Christmastime in New Orleans


In case you're curious, the first thing you should know about New Orleans is that the French Quarter is full of loveable weirdos. 



Like this guy.



In all my years of spending time in New Orleans, this is the first picture of me in Jackson Square. (I'm not a tourist, psh.) And I had to cut it off because my former favorite shirt makes me look about three months pregnant. 

(At first I said nine months pregnant but Y, in his infinite medical wisdom, assured me I only looked three. This is still disconcerting because I am definitely ZERO months pregnant.)






Here's a tip if you find yourself eating at the famous Commander's: They're going to push your chair in for you. Do not -- I repeat, do not --  put your full weight on the chair. It won't go anywhere. It will be embarrassing for all parties involved. Clearly I'm not used to eating at fine dining establishments.

Tip #2: order the cheese grits. For the love of God, order the cheese grits. 






Two views of Larry Flynt's Hustler Club.






Christmastime in New Orleans = 85 degrees and 85% humidity. It never seems to affect my friends who somehow can wear pants in that weather, but I had to wear as little clothing as possible and I still sweated far more than is appropriate for a lady. Thank goodness the glow of the Roosevelt's Christmas lights made my hair look presentable. 

(Just kidding, I photoshopped my stringy bangs. My blog, my rules.)