I slept on a porch for three and a half hours

Last weekend shaped up like any normal run of the mill weekend. Fly to New Orleans to pick up the car left there during the holidays and related moving experience. Go to the Saints game. Drive home the next day.

The problem was this is January. The Saints don't play in January most of the time. They damn sure don't win. Thus, I didn't know what to expect from the weekend.

The day started well enough. I made my flight on time even after having stopped at Whataburger for some emergency taquitos. Danny graciously picked me up and ferried me back to his house to check on my wheels and relax a bit before lunch at Liuzza's.

We arrived on Bourbon Street via the street car and stepped into unknown territory. Folks were already milling about the Quarter in a drunken fashion. I counted 27 Reggie jerseys during the walk from Canal to Iberville. That's a lot of Bush in one spot. Naturally, the Eagles fans chose The Frat House as their base. There's no accounting for taste, but I'm glad they were around to spread some green in the city.

We lounged in Jackson Square for a bit before camping out at Old Absinthe House until heading to the Dome. Just as we were beginning to enjoy the scene and our beer, a State Trooper on a motorcycle hauls ass up and starts directing folks out of the way so some SUVs can park. Governor Blanco, with entourage, stepped out and headed into the Royal Sonesta for a drink or dinner or maybe to potty. She was out and gone within a short period of time. No boos from the citizenry either, which I found surprising.

Anyway, the game passed quickly amongst a flurry of camera flashes, beers and honking air horns. The lady in front of us was getting pissed. C'MON!!! YOU'RE ONLY AT THE BIGGEST GAME IN THE DOME EVER. Relax! Move with the music if it helps you; it helps me.

I was also adopted by the Row 11 knuckleheads that sit between our two groups of tickets. I'd seen them during my other two regular season appearances and known that they would be fun to have around. Trey, the one the fleur de lis cut in his head, managed to make make the Fox football b-roll for the Saints during their trip to Tampa. Look for him on Sunday; he's the deranged looking guy in the Will Smith jersey (not the one with Jazzy Jeff).

The French Quarter was Mardi Gras crowded after the game. The NOPD Cavalry was on hand to trample anyone who got really nuts. I got sort of nuts, but was protected by Ricky Jackson at Fritzel's. I don't think he was quite himself that night. But he was bringing Cha-Ching back.

The night was going along splendidly until I felt the pass out alarm going off. "No worries, I'll just step out here and get a cab to Danny's." WRONG. The Quarter was packed. Cabs would be few and far between around there so I forged my way over to Canal to track one down.

Long story almost short: it took me nearly an hour to find four cabs. The first three said they wouldn't take me to Mid City. I told the fourth one to take me to Chez Kercher in Uptown. I was baffled; the fare difference between Danny and Dave's is roughly $3. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? They are lucky that I was drunk and in no shape to argue. Next time I'm brining mace. If they say no, they won't be driving a cab for the rest of the night.

Sophie, Wonder Dog, was barking her fool head off as a I climbed the porch steps. Not a creature was stirring, 'cept for Soph, which is surprising since rumor has it that she sleeps sandwiched between DK and MJ's pillows. Oh well. I couldn't go anywhere else and I was being a polite moron and refusing to knock on the door.

Things quickly boiled down to hammock or rocking chair. The hammock seemed like a bad idea since it was in the backyard and totally exposed to the elements, aka dew and cold weather. I opted for the rocker since it looked slightly inviting and was on the porch slightly shielded from the dew.

Attempting to sleep in that rocking chair while freezing to death on the porch is one of the stupidest things I have done yet. I decided to improve things by lying directly on the concrete porch. Yep, that was a bad idea, too. I should have just beat the door down until they rescued me. In fact, I did that at 7 AM. Why didn't I fast forward and do that in the first place? Who knows?