Bawwlls and N'awlins

A week ago we attended our first Navy Ball. But there aren't any umpire dresses in stores these days, and Cary doesn't call me Mrs. Lawson, and there wasn't organized dancing that involves holding high fives and walking in circles while giggling and avoiding eye contact. But I guess it was okay.

Naw, it was better than okay. We walked in a little wobbly due to a pre-party celebration, and I had to steer Cary away from a "make out" session in the museum IMAX theater. (I'm beginning to wonder if a writer's flinching honesty is wise when it comes to a naval officer's career - I may have to do some deleting and censoring once he has wings growing out of his back ... But until he has people actually answering to him, let's go hog wild, shall we?)

By night the Naval Aviation Museum is the same. Besides the stoppage of tours and IMAX movies and people under three feet of course. They cleared a spot in the north? south? east? west? wing. Smarty pants probably moved a couple jets around under the orders of the party planners. There were paper lanters I think. Wobbly. Pictures. Dancing. The usual centerpiece that makes it so you can't see the person across from you.

My dinner plate came with steak AND fish AND mashed potatoes. Well that solves everything now doesn't it. There were Oscar dresses and hair. And cocktail dresses, and dresses with just one strap. And while the guys were itching for the after party, or after nap, I realized I was too. Because they do a really nice, respectful memorial to Medal of Honor recipients and other great people from wars across time, but it takes a really long time. And they also have special entrances and exits for different groups of people like, well, I forget, and it's accompanied by this soft, short chiming that sounds like the doorbell to heaven. And it was cool and musical. But like I said. Wobbly.

So we left the ball for New Orleans. Well. We stayed up until three and then slept in 'til three, and then went home and slept some more. And then left for N'awlins. Happy Columbus Day.

We brought the tri-pod and stayed at a La Quinta (translation: behind Denny's) a few miles from downtown. But La Quinta rocks in my book because pets can stay, free of charge.

Our goal is to rid our brains of the imaginary New Orlens (not a typo - how I pronounce it now) and replace it with the real one. The real French Quarter (uneventful) and Bourbon Street (eventful - and smelly without the Venetian charm). The Mississippi River. Which we didn't even know was there, except we were walking along the water, listening to people shout, "Hey, that dog has three legs!", when a girl walks by on her phone and says, "I'm walking along the Mississippi." Ohhh.

I look up food reviews and Cary makes a reservation at Domenica, since it supposedly has the best pizza in New Orlens. The special is. It has tiny steak and gorgonzola and caramelized onions. It's like filet mignon (since that sounds like really good steak) smothered in a very mild blue cheese the texture of ricotta, visited by sweet, tangy veggies and a blistered crust. We ask our server for nightlife tips, but instead of heading to hear music that probably would have been the highlight of our trip, we wander the borders of cemeteries (if we ever run out of cement and marble, we should know where to go) - and then we go back to the hotel and watch National Geographic Explorer's The Science of Dogs.

I think my favorite parts of the trip were the tunnel on the 10 ... (It's so weird, I could take that interstate all the way to our house.) ... And seeing where Hurricane Katrina happened. While I never got the satisfaction of seeing water lines everywhere, better picturing the N'awlins world underwater like in a movie, I did learn a lot more thanks to Cary and Google - and I feel better about the Saints' story; they really do deserve to kick some ass. And recovery, in many senses of the word, is possible.

The week continued in a whirlwind as Cary worked the Starbase Atlantis kids camp on base at Whiting, and I finish my first freelance project. Good thing, because I'm going to need HBO back when the withdrawals kick in, and we need a second computer so I don't have to keep hoarding this one. Cary comes home, wanting the computer, but I give it to him eventually because he tells me funny stories about the kids during his day.

Little girl who has a crush on Cary: "We're moving to Hawaii!"

"Cool. Can I come?" (maybe he has a crush on her)

"Hm. I don't knowww. I'll have to ask, I guess."

"How long are you going to live there?"

"Oh not long - a couple weeks, or a year."

"You can move over to that extra seat if you want."

"Or youu could sit there."

We also found out this week that Cary's primary class up date has been moved up. From February to November. Glad I never plan anything beyond one week these days. Like ball shoes and road trips.