Last week I caught a flight to New Orleans, drank screwdrivers with some kids going to their friend's wedding (our row turned into such a party that the flight attendants brought free drinks--fuck yeah United!), landed at 11.30pm, and within the hour was drinking a monsoon with friends.
We slept in Friday, they went off to their conference, and I wandered the city, refreshing myself with cafe au lait and beignets, checking out new and old clubs along Frenchman street, hydrating with frozen lemonade, and finishing the afternoon with art galleries and a vigorous massage. That night we dined in a charming courtyard and then a new friend and I spent the rest of the evening listening to brass jazz bands, dodging sailors (it was fleet week!) and chatting up friendly New Orleanians (heard of a she-nis? neither had we).
The next day it was off to Florida, via Houston (fuck no, United). Thunderstorms delayed me a few hours but I made it to Tampa before sunset, saying hello to a good friend and heading for a UT hangout for dogs, tots and a pitcher of Sam Adams. We spent the next few days in and around St Pete's, hitting up a classic diner for a gut-busting breakfast, heading to a nearby state park for a five-hour hike, gator jerky, a boar sighting and a most refreshing cigar-and-rum break, chilling at a backyard bbq, and an impromptu drum circle on our apartment's sunny verandah, all of it fueled by tequila, rum, Dos-with-lime, and a can of RedBull.
Tuesday came much too soon.
I'm still bad at good-byes.
I want more hello's.
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