Third time's a charm

This is the third time today I've set down and tried to do this. It's not like I've had SO many things to do; I just keep getting interrupted.

Last night Erika and I took out my next door neighbor Erick for a little going-away fun. He's been accepted to the clinical psych PhD program at Adler in Chicago, and he leaves tomorrow to stay with family in Birmingham for a while as he looks for an apartment in Chi-town. We ate at the Gumbo Shop which is behind Jackson Square. Erick had eaten there before, but neither Erika nor I had been. That will be one of the places I take people when (if) they come visit me. It's not too expensive (if you don't count the small $7 daquiris, that is) and the food is incredible. By unanimous vote, we decided my crawfish and pasta in tasso cream sauce was the best dish of all three (Erika had shrimp creole which, while good, wasn't nearly as good as the creole I make, and Erick had okra gumbo -- yuck). I really wanted someone to order the alligator piquante, but Erick chickened out after I'd already ordered the crawfish. So, to make y'all hungry: imagine tender crawfish tails swimming happily in a slightly spicy cream sauce with a touch of tasso (a type of bacon) all over perfectly al dente penne pasta. Yeah, I'm ready for another dish.

After that, we headed out for Frenchmen Street, but we (read "I") got way-laid by a street performer who grabbed the hand with which I drive and proceeded to serenade me with an overenthusiastic version of Kenny Rogers' "Three Times a Lady," all the while gesticulating with his free hand in which he was still holding the gum he had been chewing before starting to sing. I am trapped there because the guy is still holding my right hand. So I let him sing and didn't roll my eyes or smack him when he kissed me on the forehead after finishing the song. He wasn't giving me creepy vibes, but I wasn't tipping either.

We finally made it to Frenchmen Street and cruised a couple of blocks to preview the music and decide where to stop. Lack of cover charge and big crowd drew us in to Bossa Nova to listen to the Bad Apples Blues Band. They ain't Jim Byrnes, but they were enjoyable nonetheless. Erick and I were really digging the music, but I could tell that Erika was a little bored. She liked the music, but she was really in a salsa mood, and salsa was pumping out of the Blue Nile bar. So I said let's go to the BN. Normally there's a $7 per person cover to see Freddy Omar con su banda, but Erika frequents the salsa night and knew the doorman, so all three of us got in for $5 flat. I really need to stop having preconceived notions of themed nights because there were proportionally more whites and blacks dancing at the BN than there were Hispanics. Even a particular gimp we all know and love was enticed out on the floor to dance half a song. OK, so I looked more like I was having mechanical problems with my chair, but hey, Freddy and his banda got a kick out of it. At one point, Erika and Erick were dancing (and you'd think a South American guy would know a little about how to salsa, but the Japanese-American girl was more familiar with it ::grin:: -- out goes another preconceived notion), and I was watching everyone and enjoying the music with a smile. Sorry, but you really can't listen to salsa and NOT smile. Anyway, this woman who had danced a couple of songs came up to me and said, "Are you having a great time living vicariously through us?"

Now, it's been a while since anyone has said anything truly stupid and insensitive to me openly in public, but she moved away from me quickly enough that I could give her my witty retort of, "Well, actually, while you were over on your barstool getting drunk off your ass, I was dancing, so p--- off." I could have probably blown off the comment, but she then proceeded to make sure she and her man danced in front of me, and she kept smiling indulgently at me like she was doing me a favor. When Erika came up and asked if I wanted to listen to one more song, I said, "No, I'd rather leave before I'm forced to deck some stupid, drunk b----." Outside, I told her what happened, and she started to go back to the bar, saying, "Oh no, she f---ing didn't!" I headed her off, saying the woman's ignorance wasn't worth it, but Erika mumbled about it all the way to the bus stop.

Speaking of bus stop, here follows the latest in Dawn's bus adventures. First, there was the creepy drunk guy who walked up behind me and just STOOD there. He made my neck muscles clench, OK? After almost a full minute (yes, Erick loses guy points for allowing the guy to stand behind me, leaning on my chair, that long), the guy finally starts asking what corner we're on and which direction is St. Claude and how far is it to Chef (Menteur) Highway. I can barely understand the guy. THEN he starts pushing on my chair and saying, "Help. Help." Erika calmly tells him I'm motorized and don't need any help, thanks anyway. That's when I start saying over and over in my head, "Go away. Head for St. Claude." He finally did.

After that, we almost got left by the bus driver because he thought "we were just hanging out on the corner." Yeah, OK. Whatever. A run stop light and stop sign later, and we were finally back on campus.

Now I'm going to bed.