Halloween is my favorite holiday. That's why I was overly ecstatic about this Halloween, as I was privileged enough to visit the shithole city of New Orleans, Louisiana. (As you can tell I don't think highly of the city now, but before the eight hour drive squished in the back of a Mazda 3 with a pregnant pee machine, I had high hopes.) I was excited to get out of the "same old, nothing to do" Cape Girardeau for the holiday. I have been here every year for Halloween and I have to say it is getting rather dull. I can't get myself to spend another $5 to visit the sorry excuse for a haunted house at the Arena building, which I know like the back of my hand. I am bored with walking into every bar downtown and seeing the ridiculously tasteless clothes, or lack thereof, by girls who use the holiday as an excuse to dress like a slut. And I'm especially tired of watching children from other towns being dropped off at my door, while their lazy parents sit in the SUV and raid the child's candy stash.

So I was super pumped to go to New Orleans where I dreamt I'd see large multi-colored plantation homes with iron balconies, little wart nosed palm readers to tell me every last detail of my life, and stone faced vampires lurking in dark alleyways waiting for a tipsy tourist to make the wrong turn. Instead, what I got was dilapidated skyscrapers, hobos trying to make a buck sitting on the street corner "reading palms," and extremely rude New Orleanians, like the not so brainy front desk clerk who confused herself for 30-40 minutes about our reservations. (Not a single vampire in sight.)

By this point I'm about to give up all hope. But, alas, we got to our room, popped open a cold beer, and headed to the zoo. The rest of Friday went relatively smoothly (Except for the trolley ride back to the hotel.) and around 9 pm we headed to Bourbon Street.

Here was the New Orleans I pictured; a blocked off street filled with people of every kind lit up on both sides by balconied bars and head shops. There was so much to see; some uplifting, such as $2 "Big Ass Beers," and some repulsive, like a few 50-year-old women wearing "barely there" white silky underwear that left to little sagging, dimpled butt to the imagination. For the most part though Bourbon Street was captivating; the first mile that is. After the second mile I was ready to sit down, but we had a goal to see all of Bourbon Street. By this time, I am also getting ever so tired of spilling beer down my chin as I tried to take a drink while walking... in heels. (This, for you guys out there, is not easy.) After the long jaunt to the end, we turned around and made the probably three mile trek back to our hotel, which by this time was doubly hard, since now I am about eight beers down and walking in heels. But we finally made it and crashed.

Then, came the big day. On Halloween my boyfriend and I slept till noon, when we finally got up, walked back to Bourbon Street, and had a $30 breakfast buffet. But wait, this is not the total for both of us, but only one. My boyfriend, who I have trained to pay for all the expensive meals, graciously threw down $72 for both our breakfast together. (I know you're thinking "Holy shit." I was.) After some moaning and groaning over the pricey brunch, we shrugged it off telling ourselves, "It's vacation, we're supposed to spend money." (Actually I said that to him.) The rest of the day was spent shopping for souvenirs and critiquing art museums; which was all a success.

Around 9 pm that night we headed to the "best haunted house in New Orleans" and the best I've ever been to, the House of Shock. This haunted house not only included the scare, but also an end of the world, pledge your allegiance to the anti-Christ skit, complete with sweet pyrotechnics, and a performance by the metal band, GoatWhore. Inside the haunted house was even more insane, with disturbing scenes around every corner. The House of Shock pushed the limits with touchy actors, some not even out of their diapers, (I kid you not.) that grabbed ankles, and a hydraulic floor that bounced participants around. After the terrifying journey through the haunted house, we watched the head-banging band on a small stage by the beer stand. After a couple songs, the real madness started when two shirtless guys came onstage and were hung in the air by piercings on their back. As we grimaced in pain as the men twirled around, a gothic-looking woman came onstage and pierced herself twice through the cheeks with long rods. Then she proceeded in piercing other crazy parts of her body. (I have only seen this type of stuff on TV and let me tell you it is much harder to watch live.) After we couldn't bear watch another painful hole being made we walked back to the car (this as when we realized just how bad our feet hurt) and headed off to Bourbon Street again for another night of drinking. When we got there though, the streets were crowded with people shoulder to shoulder inching up the street. It was a mad house. After a measly ten minutes of trying to politely excuse myself, shove, or body surf over the crowd for a beer, we gave up and grabbed two 12-packs and partied Cape Girardeau style in our hotel room. (Yes, we shot-gunned beers and of course we ordered pizza at 2 am and what better on TV than the Pick of Destiny.)

Although New Orleans was a great new experience, this was my first and probably my last trip there. (Except, maybe for Mardi gras... Only if we rent a balcony.) While I would recommend the House of Shock to anyone who loves a good scare and doesn't mind having creepy visions dancing in their heads at night, I wouldn't recommend going to New Orleans on a holiday.