Today is Fat Tuesday the end all, be all, day of the Mardi Gras celebration. For tomorrow lent begins- if you’re a Catholic that is. For the rest of we heathens life goes on as always.

But until tomorrow “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” – which in French means “Let the good times roll.”

But for those of you who find yourselves unable to attend the big soiree, I’ll share some first hand observations from our years of going and save you the trip. Thankfully I seem to have misplaced all of my photos from back then; so you’ll be spared from seeing those.

Be aware some of this may be too intense for younger or more sensitive readers.

So let’s roll…

For many years Doug and I attended Mardi Gras- usually the one held in Galveston; but we did the one in new Orleans as well. Of course we were there to work, not to party.

Is it fun?

Perhaps.

But truly it’s fun only if you’re snockered or just really like being around people who are, which personally I’ve become less and less fond of over the decades. I’m just not as tolerant of obnoxious drunks as I used to be, even if they are paying me a lot of money to deal with them.

And as far as drinking to excess- well that kind of excess anyway- I haven’t done that in close to 15 years now at least.

But the last time I did, it was there as a matter of fact.

It was a BAAAAD thing indeed.

And I certainly can’t do it anymore. I have scant enough working brain cells anymore to even get a quorum together so I’m able walk and chew gum at the same time. Blotting out millions by over consumption of alcohol is just something I can’t risk doing ever again.

I’m not quite ready for the sleep away camp for seniors quite yet.

Sometimes at Mardi Gras you even got a free show.

The last Mardi Gras we worked was in New Orleans the year of Katrina. I was sitting on a corner on Bourbon St. A lovely black couple in their mid-40′s came up and asked if I could paint the wife.

“Oh sure, no worries.” I replied.

She shucked off her shirt and bra and proceeded to get all her lady parts festooned.

When I was done her husband looked at her with a broad smile and said “Now we’re going to the hotel so we can get jiggy with it!”

I had a pretty good idea of what he meant at the time; but for those who don’t I looked it up.

Now you know too.

Once we saw one man at Mardi Gras who was walking around with a scale offering to weigh ladies’ bare bosoms. Not surprisingly, he had takers as there was never a shortage of women who were willing to take it all off or at least flash for a set of beads.

Guys were our biggest customers back when we had a bead booth. They’d come back again and again to stock up on beads to offer the young women whose ta-ta’s still pointed North to give them a flash.

Some guys even tried to pimp out their girlfiend’s ta-tas to get free beads from us, offering to have her flash Doug for free beads. Doug would say, “Why would I do that when I have some I can see for free anytime at home?” I’m not sure if he was being sweet or just being cheap; but either way, he never gave out free beads.

That didn’t hold true for all the guys in the family though.

Brett started working with us at Mardi Gras when he was about 14. Amanda went the same year. She was only 12; but was always precocious and old for her years. I was at the face painting booth a few blocks away.

As I understand it at one point Amanda saw her brother holding a fist full of cash over the counter telling people to just “Get their own change.” after they’d purchased some beads.

Brett was literally stupefied by all the bare boobs so close yet so far and was momentarily completely out of it.

Amanda punched him in the arm and proceeded to take all the money outta his hands.

From that point on he was demoted to bead detangler and was never allowed to touch the money again.

But then what normal 14 yr. old boy wouldn’t react that way? And remember this is 1987- pre internet at home- at least at our home anyway.

I think they each went only three or four times. One good thing that came of all their exposure to Mardi Gras was that neither of our kids, now both adults, drink. And I think that’s a good thing. They’ll be able to avoid repeating some of the mistakes I made when I was younger and drank way too much. Sometimes I even mixed booze and pills before I met Doug in my wild days.

I used to be the poster child for young and dumb. (I suppose I’m destined to do something great or I shoulda died a long time ago now.)

But I’m meandering… sorry..

Anyway, as you can tell Mardi Gras only brings out the very finest in people. And I’ll close with yet one more tale.

In Galveston, the second Sunday just prior to Fat Tuesday is kid’s day. There’s a big parade and the street is crowded with families. There really wasn’t any of the flashing for beads. Most of the people who’d be into that were still recovering from their exploits the night before.

So overall things were usually pretty uneventful.

Usually…

But this particular day a woman built much like me, but almost twice my size larger than myself walked by the booth wearing 3″ heels. Her nails were so long they looked like the claws on a bear. She was not a believer in the adage “Less is more.” where makeup was concerned either.

I suppose  she was unable to get out on the street the night before and she was not gonna waste this outfit or wait til next year.

She a vision I can assure you.

But that wasn’t the worst of it- far from it.

She was wearing a crocheted swimsuit cover up.

No problem.

The problem was that there was no swimsuit to cover.

She only had a G-string on underneath it and the crochet had holes in it almost an inch apart.

Kinda like this one in this photo but with bigger holes, less yarn and a LOT more her:

The coverup was about 18 sizes too small so her flesh literally oozed through everywhere around the crochet which was pulled so tight it damn near disappeared.

