the night with the magic daiquiris or what if nobody wants to marry me before i'm 36

Almost seven years ago, I met Harper’s brother, we fell in love, and he proposed.

It was Mardi Gras, and he arrived at our house one night after we’d had 32-ounce daiquiris (and also some beer from a weimaraner and his boy until the boy’s girlfriend disallowed him from talking to me). I couldn’t feel my face, and Harper’s brother looked like Tom Cruise. He bought me a slice of pizza, I dropped it on the sidewalk, and he bought me another one. He made sure I didn’t walk in the street. He was perfect.

What should have been one magical (and hangover-free) night, became something more on the internet. He became my backup boyfriend, someone to be around when I came home alone, a sort of safety net. And we made one of those pacts: if we aren’t married by a certain time, we’ll just marry each other.

Harper’s brother got engaged. . . to some other girl. And there goes my safety net.

~beatrix

probably more than five seconds of crazy

I hadn’t seen Ted in. . . days. So as soon as I got home and showered and changed (many, many apologies to anyone who was in smelling distance of my hair on the trip home), I headed his way. And after a few minutes of making-out hellos, we were able to talk a little.

“I’m going to be a crazy girl for five seconds, ok?” I warned him, then took a deep breath so I could get it all out at once, “I was thinking maybe we should go to New Orleans in October because it’s my five-year reunion and the weather will be nice and I need to go back already.”

October is a long way from now, in terms of we.

~beatrix

don't do anything i wouldn't do

-Have a safe trip. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
-Will do. And likewise. P.S. That leaves a fair amount of leeway, no?

Ted was on his way to a bachelor party with a bunch of boys from his fraternity, and I was off to a wedding. . . with Harper. . . in New Orleans. So by 1 a.m., when I texted him that he now had permission to get drunk and go to transvestite bingo, he probably knew he was right about the leeway.



It was fun to spend the weekend with Harper. The wedding was beautiful, and the reception was fun. After band stopped playing and we threw rose petals at the happy couple, we went to one of our favorite bars-- great for after parties and Monday nights. And, well, we realized that we are now the weird old people who show up there in party clothes.

But we met some boys, of course. I’m sure I could have gotten free drinks all night, but I couldn’t help mentioning my boyfriend. Over and over. I was sort of done drinking anyway.

And Harper’s conversation with one of the boys turned to bachelor party debauchery. Despite my protests, they assured me that all boys are terrible when given that type of opportunity, and Harper proceeded to tell a rather disgusting bachelor party story she’d heard in good confidence. I couldn’t quite resist the urge to send Ted a message:

-At one of my favorite college bars. Hearing horror stories of bachelor parties. No licking strippers.

I mentioned the message to our new friend, who rolled his eyes and told me I didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend. But I do. I want to be the kind of girlfriend who can say something like that and it’s both funny and serious. But more funny. I think Ted gets it:

-I’ll try to contain myself.


~beatrix

because i will defend new orleans to the end

i felt compelled to post an update in response to a comment that post-katrina new orleans "just won't be the same." it's something that is important to me, as i love that city about as much as possible. i left new orleans 15 months before the storm hit, and i've only been back twice, but this is what i can tell you:

new orleans isn't the same after katrina, but having seen what happened during and after that hurricane, neither am i. while we can mourn the superficial and not-so-superficial changes between "before" and "after", the city's spirit and soul have survived. and if you're lucky enough to have known her before, you owe it to her to give her a chance in the after.

~beatrix

psa: nola love

You should go to New Orleans. I promise you will love it.

You’ll love the way the air is always thick. And the way the sidewalks are all broken in every direction, and you’ll love the million-year-old oak trees that made them that way. You’ll love the way you can just pop into some divey bar to use the bathrooms while your friends wait in line to go to the real bar and how while you’re there you can pick up one drink and three beers for $11 and they’ll pour it all in plastic cups so you can bring it out on the street with you. And you’ll love the food, no matter what you’re eating.

You’ll love that it’s always a party. You’ll love the ghost-faced bum on the sidewalk who does nothing but wish you well. And you’ll love the ghost-faced shotgun houses on the side streets, not just the wedding cake ones on St. Charles. You’ll love the way there’s still something getting started at 4 a.m. and how it’s ok to have a drink and some fried seafood no matter what time you wake up.

You’ll love the street names you can’t pronounce; you’ll love Tchopitoulas and Freret and Carondelet. And you’ll love the couple, still on the sidewalk of the bar you left hours ago, bickering and pausing only to make out and share sips of what you imagine, at 10:45 a.m., to be a very warm, very stale Bud Light. You’ll love cab drivers who take off without asking where you’re going because they need to tell you their stories so badly. And you’ll love the comfortable shabbiness of it all.

You might even love the way the water from the cold tap is lukewarm at best or how it could rain at any time or the way your hair smells that forgotten, actual bar smell the morning after.

New Orleans isn’t all Mardi Gras and hurricanes; it’s the best city in the country. And it still needs us. You should go.

~beatrix