Friday night, Alicia's husband, Bill supervised us as he took us out on the town while ensuring we behaved. As usual, he had a daunting task. He took us to a really hot Cajun restaurant he called Joe's. But Joe's wasn't the actual name of the restaurant--just what Bill called it. Unfortunately, I will forever call it Joe's, because I cannot recall its true name.
At faux-Joe's I ate the Yumbo Gumbo--which lived up to its name. Luckily I know exactly where faux-Joe's is located, so I can return and try their boudin balls. And when I say faux-Joe's was hot, I mean it was really hot--their AC was on the fritz. But that's okay--because it gave us an excuse to try out the snowball place next door. Bill and Alicia, normally very health conscious, got snowballs that were stuffed with cake or ice cream--we decided it was due to the fact that snowballs drenched in syrup and doused in condensed milk aren't sweet enough. I didn't think my tummy would allow for a stuffed snowball on top of the Yumbo Gumbo, so I opted for a plain unstuffed snowball. It was okay. The snowballs topped with sweet condensed milk I've had on previous trips were much better, as were Bill and Alicia's stuffed snowballs.
Saturday Bill worked and then drove to Mississippi to look at a truck he was considering purchasing, so Alicia and I were on our own--without adult supervision.
We began our Saturday with an early showing of Finding Dory. Cute show. Not overly crowded with munchkins--in fact, we mostly had the theater to ourselves. The time and effort put into animation is amazing--even the short, shown before the feature, had about a gazillion people involved in it. And the previews we saw, were actually of movies I would pay money to see. A rarity in today's unworthy film climate.
After the show we went to the car wash and had her SUV washed. It lasted all of 10 minutes before we saw rain clouds roll in. And she swears we stopped and she filled up the gas tank. I didn't remember it. I must have been really engrossed in the real estate fliers I picked up at the car wash. On our drive home it looked like the neighborhood had received a little rain already, and the sky was clearing, so we thought we had managed to dodge the rain storm. Then we saw the lightening in the clear sky.
We raced home and made it with enough time to let my Chinese Crested (Bandit) and her Min-Pin (Hope) out in the back yard for a quick R&R break (romp and restroom) before the storm hit. During the storm that found her SUV--and evidentially knocked out the satellite dish, yet allowed local sleep-worthy programming (golf and a race car documentary) to air--we supervised our FurKids playtime. Bandit and Hope actually behaved for the most part. We didn't try to introduce my cat, Moggy, into the fray. After the T-shower, the cable was restored so we ordered a movie on demand, Eddie the Eagle. It was very uplifting and inspirational in a Rudy-ish sort of way. We both love Rudy so we enjoyed this movie as well.
Soaring with the Eagle whetted our appetite (actually, our brunch of movie popcorn, soft pretzel, and smuggled soft drinks wore off) and we decided to go eat faux--that would of course be my lame attempt at humor. We actually had Pho, which of course is Vietnamese. Unlike my stinker of a joke, the meal was very good. And right around the corner from the PWAT (Painting With A Twist) studio where I painted my Royal Blues one Mardi Gras (this painting happens to be one of my favorites I've painted).
At one point during the day we stopped at a service station for our gambling fix--i.e., to pick up a couple of PowerBall quick picks--I could use the $288mil, so I can purchase one of the million dollar creole cottages I found for sale in the French Quarter. It was at this time that I remembered Alicia needed to get gas. When I mentioned it she looked at me as if I had purple skin and a third eye--then she used her Psych Nurse Voice to gently orient me and tell me she already gassed up when she told me to roll down my window. I vaguely remembered her telling me to roll down the window earlier. I'll make the drive home tomorrow--the end of another fun vacation. Hopefully I'll remember to gas up my SUV before I get too far out of town--if I can stop giggling long enough to drive.
Alicia and I share a macabre sense of humor. She had me rolling as she told me the following story about the white bikes.
It seems the NOLA Mayor wanted to increase their number of bike routes to make New Orleans the most bike friendly city. Unfortunately, along with the increase in bike lanes, came a rise in bike fatalities. And along with the fatalities, an increase in white bike memorials much like the white crosses that memorialize highway deaths. None of that is funny. However, on her way to work one day Alicia saw a man of a non-native culture riding what she called a ghost bike. As she described the event, we got the giggles as we wondered if he realized what he had found (most likely stolen).
Speaking of found objects--I went out to my SUV to retrieve something at one point during the day, and I happened to see a single key on the ground. I picked it up and handed it to Alicia--she was thrilled because it happened to be the lost key to her Mississippi home.
Rounding out our day, we made an end of the day dash to WalGreens before they closed, for cat food for Moggy (my domestic short hair rescue kitty whose appetite has greatly improved since he went to the Vet last week). We also picked up supplies for caring for Alicias new tat.
Which was also my first.
Yeppers, we finally went and got our matching BFF tattoos--a smallish, thin line drawing of a cross, heart, and anchor. Mine is placed on my inner left wrist. Hers is on her inner right wrist. After I got mine, she confessed she didn't think I'd go through with it (but she said the same thing when we got the temporary henna tattoos while vacationing together several years ago). We've been talking about getting the BFF ink since before her B-day several years ago, but I admitted the reason I insisted on going first--I didn't want to give myself time to talk myself out of it.
We celebrated shared ink by having snowballs on Plum Street. This particular snowball place has always been closed when we were in the mood for snowballs. Their claim to snowball fame (besides being yummy) is placing the snowballs in Chinese takeaway pails (that have been lined with plastic to avoid drips). In true rebel fashion I chose the Amaretto. It had a light almond flavor--nothing like the liqueur of the same name.
And there you have it--our day of mischief and shenanigans--without adult supervision.