She kinda looked like a ham.

It looked painful.

Now I am no prude, believe me; but there is a time and place for everything and that wasn’t the time or the place.

She would  have been OK at a convention for the blind; but this was 2pm Sunday afternoon. There were kids everywhere.

And many were pointing at her and asking their parents questions. Thank God none of them asked me anything as I painted their faces.

This self proclaimed fashionista took her sweet time sashaying down the Strand; and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she squatted, pulled the G-string aside and peed in the middle of the street.

Usually I’m not one to quash anyone’s good time but she was too much. And of course there wasn’t a cop anywhere to be seen. (Even though it’s Texas peeing in the street is illegal.) In fact if someone is caught doing that here they’re labeled as  sex offender.

After she left I coulda made a fortune if I’d been selling hot pokers or knitting needles so people could poked their eyes out; but sadly I had neither.

So there you go.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your adventures at Mardi Gras.

Now go put your $$ away and save it for a trip somewhere nice or at least wait til your significant other gets home and just play MG in the privacy of your own house.  (If you need some cheap beads the $$ store has an assortment.)

Back to the funny next time.

As for me, I’m getting my paints and glitters ready for tonight since I’m going to a local bar to face paint. I can hardly wait. :(

“Laissez les bons temps rouler.”

Many years ago I got used to painting boobs. Since I paint feathers and swirls on everything, I just moved my face paintings down. Also, I got a minimum of $25 for painting ta-tas. It took me less than 5 minutes so I was happy. I did draw the line at glittering the nipples though. I’d shake the glitter on so they’d sparkle. However, if they wanted it put directly on the nipples by hand, I’d give them some glitter and they could go to town. Also, whenever you paint boobs, it always draws a big crowd so you get more paintings.

What was funny was when young guys would come up and say “Honey can you paint this? They thought they would shock me by grabbing their crotch while they said it. They were the ones who were shocked when I said “OK. Come on over.” or “Sorry, I didn’t bring my eyeliner brush.” Still occasionally there were brave ones who tried. (The cops draw the line at male frontal nudity.) One guy in his forties dropped his pants so I could put a lightning bolt on his tush. (This was pre- Harry Potter.) When I finished I told him to be careful, the painting was still wet. He said “Blow on it.” I told him no, that my job was done. So there he stood, bent over with his backside exposed to the world while his girlfriend blew on his fanny. I got $35 for that lightning bolt. It took less than 60 seconds. I do have a photo, but have decided to spare you that. (You’re welcome.)

Over time when I worked at Mardi Gras on the streets I learned to drink as little liquid as possible. You don’t want to have to take bathroom breaks. (When you’re not panting, you’re losing money, and at Mardi Gras that was as much as $150 per hour.) My first year I’d not made prior arrangements to use a private bathroom. I painted continuously for 9 hours. Finally at 6pm and with a long line in front of me, I could wait no longer. I told the crowd, that I just HAD to “go.” The woman next in line said her husband and RV was parked a couple of blocks away and that I could go there. So I ran right over and threw the door open. Her husband was sitting there in the BVD’s. I ran in, used their facilities and ran out, all in under two minutes without saying a word to him. (She had said don’t bother to speak to him.)

Probably the grossest thing I saw happened late one night. Our booth was in a parking lot. So were some porta-potties (thankfully 30 ft. away from us). We heard a ruckus coming from the PP. All of a sudden the door came open and there was a couple in there- an undressed couple. She was leaning over with her head near the seat of the PP. This PP had been used all day by a group of folks who were progressively drunker and drunker. Not to mention, it was overflowing, literally. Everyone in our booth let out a collective gasp when we saw what was going on and worse where it was going on.  They seemed quite unaware they they were in full view. (Funny what too much alcohol can do to a person.)  I’m no prude but…

There are a lot more tales from Mardi Gras, but I figure I’ve reminisced enough for one day. Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!

About 10 years ago, my friends and I went to a bar in Galveston while out husbands set up our face painting booth. Mardi Gras was going to start the next day. The men had decided that they could do without our help or even our suggestions so we went on across the street. Typically the day we leave home to go set up is crazy busy. I usually don’t eat that day til we’re set up. Since I really don’t like the taste of booze I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. It has vodka, gin, rum, tequila and triple sec in it. Strangely however, it doesn’t taste alcoholic. Anyway, I had one and felt great. Then had one more, then one more. I really don’t recall what my friends were drinking or very much of what went on the rest of the night. I did wind up with a questionable tat though.

After a few hours at the bar we were lucky enough to make it back across the street to our spouses. (Thank God the street was closed already). I do remember hugging tightly a 55 gal. trash can as I deposited some of the liquor I had consumed into it.  I’m sure I looked like quite the lady. I remember holding my head out the car window and barfing on the way to the beach house.  I think I actually wet my pants at the same time. How Doug got me up those stairs I have no idea, but he did.

