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A Timeline Of My Incredibly Drunken And Shameless New Orleans Red Dress Run

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new orleans red dress run

The Red Dress Run is a run for charity that takes place every year in New Orleans (which some believe to be the most frat city in America). It is a good cause, and an even better time. It takes place tomorrow, and is everything that is right about New Orleans (and everything that is notorious about New Orleans).

Below is a personal account of my experience from last year (my friends’ names have been changed so I’m not sued).


8:45 a.m. – Cellular phone alarm sounds (“My Humps,” Black Eyed Peas). I hit snooze and roll over.

9:11 a.m. – Brush teeth, apply deodorant, apply copious amounts of baby powder.

9:14 a.m. – Perform 50 pushups to fluff, then put on dress. Walk across to wake my buddy, Bill Brasky. Bill is a bad morning person. I try to wake him. He pushes my arm away and tells me he will murder my family.

9:19 a.m. – Bill meets me in kitchen. We enjoy breakfast (banana and beer) in silence. He heads back to his bathroom to shower and change.

9:29 a.m. – Fill bag with ice and beer, bring it to car.

9:31 a.m. – We depart.

9:40 a.m. – Stop to get gas before getting on interstate. Exit vehicle in a tight little red number with a ribbon and bow in my hair. Adjust cleavage while holding gas pump and ask guy in the adjacent vehicle what he think about LSU’s non-conference schedule this year just to fuck with him.

9:59 a.m. – Play that Sam Smith song “Like I Can” for third time in a row because it is a jam. Ignore the fact that he is singing about guys.

10:21 a.m. – Bill inadvertently elbows me in the neck because he is a big guy and attempting to maneuver into his dress while in the passenger seat.

10:37 a.m. – Exit the interstate. Cruise through downtown New Orleans. Park next to Marriott hotel where some lady friends of ours are staying. Sign says $30. We haggle to $25, and we feel better about ourselves.

10:50 a.m. – Bill and I arrive at Tino’s Bar, where we meet four lady friends. They are attractive. I’m in the friend zone with all of them.

10:52 a.m. – I order the first round of drinks for myself and Bill: two vodka waters. Bill is not a mooch like me — he takes pride in being self-reliant — but he is currently throwing jabs-to-haymaker combos at the ATM in the corner of the bar that just shorted him.

11:00 a.m. – The friends we met at Tino’s were with about 30 other Red Dress Run participants. We did not know most, but they all were kind individuals looking to get fucked up. “Picture time,” someone yelled, and we all huddled into the corner of the bar. The bartender stood atop the bar top counter and readied a camera. Amidst pictorial anticipatory silence, I took the opportunity to insert my humor: “Man, I hope I lose my virginity tonight!” Received a couple genuine laughs. Also received a couple maligned stares from guys with girlfriends who didn’t recognize the sarcasm. All part of it.

11:07 a.m. – Bill orders two more vodka waters. We are about to make a fifteen minute walk deeper into New Orleans — we need fuel.

11:14 a.m. – Our group of about 20 straggles along the sidewalk and too large a portion of the road. Bill and I are involved in a game of tag where you have to punch the other very hard for them to become “it.”

11:15 a.m. First honk of the day. The honk was directed towards our friend Allison, who has above-average breasts.

11:20 a.m. – We stop at a hotel, as several people have made it known they need to urinate. Bill and I are the only ones with an ample enough pairing of nuts to piss on the street. We wait in the lobby. I owe my friend Jezebel a drink because she is holding my wallet and phone in her red fanny pack. She tells me she wants a double Tito’s and water. I walk to the bar and order a well vodka water, single. I save 7 dollars. She doesn’t know.

11:31 a.m. – We arrive at Barcadia, a real cool spot in Nola that is a bar equipped with old school arcade games (hence the name BARcadia). Bill and I immediately proceed to the back of the bar to the skeeball machine. I am a skilled player, and coax Bill into playing a heads-up match for the next round of drinks because we are Americans. I win handily.

11:35 a.m. – Grab Allison’s hooters. I’m in the friend zone, but she lets me do stuff like that. It’s a silver lining.

