Last year, in a show of complete and utter blasphemy, I skipped town and went to Washington, D.C. to visit a guy I was dating at the time. This year, however, I took advantage of the holiday. Mardi Gras not only found me drunk and partying, it also taught me plenty and proved a number of theories I had previously held untrue.
The first thing Mardi Gras taught me is a great deal about international relations and European diplomacy. In other words, I spent the weekend hanging out with a hot Swedish guy and his friends. I learned Mardi Gras transcends any minor language barriers and unites all nationalities because — as far as drinking, partying, dancing and clubbing go — we’re all the same.
I also reviewed my colors, something I hadn’t really done since kindergarten. With the help of a very cool girl who is my newly appointed shot partner, I acquired all five colors of souvenir shot glasses from the bar at the Pontchartain Hotel. So I guess that was a review of numbers as well. Together, my shot partner and I also explored volunteerism and the kindness of strangers — those strangers, in particular, who volunteered (though they may have been mildly persuaded) to buy us shots.
Then came physical education, which consisted of walking from the corner of Jackson and St. Charles to Bourbon Street. That’s almost three miles from the hotel bar to the Playboy 50th Anniversary Party that was waiting for me at 735. In track, cross-country, jogging and other distance sports, I learned it is important to keep your eye on the goal and to work toward something specific. In my case, hot Swede plus Playboy party was incentive enough — I reached my destination in record time.
My next lesson was accounting. Upon reaching Bourbon Street, I did a quick inventory of my pockets. Discovering I was broke, I recruited financial assistance. I grabbed an attractive, generous young gentleman’s arm and invited him into the club, where he so kindly proceeded to pay my cover. Financial problems solved!
Once inside 735, I engaged in a bit of public relations. Not having a ticket to the Playboy party posed a major problem seeing as I did not have 300 bucks to pay at the door to go upstairs to the festivities, and I most certainly did not want to be left below with the minions. That’s where charm and articulation come in … as well as the old guy with an extra ticket. Public relations landed me the ticket and a quick lesson in self-defense saw me safely upstairs to the Playboy party. The mode of action: once upstairs, immediately find people you know! Remember: there is safety in numbers and one should always be aware of her surroundings.
Then began the bulk of my anatomy and physiology tutorials. I’m not sure that the Playboy bunnies were acting in the name of science, but they most certainly gave a thorough review of the female anatomy. From the balcony as well, our view provided us with a comprehensive assessment of human physiology. The bunnies inside the club behind us were not as thorough as this view from the balcony, but they sufficed. Believe me, they sufficed.
In tying together the things I learned, I realized guys aren’t just whining about girls being able to get whatever they want just because they’re girls. I used to dismiss the idea; I thought it was ridiculous to think girls could score special treatment simply for being a girl. But after Mardi Gras, it certainly seems true. My super cool shot partner and I would not have scored so many free shots had we been two stunning young boys. I would not have shelled out cover charges for an attractive — yet unfamiliar — guy on Bourbon Street. And I doubt the old guy with the extra Playboy party ticket would have handed it over to another guy. Simply by virtue of being a woman, things seemed to fall right into place.
I left Mardi Gras with more than just a pile of worthless beads, souvenir shot glasses and a hangover. I walked away with a new wealth of knowledge.
Travel during the Mardi Gras season again? I don’t think so.