I was in New Orleans for the past seven days on a work trip, and naturally when you are on a trip with 400 of your closest male colleagues, a trip to Bourbon street happens.
We are all on a balcony of a restaurant and the guys are out there for hours hootin' & hollerin' while tossing beads to the 1 in 25 women who don't look like manatees from Iowa (seriously, the quality of tourist in that city...blech). Somehow they convince me to try my hand at fishing for boobs.
We are all on a balcony of a restaurant and the guys are out there for hours hootin' & hollerin' while tossing beads to the 1 in 25 women who don't look like manatees from Iowa (seriously, the quality of tourist in that city...blech). Somehow they convince me to try my hand at fishing for boobs.
I reluctantly inch towards the railing, hesitant due to the fact that A. I really don't care about boobs and B. I'm with co-workers, and I start searching for the special lady worthy of my 5 cent strand of beads.
And then I spot her, cute skinny brunette in the pink tu-tu.
I aim and toss them down, bulls-eye, hits her right in the arm.
She looks up smiling...
... I think 'when in Rome' and shout out the classic tagline...
wait...something is a little...off...
uhhh...yeah that's a guy.
Way to pick em'.
I decided to go back inside and stick to the dance floor after that one.
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