11:49 a.m. – Deflated, I walk to the bar. Bill tied me in skeeball; I considered it a loss. I order a round of beers. I make a quick tally of what Bill and I have consumed thus far: 3 beers, 4 vodka waters, 1 Michelob Ultra. We acknowledge that our collective efforts thus far — still prior to noon — are impressive, but we may need to tap the brakes a bit because we are fucked up. I walk back to the skeeball area where Bill is playing whack-a-mole with Allison’s chest.

12:35 p.m. – The group decides to leave and head to Bourbon Street. I am drunk so I follow without question.

12:44 p.m. – We enter Bourbon Street. Immediately I feel dirtier. I take first half of Adderall (I’m prescribed), because Bourbon is packed. Tits are everywhere, and someone might try to steal my wallet. I need to focus.

12:55 p.m. – Myself, Bill, Allison, Jezebel, and Gemma arrive at The Beach. Amidst the clutter and health hazard that is Bourbon Street, we were separated from the original group. The Beach is a nice, large-scale bar. Today, however, it is packed to the point where the foul scent of taint and a collective body odor permeates the bar. I am sweating profusely because of the congestion, New Orleans humidity, and Adderall. I wipe the perspiration from my lower back on some unsuspecting bargoers and then head to the bathroom.

1:05 p.m. – Takes me ten minutes to get to the bathroom because it is too crowded. I wait another ten for a stall to open up because I have stage fright when in close proximity to other males. That’s normal.

1:19 p.m. – It’s miserable in this bar. We tell our women we want to leave. They acquiesce, because they know we find no shame in pouting or throwing a tantrum.

1:29 p.m. – Walking to JAX, a real cool bar near Jackson Square in New Orleans. I phone my ex-girlfriend for the first time of the day. Two rings, voicemail. That stung.

1:34 p.m. – Wait in line in front of JAX. The sister of a different ex-girlfriend approaches and says hello to Allison, who stands to my near left. I say hello. She looks like she wants to hurt me. I walk away because she scares me.

1:48 p.m. – Now upstairs at JAX. Order another round of vodka waters for Bill and myself. I’m close to getting shitty. Bill is shitty. We toast when the drinks are handed over and consume about half. Now I’m shitty.

1:57 p.m. – I stand in corner of bar as Bill and my other friends dance. Text ex-girlfriend, since I assume she didn’t mean to deny my call earlier. I hit her with a “Sup.”

1:58 p.m. – Nothing back from the ex. I assume I was too vague in my previous text. I correct and text again, “What’s up?*”

2:06 p.m. – Super hot chick I have a thing for shows up. I get nervous. I’m not drunk enough; go slug a shot of Fireball by myself. Walk away from the bar towards her, confident until she turns to face me and I see she is wearing nothing more than a red laced bra. I make a hard 90 degree veer and head towards corner of bar. Crush remainder of my drink.

2:18 p.m. – Very nice, attractive lady a best pal of mine is talking to arrives at JAX. I talk to her so other attractive girls see me talking to one of their kind. It’s a strategic posturing move. I assume I gain one to two points on the universal “1-10 Will-I-Bang scale.”

2:30 p.m. – Finally gain enough confidence, look for attractive girl in red laced bra previously mentioned. I want to talk/make-out with her. See her across the bar. Her and a friend are dancing with Bill. Fuck.

2:42 p.m. – Bill is super shitty, having a great time. I text ex-girlfriend for third time, “Sup, where you at?”

2:44 p.m. – Check phone, no new messages.

2:50 p.m. – Bill approaches with hot lady in red laced bra and her friend underneath left and right arms. He balances himself. He removes right arm from shoulder of red laced bra lady, grabs his phone from his pocket, tosses to me, winks, walks away with two girls. I watch as they leave the bar.

2:51 p.m. – Crush remaining three quarters of my vodka water. I am a binge drinker, and I accept it.

3:15 p.m. – After explaining the “boop” game (intimate experience where you touch random girls on the nose and say “boop”) to my buddy’s lady friend, I scan bar for Bill. I forget how drunk I am and realize he left and I have his phone.

