Holy Hand Grenade, Batman

                August 2008 flew by in a fury, and before I knew it was almost time for my 21^st birthday.  We all know what that means, especially in a town like New Orleans.  My boss had already agreed to let me have the day off, as well as the day after.  I had actually been to Bourbon Street before, but I knew it was going to be under a few different terms this time. 

                Let’s flashback to a younger, adolescent, awkward Megan, shall we?  My FAVORITE place to vacation was New Orleans growing up.  It was so different back then, for I saw it with child-like eyes.  The French Quarter, Café Du Monde, and the French Market were all like a trip to the past.  My Mom and Dad always made it a point to make our vacations educational in some way.  So, of course, our walk through the quarter was filled with historical information and educational tours.  I remember the first time being in Jackson Square and the magnificent St. Louis Cathedral.  I remember BEGGING my parents, along with my other siblings, to let us take a ride on the mule-pulled carriages.  I remember my dad and mom using all of their limbs to cover up all of our eyes as the driver took a turn onto Bourbon Street.  I guess they had not anticipated a peep show for their children that day. 

                The second time my parents took us to New Orleans, tragedy fell upon us nearly ruining the whole gig.  At the time, we had a 91’ gray Chevy Suburban that was used for our family vehicle.  I distinctly remember the way that thing smelled, corn chips and b.o. Not only was it the family vehicle, but also the Boy Scout mobile.  The days following a week at scout camp that thing was almost unbearable to climb into.  Anyway, the DAY before we were supposed to leave for New Orleans the ole’ girl gave out from transmission failure.  All five children were crying, even Matthew.  Dad announced to the family that we were probably going to have to cancel the trip, and my two little brothers’ hopes of seeing The Big Easy were thrown out the window. That is until Dave and Suze disappeared that afternoon.  While they were gone, we were all praying that they had gone to go get a rental or something of that nature. Daddy called around 8 o’clock and told all of us to come outside because they had a surprise.  We were all standing in the front yard when this shiny, green van turned onto our county road from the highway, drove down the road, turned into our driveway, and into our parking spot.  David and Suzie were sitting in the front seats with smiles on their faces.  My siblings and I were jumping around like heathens screaming “YAYAH!”

                That was the beginning of MANY adventures in that 98’s Dodge Caravan.  It was the van that saved our vacation to New Orleans, it was the van that I learned to drive in, and it was the van my parents made me drive my brothers to school in L haha.

                My second time to visit Bourbon was right after I had moved to the city.  Oddly enough, a young man who had been a missionary in our area, of whom my family and I were very fond, called me up and said that he was in town with some co-workers.  Of all places in the city, this guy wanted to meet us on BOURBON. Irony.  Will and I headed down there and met the group of returned missionaries in front of Razoo, one of the most well-known night clubs.  I wasn’t 21 yet, so I had to watch as this group of young LDS men went into the Cat’s Meow and sang a few Karaoke songs.  They all came out giggling like school girls, no one would have even had a clue that they were all sober.  Bourbon Street, Mormon style.

                The day of my 21^st we were with JJ and D.  We went over to their place to discuss our plans for the evening, as nothing had been solidified.  I remember sitting there and JJ and Will were ping ponging ideas back and forth about where the best place to take me would be.  All of the sudden JJ stopped, looked at me, and said “Wait, have you ever smoked hookah before?” “A whattah?” I replied.  “Hookah, it’s shisha, aka fancy flavored tobacco, and you smoke it out of a hose”.  “ummmm…”, I said.  It was settled then, we were going to go downtown, start at Frenchman, go to the Hookah Cafe’, and see where the night took us.  I was only along for the ride, because heaven knew I wasn’t driving.

                Disclaimer: To my readers who are shocked at my complete honesty, don’t be.  Let’s face it, everyone’s lives turn out the way they do because of their own personal choices.  Like I said in the beginning of this project, the decisions that I made led me on a journey with a positive ending result.  It might not be the positive ending result that was expected, but somewhere along the line I created my own expectations.  I love you all.

                ANYWAYS, Will and I went to pick up JJ and D around 8 p.m. and JJ agreed to be the chauffer for the night.  We headed downtown and ended up in front of the Hookah Café about 15 minutes later.  So, let’s say it’s YOUR 21^st birthday and your friends are taking you out on a night on the town.  What is the first thing that you grab?  Well, we got to the door and the door woman asked for our I.D.s.  

...........................Whoops.

 What kind of human being forgets their I.D. ON THEIR 21^ST BIRTHDAY? I propose that it is one with frizzy red hair and an air bubble for a brain.  JJ just shook his head, then started laughing at me like a hyena, and we all loaded back into their car to go retrieve it.  Forty minutes later, we returned… with my I.D.  

                And so the night began, the Hookah Café was cool, man.  There were hippies everywhere smoking out of these alien looking pipe things with like 4 hoses coming out from every direction.  I think JJ ordered our hookah.  I think that the name of our shisha actually did have the word alien in it.  It was absolutely amazing. It was so smooth and tasted like passion fruit.  I was kind of hooked on the hookah.  JJ bursted my sober bubble by buying my first shot of Patron.  We went to the bar, bar tender poured two shots, gave me some salt and a lemon wedge.  Of course I didn’t know what the hell, haha.  JJ gave me instructions “lick the back of your hand, shake some salt on it, shoot the patron, lick the salt, and put the lemon in your mouth”.  It all seemed so complicated.  So, we shot, I licked, and I sucked the lemon, and my esophagus caught on fire. 

                After the Café, we decided it would be a good idea to go to Bourbon.  I’ll be completely honest, after that shot of Patron, I was kind of feeling warm and fuzzy.  When we got there, JJ handed me this green bottle thing that had a hand grenade at the bottom.  “New Orleans hand grenade, dude” he said with a Cheshire grin.  It was delicious.  I drank it real fast, too fast.  The rest of the night involved more gallivanting and more hand grenades.  I fell asleep on some random steps on our way back to the car, and I’m pretty sure Will puked on someone’s vehicle.  On my 21^st birthday, I was on Bourbon St, in New Orleans, drinking hurricanes and hand grenades.  Not boasting, just saying.

                The next day I had a hangover the size of Texas.  My first New Orleans hangover.  Holy hand grenade, Batman.  Will walked into the bathroom as I was desperately splashing water on my face and said, “Welcome to the REAL New Orleans.”