moving to CT 6 months ago. I’ve compiled a limited collection of what we learned, did, and pretty much already knew from this weekend. With minimal blubbering (okay, maybe a lot of blubbering).

Things continue to change in that city, but it’s much more noticeable after being gone for a few months. Bud Rips has a new paint color (?!?!?!) to go along with their new clientele, Irene’s gets totally infiltrated with Margaritaville-esque tourists at times – though their food still rocks my socks off, and Frenchmen is the new Bourbon, officially. Vomit. St. Claude is getting more and more happenin’, as we all figured it would. Can we just savor these moments before it turns into Frenchmen and then Bourbon?!

And then there are things that never change. My hatred for the Press Street Train was merely dormant since our move. It returned in full force within 48 hours. Full. Force.

New Orleans is for walking. I’d forgotten how much I missed long, warm, humid walks through the hood to the Quarter. I’d forgotten how nice it was to pop in to Who Dat for an iced coffee on the way. I had not forgotten how effing amazing frozen Irish coffees are from Molly’s. Or how great it is to sit outside of Markey’s with a go-cup of Sauvignon Blanc (and baby in tow) and spontaneously run into half the neighborhood. Also good food. Oh man.

Our New Orleans family is full of the most horrible, selfish people. They do things like host us despite just returning from weeks of travel and craziness (and being sick and surely exhausted), have get-togethers to celebrate our being in town, and get up at 3AM to take us to the airport. They miraculously tame our kid, insist on watching him while we get out by ourselves, and invite 50 of our friends to their house and prepare ridiculous amounts of food for them. They clear their weekend schedules to be with us and bend to appease the needs of a 9-month-old. They round up all sorts of baby equipment to make life 1000x easier during our stay. They come out and celebrate our return even when their own lives make it really difficult. They feed us and buy us drinks and talk about how much they miss us. They sit and catch up with us for hours and help us deal with baby tantrums. They let us use their homes (and vehicles) as their own to make our lives easier – at one point I had 3 different house keys and 3 different car keys in my purse. They give Charlie the sweetest gifts and hug him and squeeze his big fat thighs and love him like he’s family.

And that’s all I’ll say about that.

Now for a compilation of pictures mostly sent to me by friends, because I sucked terribly at documenting the weekend.

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