Oh man. Last night was supposed to be casual. Casual. I should not feel like death after a casual night.

Mo and I went to a new bar in the Arena district for the Texan's birthday. Y'all. It was torture. Or something.

He seemed excited that I'd be going to SXSW and I told him once I get to Austin I might not leave. (Which has a grain of truth to it.) Then we raved about Texas for about five minutes, causing Mo much eye rolling.

But for some crazy reason I was all green when I saw him talking (flirting! I say! He was flirting!) with other girls. Mo just said,

"Hannah - if it was your birthday and all these people were here, would you be talking to just one guy?"

"Well..."

"Hannah. No. Seriously. If E and Dtrain and..."

"All right! All right! I still hate him though."

So we traipsed off to the bar, and with much hair flinging and cigarette ashing, analyzed why we're still single. We're gorgeous. Witty. Smart. Fun. What's the f'in problem, mayn?

A couple guys at that party a few weeks ago told MO she was too tall.

The whole night she stomped around in her 3-inch boots saying "You left me with the married guys and they said my height could be a problem with men!!"

After about two hours at the Texan's thing we went to this bar I hate to meet up with Morris. See. That's how you can tell I had too many low carb beers. A. I willingly went to a bar that was having a "Mardi Gras" party. B. I wanted to meet up with Morris.

I'm SUCH a Mardi Gras snob, y'all. (Actually T's having her famous party tonight. Stupid T and her stupid faraway party with her stupid crawfish fettucini.)

It amazes me how no one can grasp the concept of parades. No, you don't get your beads from showing you titillating assets. You get them from p-a-r-a-d-e-s. Yes. Those things with floats and bands and crazy drill teams? They throw beads. Little kids get them. Nuns get them. I don't take off my shirt. I may be drunk but I'm not trashy.

So at this bar last night they had beads and purple, green and gold decorations and for a second there I thought I was actually on Bourbon because they even had Hurricanes! And y'all know it ain't Mardi Gras without Hurricanes.

But one of the guys working the door had crawfish beads. T loves the crawfish beads, y'all. She'll finger them and say, Hey Mister, whether the guy is 50 or 15. She don't care. She just wants your crawfish.

We are beyond bead snobs. If I don't like the ones being thrown at me I'll actually swing out of the way or drop them if I instinctively reach up to snatch them. Cause see, the Krewe guys won't give you the really good beads if you wearing a ton. You've got to be selective.

And last year was the first time I got to be on a ladder. Mayn, ladders rule over being on someone's shoulders by miles. (By no one rules over Myles.) Especially when the crazy 19-year-old Cajun Air Force boy climbs up there with you.

Heh.

See, I was going to write about all my favorite Mardi Gras. (I think that word is like moose. The plural and singular are the same. Right?) But I've got to wake Mo up. We're CLAZY and decided yesterday to have a party tonight. Needless to say, we got shit to do.

See, now I want King Cake.

Damn.