Archive for September 3, 2001

West Palm Beach (I can edit!!)

September 3, 2001 Leave a comment

I have fixed the mysterious missing words on the last journal entry. If it weren’t for the notes about it, you’d never know!

So where was I? Oh yes, I was about to go out for a night on Bourbon Street.

When I was at the Tropical Isle, the bartender had told me that a bar called the Cat’s Meow would be a good place to go, far from the action of the Southern Decadence, which I had no desire to be a part of. Just to recap, Southern Decadence is the gay thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – I just wanted to watch drunk chicks perform the activities normally seen on the “Girls Gone Crazy New Orleans” series of videotapes as advertised on late night television. (I rewrote that above sentence about 6 times and I still don’t like it all that much)

So I stopped into the Cat’s Meow. Turns out it is a full-time karaoke bar. There was a sparse crowd there, mainly 30s and 40s and up. They had an extremely short list of songs and an extremely short list of singers – about five on the board. The bar compensates for this by having every other song be karaoke. This eliminates the waiting around for someone to get to the stage as well as giving you more time to drink between turns singing. When I asked what time the bar closes, I was told that it closed when people stop buying drinks.

The karaoke setup itself was new to me. Rather than the host calling people up, there was a karaoke assistant (the super-cutie Caroline) who wrote the names and songs on this big dry erase board next to the stage. Then she would write the names of the next people up in large letters and the person who was next was responsible for getting to the side of the stage before it was their turn. Otherwise they were skipped. I was at this bar for most of my night and I had the opportunity to sing about 7 songs. I must have been well received because when I would leave the bar and walk around the street, people were screaming my name at me and telling me what a great job I did (and even once buying me a shot of Goldschlager).

I left the Cat’s Meow at around 11 and spent the next couple of hours cruising the street. First stop was underneath the balcony of a bar called x11 with the x representing a number that was not 9. Other than that, no clue. There was an extremely large crowd of people, both guys and girls standing on the street yelling at the girls on the balcony to show their tits. Some beads were tossed, tits were shown. I got some beads – I showed my tits! (If you see me on Girls Gone Wild New Orleans we have a serious problem). As expected, there were at least a dozen people shooting the balcony with digital camcorders.

That scene got boring fast, yet when I came back down that way, I did see some of the same people still standing there that had been there an hour and a half earlier. I really wanted to explain to them how there were about 10 bars within three blocks of there where they could see that stuff without begging, but somehow or other I didn’t think they’d care.

I moved on to some other bars, many of which had live cover bands. I stopped in a t-shirt shop and got a frozen drink of some sort, just so I could say I had bought a drink in a clothing store. And because I didn’t have a drink in my hand and well, I was drinking tonight.

One bar I went inside was called Utopia. Now they had a stage and it looked like a band was setup, but instead they were having beer drinking contests on stage. Drink the beer faster than the other guy, you get a free beer. But didn’t they just get a free beer? This quickly turned into a wet t-shirt contest as some girls decided to pour the beers on themselves instead of drinking. So next thing you know some girl is on stage, stripped down to just a thong and she’s pouring beer on herself and some guys up front are going on stage to lick the beer off of her and this is doing nothing for me so I left. I guess I just wasn’t in the mood to whoop and holler.

Anyway, I checked out pretty much every place that looked hopping on the entire street and realized that the Cat’s Meow was definitely the most fun for me. So I got back there around 12:30-12:45 and stayed until the three o’clock last call. There had been a shift change – new karaoke host, new DJ, but same karaoke assistant (what would I have done without her?) The bar had turned into a ridiculously packed place by then which I usually don’t like. But somewhere in the 8 or 9 drinks I consumed, I must have turned into a party animal! (Actually the whole thing was being at one gigantic frat party)

At this point, I changed over to water so that I wouldn’t be a hungover headache machine the next morning. I sung a few more songs until they made last call at 3 and turned off the karaoke machine. I was still too pumped up and I knew I had not drank enough water, so I went to look for a bar that was still open. I found one, called Ratto’s or Razzo’s or Ratatouille’s or something like that, and I boogied down for about an hour. I ended up having another couple of shots of Goldschlager with this big gang in town from Boston that had recognized me from Cat’s Meow. When they found out I was originally from Springfield, they made me (made me? ha!) drink with them. This was the bachelor party and bachelorette party from the same wedding – they put the bride and groom to bed and continued partying. I am sure they got no sleep and had a giant orgy later, but I missed it, so I am just assuming.

Meanwhile, I discovered an interesting phenomenon. Seems that at about one o’clock, a bunch of local guys all come to Bourbon Street to pick up on the “drunk chicks.” This was verified for me by one of these fine young assh*!^@, I mean gentlemen, who admitted to doing just that. He was dancing pretty closely with a drunk girl when his friends tried to get him to leave because “there was nothing happening here.” So he took his hands off the girl immediately and said . . . “hey I gotta go.” So the girl went off to the bathroom or something, probably to cry.

Then the guys were milling around and being a little brave from the liquor and the fact that I had made this little click with these guys from Houston who were behind me, I said . ..

“Dude. Don’t leave – that’s mean.” again I paraphrase myself. I’m sure I added I swear.

“Hey man – I can get that anytime I want,” came the reply.

“Oh I’m sorry – that your girlfriend or something?”

“No, not at all, it’s just I can come here anytime and get THAT,” he said with the cocky confidence of a world class loser. His friends at this point high fived.

I was speechless. I had no reply. I guess I only hang out with kind, decent people. I had only seen people like this in the movies, so I couldn’t believe what I had seen. Anyway, turns out they decided to stay when some large group of girls came in together. So this particular asshole went to work on the new girls – I guess he wanted some of THAT, too. I just left, disgusted. Ahhh the seedy underbelly of the party scene. I am so glad I am not a part of it.

4 oclock and it is still boiling hot outside. I couldn’t believe how freaking hot it was at 4 in the morning. A guy approached me.

“I’ll bet you I know where you bought those shoes.”

Now I know this is some old con game where you end up losing all your money, but I don’t remember how it goes, so I just say . . .

“You think I haven’t heard that one before? Go away.”

“Hey man, I don’t mean you no harm . . .”

“Well then just get away from me”

And I kept walking, and he moved on to someone else. Got back to my hotel, forced myself to drink more water (the tap water in New Orleans is miserable) and went to sleep.

Woke up the next morning with . . .

Da da!


So I got my stuff together, got my car off of Charters or Shart street and drove off to Lake City, Florida. I’ve told you everything there is to tell about Lake City, so the next entry will tell you about my nice quiet relaxing adventure free days in South Florida, and I’ll begin to discuss my thoughts on what to do when this whole trip is over.

Until then!

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