Take Me to the Mardi Gras!

I have a real fondness for the St. Louis Mardi Gras. My first Mardi Gras was about four years ago. (Man, time flies, doesn't it?) I had gotten laid off, had to move to St. Louis, a town where I didn't really know anyone other than an assortment of cousins, and I was living with my parents. I don't care who you are, what kind of relationship you have with your parents, moving in with them after living on your own is really bad for your self-respect.

Anyway, one afternoon in early February, I was talking to one of my aforementioned cousins who said, "Man, I'm stoked about the Soulard Mardi Gras. It's my, uh... third favorite day of the year, after Christmas and baseball opening day."

"What, Mardi Gras?" I said. "Here?"

"Yeah, they have a big parade in Soulard. It's good times, man. In fact, St. Louis has the second-biggest Mardi Gras parade in the U.S."

"Get the hell out."

"I'm serious."

Let it suffice to say, it lived up to expectations. It all started out with meeting at my cousin's girlfriend's house, where people got started gulping down mimosas, filling their backpacks with beer, and, uh, smoking. We made our way to Soulard, the old French-styled part of town and bars on every corner.

There were something like 100,000 people that year, of all varieties. I've said, if you ever have a desire to walk around in public wearing a fur vest and a diaper, that's the time and place to do it. Fantastic people watching, especially outside Clementines, the gay watering hole*.

There were even women willing to expose themselves, although since it was very chilly, they usually had to dig through the coat, scarf, and two or three sweaters to get a peek at the eponymous meat.

I should mention that I feel really sleezy with this craning my neck to see drunk girls take off three sweaters. I should also mention that I was able to fight off this feeling in record time.

Last year was almost out of control. I think 300,000 people there. Although the fact that it was something like 65 degrees outside (which had been forecast all week) might have helped those numbers considerably. One one light-weight sweater to get through if that's the case.

And now, with the, um, problems they've had in New Orleans, St. Louis will probably have the #1 biggest Mardi Gras in the country.

And I'm extending a unique opportunity to you, dear reader(s), to whom I've already given so much. I just keep giving, that's the kind of guy I am. A skilled and generous lover, as the ladies put it.

Anyway, anyone who is reading this is welcome to drop by my house the weekend o f February 25th (i.e. Mardi Gras parade day), eat my food, get pestered for love and affection by the puppy dog, sleep in the spare bedroom, and be escorted around town in style in J's rad BMW, assuming it's running that day.

See... the cold wind-chapped boobies of dozens of nubile Rust Belt ladies! Test yourself... with a heroic marathon drinking session (drinking starts at 7 or 8 a.m., and the bars and strip clubs in Illinois never close. How long can you hold out?)

Drop me a line at the address to the right if you're interested.

* I probably should have used a different term than "watering hole" to describe a gay bar. I'd like to apologize for any emotional distress this unfortunate choice of words might have caused.