I spent this year’s Mardi Gras weekend living the college dream while getting drunk on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I decided literally the day before I left that I wasn’t going to be left behind on a deserted campus while everyone else partied like we’re all supposed to. Unfortunately what was meant to be a cheap weekend of booze and beads ended up costing me a shit ton more, and honestly (forgive me lord) a part of me blames Jesus.
So there I was. I’d pregamed with half a bottle of my cheapest blessing, some Evan Williams whiskey, bought myself a tall, typical tourist cup of a Hurricane, and carried a fishbowl around my neck with a lanyard. Needless to say, I was drunk off my ass. And then the beads started. SO MANY BEADS. It’s like the second I hit the jam packed streets I was a crack addict looking for a fix. “I like your beads.” “Can I have your beads?” “I LIKE THE PINK BEADS CAN I HAVE THEM?” And let me tell you, I was collecting them left and right like a stripper collecting singles while working the pole. At one point I remember some creepy old guy asking what he got in return for handing over one of his little precious jewels, to which I channeled my inner feminist and told him he would get the “satisfaction of knowing he was a good man that did not degrade women by objectifying them” which, honestly, is quite an impressive speech for someone who was drunk as I was.
Feeling pleased with myself, I walked and was stopped by one of those street preachers who probably aches from seeing all the sins taking place around them, and for some reason drunk me decided I would allow myself to revel in a fifteen-minute holy conversation as I finished up my fishbowl. In that moment, I lost all sense of sobriety. However, what I did find was Jesus. After letting the Jesus freak pray for my protection (God bless), I called my brother and told him about my revelation. It was like the scene from Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist: “NORAH, I FOUND JESUS NORAH.” I spent another fifteen minutes screaming about how much I loved God as I held back from vomiting up the excessive amount of alcohol I had consumed. Then I stumbled back for beads.
Seconds after hanging up the phone I was stopped by another Lord lover, and put my phone away to get prayed for again. Immediately afterwards I danced my way into the streets where a nice man randomly stepped in front of me, wrapped a feather boa around my neck, then pushed onwards. Smiling and feeling literally ‘one hunnid’ I went to grab my phone and take a picture with my new prized possession.
It was gone. My new iPhone 6 [in its card-carrying case] that I had just MOMENTS before placed into my cross body bag was nowhere to be found. And then I had a flashback to my dad warning me about pickpocketers and how they bump into you so you’re distracted as they sneak their filthy hands into your belongings. Except in this case, what better distraction to a drunk girl than a colorful, feathery boa? Pretty much my night was ruined and I went back to my room to sob on the hotel phone to my big about how hard my life was, like literal first world problems: No phone. No ID. No debit card. Nothing in New Orleans.
Um excuse me? Were my prayers sent to Jesus’s voicemail? Did he hear those people ask to watch over me and just decide “eh I’ll pass on this one”? I’d rather I had found my stuff than Jesus that night because then I wouldn’t have had to spend 800 dollars on a brand new phone, 50-something bucks on hotel phone charges, or my whole weekend hating the world. Moral of the story: if you think you found Jesus, watch your back..