We eased into our Deep South arrival with a quick overnight stay in New Orleans. Lucky for me, one of my best gays was with us, and....it was Southern Decadence! That's right, a big ole Gay Mardi Gras in one of the most homophobic parts of the country! Sign me up!
But first, we headed to Jacques-Imo's for an authentic taste of "Nawlns" and part one of several 10,000-calorie days.
(Poor photography this trip is compliments of Mr. FGD. I was too busy mopping the sweat from my nether regions.)
The blue-eyed brothers appearing to be a little in shock at having landed in this strange part of the world. (Read: they grew up visiting here and it's completely normal to them, but I was a fish out of water and this is my blog so I'll tell it how I want to tell it.)
Jason, still in shock. Me, just beginning the start of a 4-day humidity-inspired "glow."
This alligator was also told it would be a 45 minute wait for dinner, and as the clock turned past the one hour point, took things into his own hands. Or mouth.
After an hour and a half of waiting for a table, we finally got seated around 10 pm. This is me, in a humidity and hunger-inspired shock, before I started gnawing on the menu:
There are no photos of dinner. We were too fucking hungry.
Next, we went back to our hotel in the French Quarter to get ready for a big gay night out. I thought wearing my gay-for-the-night's shades would help me channel my inner Southern Decadence.
Good look, no? In fact, later in the trip, we also convinced Mr. FGD's mom that it would be a good look for her too.
Before we left the hotel
Answer: he went with the tank.
I just went for the sweaty look.
But no, really, I was totes happy to be there.
In case you forgot already who was taking the photos this trip, I'll just remind you that it wasn't me or my gay brother in law:
The next morning, while I slept in, Mr. FGD got up early to walk over to his beloved Cafe du Monde for some world-famous beignets.
So you can probably imagine my surprise when Mr. FGD returned to the room empty handed.
Don't. even. speak. to. me. if. you. don't. have beignets.
With the morning off to a fabulous start, we headed further south for yes, a Louisiana Swamp Tour.
Fortunately, it was 97 degrees and 100% humidity, and I was in a *fabulous* mood.
Who knew the West LA (that's Los Angeles, not Louisiana) gay would feel right at home?
To further enhance my cheery mood, the bayou party got started with a startling splash of high-speed swamp water. Cheerio.
Good thing one of us was having fun.
Believe it or not, things started looking up when eyeballs started popping up all over the swamp.
What's not to love about swamp aliens who share my love of junk food?
I could totally snuggle right up to these puppies.
This poor chap was having a bad hair day.
And like me, this big guy was hungry! (His partner must have come back empty-handed from the bayou beignet shop too.)
You may have thought Elvis was dead, but turns out he's swimmin along the swamps of south Louisiana:
Me, Elvis, and what a swamp tour does to your hair:
Elvis and his gay fan base:
Creepy. Would not want to be out here at night.
Who needs an expensive salon blowout when you can rock the swamp look?
For the rest of the trip, we ate fried food...
and more fried food...
and visited with 90-year old granny
and never, was I ever so happy to return to Orange County.