In which we get engaged, hop on a plane, eat some gourmet pork rinds, pay too much for a hotel room above the loudest bar in the world so we don't sleep, but we do get to listen to a genuine Cajun janitor attempt to fix our toilet, get on a bus to Alabama, hang out on the beach with my mom, eat all of the seafood, hide out from a tornado, get on a bus back to Louisiana, move into an old Greek revival bed and breakfast with slanting floors and a thirteen inch CRT TV, meet some cats, walk all around the French Quarter three or four times, order beignets and coffee (twice - Café Beignet is the superior choice, btw), visit a pharmacy museum, take 500 photos with my camera's faulty focus, listen to great live music, ride a tandem bicycle, and fly back home.
(Also, Michael Pollan's four-part documentary Cooked on Netflix is so great and has almost nothing to do with this post except for that we watched it during this week and I feel like I need to tell you to watch it instead of Fuller House because Fuller House is an abomination and shouldn't exist. I just read somewhere that it's getting a second season and I am outraged. I haven't been this mad since someone promised to bring Sandy's Donuts to work and instead showed up with Dunkin'. So, I really need you to watch the good things that Netflix comes out with or they're going to reboot Step by Step or - god forbid - Saved by the Bell, and honestly, I don't think I could survive that.)
Any way, New Orleans is a great time. Maybe even the best time.
Now to plan a wedding.