After our daily homemade biscuits, eggs, and fruit (don’t ask me how many biscuits per day I ate. I scare myself sometimes, though as far as terror goes, carbohydrates are hardly the stuff of nightmares, at least if you’re living your life right), we headed back in the van to do a second coat of Charisma Pink. Highlight of the morning was that I pushed myself to get up to the top of the ladder that actually should be the stuff of nightmares, all the way up to the crest, almost the very roof. Each step took a lot of self-convincing, and the “if I turn back I just have to do the same amount but in a different direction” that I usually use on myself while biking wasn’t helpful because there is a very real difference between taking more steps up and retracing steps down. But somehow I got there to discover the new difficulty of how to balance holding paint, a paintbrush, and the ladder. Got some paint up on that house and climbed back down, with no need nor intention of returning because I had conquered it, not because the second coat was done or anything. Lunch was shared po’ boys on the banks of the big lake with a long name that starts with a P. I got a shrimp version and felt that whole of the sandwich did not seem greater than the sum of its parts, which saddened and convinced me I’m missing something in the po’ boy experience. Then cleaning the inside of the house, scraping dirt and paint from the windows and doing delicate touchups on the paint job on the porch. I enjoyed this most of all: finally, a job that was on the ground, painting, detailed, important, and had to be done slowly.
We headed back to Camp Home for people to get ready to get turnt. Then it was back to the French Quarter (I assume people go other places at night in this city, but I don’t know where that might be besides a house with an Elmo bathroom) in a fleet of Ubers and Lyfts, separating us in the process. My carload ended up just getting pizza when it appeared that every restaurant came with a line. We then walked over to Frenchmen to bump into everyone else. Thus I discovered via Christina that if you ask for a Kamikaze drink, it’s a bigger kamikaze shot with sour mix. It is good! Rob bought everyone Four Horsemen, which is a blended shot of four whiskeys and also the harbinger of the apocalypse. Sweepstakes (the contest Sweeps invent every day) was to get the most beds, and Kelly and Jack were both gunning for it. I walked down Bourbon with Jack hustling beads for him. With my smooth talking and his readiness to whip out a nipple, we were unstoppable (except for the truly creepy. They stopped us). At a certain point I switched allegiances to Kelly, if only to establish my power as kingmaker. I also met blazer Jesus and dashiki Jesus.
Eventually we all settled into dancing in a club that gave out toy sharks with a caettain drink (I was not aware of this at the time and just supposed everyone had made a pit stop at a toy store, or you can be sure I would have had a drink then and a shark now). Around 4 am I went outside for a breather and found Young Bouuhl standing alone waiting for someone to go home with, so I called us a Lyft. I was surprised to find myself one of three people in the girls’ dorm. Everyone else had inverted their usual sleep schedule by a full 12 hours, going to bed at 5 am, the time we usually wake up.