When I woke up the next morning I politely asked Doug to shoot me, which he declined. I thought about throwing myself down the stairs. However, I figured that with with my luck, I wouldn’t have died, but just gotten really screwed up instead. We had to go to the Walmart for some last minute supplies on the way to the booth. Upon entering the store I walked by McDonald’s and all the breakfast smells were spilling out into the store. I had to walk directly through them. It was nauseating. I tried a bite of crackers remembering that’s what I ate with morning sickness- no luck. I tried a piece of banana- no go. It felt like a steel drum group from Jamaica was playing in my head. I’m not asking for sympathy. I got what I deserved. Later, when Mensa heard about the incident they revoked my membership since I had lost so many brain cells.

By the time we got to the booth I had the shakes (tremors, not milk.) Not to mention all the bands had their speakers up to max volume. Helen Keller could’ve heard them. I sat there for 12 hours having to deal with obnoxious drunks; painting  whatever they put in front of me- faces, boobs, etc. (In my defense, I’ve never been called an obnoxious or mean drunk). After that night I didn’t touch a drop of booze for at least 5 years. I’m probably lucky I didn’t die from alcohol poisoning.  I did make 1 good choice that night though. I didn’t go to eat seafood with our friends. They told me that next day that they’d both blown scallops out their noses when they were “indisposed” at the beach house. At least I didn’t waste $20 on a good dinner.

Knowing what stupid things drunks can do I’m a fan of this new policy by the HPD. I know most people won’t be. (The whole “big brother” thing and all). I think though whatever can be done to help cut the death rate from drunk drivers should be done. Every holiday on TV you hear- “In a sad story tonight a family was killed when a drunk driver ran into their car”. It  seems too that usually the drunk driver lives through the wreck.  “It was  Mr. X’s third DUI offense”. I not saying don’t drink. Just don’t drive. Doug’s such a zealot he won’t drive even if he’s had just one beer.

Anyway, I’d heard about this clip awhile back and saw it on YouTube. Remember- friends don’t let friends drive La-Z-Boys drunk.

We got there the next day and discovered our “guard” was falling down drunk. Not just tipsy, but completely blotto. On the plus side almost of the beer was still there.  Anyway, it was a learning experience for us. I saw the following clip on the Today show this morning. Apparently this distillery in Russia had not learned this lesson yet. Their losses were estimated to be between $150,000.

Remember: Never let a drunk drive a forklift. Today’s trivia answer-the swan.

She was SOOOO drunk

For many, many years the fall was always our busiest time for festivals.They were fun and we made a lot of money over the years. However, after working at events for over 20 years, the thrill is gone. Besides, I’m tired of watching other people have a good time. (All the face painting has given me arthritis in my right shoulder and carpal tunnel in my hand too). So now, I only do face and body painting infrequently. Most of the time the paintings have been on faces.

However, I’ve done more than my share on shoulders, chests and legs. When you’ve painted at Mardi Gras as long as I did, you’ve painted everything. Invariably 20-something guys would come up and ask “Hey, can you paint this?”, while simultaneously grabbing their crotch. (They thought they were going to shock me). Invariably I would say “Let’s do it”. Now 99% of the time, the guys would freak out and run away, with his friends hassling him for being a chicken.

Occasionally, though one would step up to the plate, so to speak. Before I’d  start I’d make a big deal of having to find my “eyeliner” brush. Everyone gets a big laugh out of that. The last time I painted “that very special part of a man’s body” I put a tiny lightning bolt on it- an easy $35.00 for about 15 seconds work. After telling him he was done, he said, “But wait, I’m still wet.” I told him that I realized that. He said “Blow on it”. I said, “No my work here is done. You should’ve planned ahead”. I’ve got a photo of it somewhere. However, I think I’ll keep that one to myself.

I painted on Bourbon Street in New Orleans the Mardi Gras before Katrina hit. A black couple in their late 40′s wanted a body painting.  She opened her shirt and I painted feathers and swirls all over her boobs, finishing with glitter. They were thrilled. Her husband looked at her and said “Let’s go to the hotel and get jiggy with it”. (I wasn’t really sure what that meant, assuming though that it had something to do with having a good time. It did I later found out).

When I was still painting at TRF I had a couple in their 80′s come to me one day to get painted. They’d never been painted before and were visiting the festival with their large extended family.They told me to go wild! (That can be a dangerous thing to tell a face painter).By the time I was done, they were almost unrecognizable. When I showed them their faces in the mirror they were thrilled. I told them how to remove the paint and never gave them another thought- til the next weekend. All of a sudden I looked up and there they were again ready for a painting. The little old woman leaned over to me and whispered “Honey, can you do that again? It was like being with a stranger!” I almost fell off  the stool. She said they’d been married 60 years. Good for her. You’re never too old to try something new I thought. Today’s trivia answer- Pompeii in the 1st century. It said “I don’t want to sell my husband”.

Painted at the Zanibar- Austin 9/2009