I was born and raised in the 504 so sometimes I take things for granted. Things like going to New Orleans City Park, getting a cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde, or just getting out and about going around town to spots that drop off of your radar. So, I packed up my little lady and we were tourists in our own town.
Growing up it was a tradition to get beignets with my family on weekends. Not every weekend, but it was always nice because it’s relaxed and there’s no dressing up to get powdered sugar all over yourself so, I was in!
After getting my little lady all hyped up on sugar we headed to City Park and then to the French Quarter. Every time I’m in the French Quarter I think about the rich history and it makes me feel like I’m going back in time. O.k., maybe not the guy asking where I bought my shoes, but there is a vibe there like there are so many old souls lingering around. Cool and creepy.
From there we headed to the Audubon Insectarium. I’m not a bug person, but the butterflies were stunning!
At this point we were ready for some food and headed to get some spicy boiled (berled) crabs.
Now, right about this time mama bear was ready for a long nap, but baby bear had plans of a sno-ball from Sal’s and a walk by . Right about now this whole tourist in my own town thing is wearing me out, but the show must go on.
That was my day with the little lady out and about in. It was fun to see the sights and sounds of music in the streets along the streets of the French Quarter. We are going to make this a regular thing…you should too!
There’s got to be a twelve step sweet tooth (in my case it should be sweet teeth) program. I never met a cupcake I didn’t like and that didn’t equally adore my lower body. I have a teensy little addiction to Sucre. If you aren’t in NOLA, you need to add Sucre to your list of to-dos when you do pay us a visit.
After having a baby 11 weeks ago, I dropped 40 lbs. of the 50 I gained (I’m keeping the other 10 for good luck). That’s what I tell myself at least so apparently since that 10 pounds of good luck is still here, this must be my year! Anyway, I decided to go to lunch with my husband and swing Sucre afterwards. Boy, did my sweet teeth start acting up because look what we got…
If that weren’t enough…I heard they had these little diddies and just had to get some.
Now THESE are a weakness! Anyone that knows me knows that I have been an avid glutton for Sucre since they first opened on Magazine Street. These are their Salted Caramel Chocolate Cupcakes and might I add that they are on my list of “If I’m ever on death row, I wants these foods”.
Happy Weekend Y’all!
Over the last two days I have a completely restored faith in my city and all of the gloriously eclectic people that call her home.
I was perusing Facebook late on Wednesday night as one does with an insomniac 7 week old. So, with toothpicks holding my eyelids open, I gently rocked a bassinet with one hand while flipping through status updates of all my friends showing off how awesome their Mardi Gras was. A few minutes in of my vicariously living through others fun, I saw Laren Thom’s @FleurtyGirl post. Insert knife in heart and twist. Lauren had posted a link from NOLAFemmes blog written by Amy Mueller.
Now, if you haven’t read the blog post yet, go on and grab a tissue. So, assuming you have read it, blown your snotty nose, and hugged your child(ren), wtf? What kind of person makes a special needs autistic child feel like that? What kind of person crushes a child’s spirit? So after crying I was pissed. After going back to the FleurtyGirl post I added my comments along with hundreds of others. It was nice to see so many people offering up their loot and Krewe of Muses coveted shoes. I immediately went Twitter to repost and read tweets.
Amazingly, something so ugly and cruel really made the people of New Orleans shine and they were not going to let this little girl, Emily, be made to feel bad about herself or Mardi Gras. Countless people behind the scenes, but namely Krewe of Muses, Rolling Elvi, Noisician Coalition , Nola Snow Snowballs, individuals and families just wanted to do anything they could to make it right. They did it all in record time too.
In the end, Miss Emily knows that no matter how weird or different she feels at times, we all are. No one is perfect. That is the joy of Mardi Gras and this great city. We celebrate the eclectic, the abnormal, the creative, the weird, and different.
Thank you, New Orleans for being s shinning example to all of us!
Well, well, well. My body has officially started a war and it’s on!
I am pregnant and feeling like I could fall into a narcoleptic slumber at any moment. Naturally, I have not felt like getting myself fixed up lately. With that said, I felt sorry for my poor husband when I stopped schlepping around the house long enough to take a gander in the mirror. Holy hell! It wasn’t good. If I had the energy to take a picture at that moment I would have, but as I said, I feel pretty sluggish and lazy so no instagram.
I decided I would put some makeup on and at least try not to look like a homeless woman. Normally, I have full makeup on just to get the mail, but lately it’s hella ugly ya’ll. Anyway, I sit down with my plethora of makeup that would make any drag queen jealous, only to put the mirror up and almost pass out. What in the hell was on my chin. How did I not notice a hair. Not a soft, subtle, blonde hair. Oh no. This hair looked like the one Gina Davis clipped off of Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. It was brown and coarse. I have a little bit of the dry heaves rehashing it.
Once a year I wax the blonde peach fuzz from my cheeks and I usually do my upper lip once a month. How did I not notice that I had a friggin’ witch hair just under my chin on the left? The only thing I can think is that with all the hormones, progesterone, and vitamins I grew a super sprout. I didn’t daaaare tell my husband about it. Once I decided to shave my upper lip in an effort to save myself from the face melting hot wax. I didn’t think about the fact that I would get stubble. Well, my husband called me Frank and refused to kiss me until my soft, blonde, foo man choo grew back.
So, there I was with a makeup mirror in one hand and a stare on my face that could only be matched by Clint Eastwood from the Good, the Bad & the Ugly, I reached up to pull that damn hair out and I tell you what…that thing was like trying to pull a hair from the beard of Zeus! I finally got it after a struggle and almost an upper lip sweat. I made a wish with my chinny chin chin hair…I wish that you and all your ugly friends will never return…and I gave it a good blow.
I slapped some makeup on and fixed breakfast. As my husband thanked and kissed me, he put his hand on my face and told me I looked beautiful. Ha! If he only knew the grandma hair that I plucked from what felt like my toes. Ah, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Growing up I didn’t think I sounded any different from anyone else. Today, it’s another story. The older I got and the more I traveled I realized just how different we sound. The dialect is almost a mix of New Jersey & New York.
I believe the term came from the saying in New Orleans – Where Y’at?, which means Where are you or How are you. Yat is a special dialect that some, not all, New Orleanians have. It’s distinct. If you’ve heard it…then ya know. Movies never get it right so don’t think because you saw The Pelican Brief you got a feel for it. You don’t. There’s a whole slew of words that we have our own vocabulary for like: Monez = Mayonnaise, Terlit = Toilet, Beartroom – Bathroom…This could go one for just about every word in the dictionary.
Yat’s are truly a gumbo of people from different areas and social backgrounds that make up the wonderfully different sound. It’s one more piece that makes New Orleans such an amazing place. There is no other place like it. We have food to make you slap ya mamma, we talk to strangers, we have friends from both sides of the tracks, we find any reason for a festival and it’s what makes so many people not from here want to be a part of it.
Now you kind of know what a yat is…so, Where Y’at?