3:25 p.m. – Buddy’s lady needs to leave the bar to head home. I explain to her that I lost Bill Brasky, and that I have his phone. She knows hot chick in red laced bra. We leave bar. She phones red laced bra from her phone, since my phone is dead and I’m irresponsible. I talk to hot girl, explain situation, tell her to ask Bill the passcode for his phone so I can use it to call our friends who have my car keys (I need to retrieve phone charger and travel bag from my car). She responds, in vehemence, with, “Fuck Bill. Making out with my friend right in front of me right after he told me he thought I was the prettiest girl he had ever seen… Fuck your friend!” I experienced a lot of blood flow listening to her passion. She hung up the phone.

3:27 p.m. – I call back. This time, I’m met with the muffled sounds of hot lady in bra forcing the phone upon Bill. Bill belches. I ask him for his passcode. Long pause. “Six nine six nine… *Buuurppp* Ha, sixty nineeeee.” I laugh, in spite of myself, and again ask him for the passcode. “Alohomora,” he says (which is the spell used to open things in the world of Harry Potter). I realize my efforts will prove futile. I hang up. I walk with buddy’s lady to her car. She says she will drop me off at the hotel where my friends are staying. We smoke a blunt as we walk, because it’s the Red Dress Run, and it’s for charity.

3:36 p.m. – The marijuana is good. We pass the medicine to and fro. Bill’s phone rings. It is Jezebel. I luck out and am able to answer without having his pass code. Jezebel will meet me at the Marriott.

3:40 p.m. – Depart and bid adieu to my buddy’s lady. Promise to pay her back for the weed. Laugh under breath as I turn and walk away.

3:55 p.m. – Arrive at hotel and meet Jezebel in the lobby. Walk to my car and retrieve travel bag from within. Urinate on cement next to car. Write my name in perfect cursive.

4:05 p.m. – Arrive at room on 10th floor. Plan on charging phone, fixing a drink, then changing into real, non-Red Dress apparel. Once at door, Jezebel realizes she has no room key. We sit down in hallway. She texts Allison, tells her to meet us at room. I plug my phone into conveniently-located hallway outlet. Lay on floor, close my eyes.

7:15 p.m. – Awoken by member of hotel housekeeping staff. Adorable old Spanish lady. “Room,” she points to our door. “Room you need get into?” I wipe crust from my eyes. “Si. Si. Room.” I point at the door. “Can you, open? Abierto?” She nods her head, opens door with universal key card. “Gracias.”

7:30 p.m. – Finish $9 beer that will be put on the girlss hotel tab. Freshen up, change clothes, brush teeth. Pop second Adderall, because my ADD is out of control. Jezebel is asleep on a bed, drooling. I quietly exit hotel room.

7:45 p.m. – Head towards Red Eye Bar. Special place. Allison and Vanessa are at Red Eye.

7:55 p.m. – I stop at convenient pizza place a block before the bar. Order a nice slice of pepperoni. Nice looking chick I’ve minimally texted with is inside restaurant as well, mid-makeout with a decent looking cat. She told me fifteen minutes prior she was back at her hotel room. All part of it.

8:04 p.m. – Finish pizza. Head for door. Knock over oregano jar on that chick’s table as I walk by. Take that.

8:15 p.m. – Meet Allison and Vanessa. They are with several members of original RDR crew from the morning. The crew is upset I changed from my dress. They force me to take two shots of Fireball to show their displeasure.

8:18 p.m. – Phone ex. Four rings, voicemail — progress.

8:45 p.m. – Finish vodka water. I feel hydrated. Vanessa wants to leave. She is a frail school teacher. She is adorable. Allison and I walk her to the hotel. I receive a text from a best buddy who is in town for the weekend. He will meet Vanessa and myself at Barcadia in thirty minutes.

9:05 p.m. – Starts raining. I enjoy it. Vanessa’s top becomes moist. So do my pants. We walk in the rain.

9:07 p.m. – Text my ex: “How ’bout this weather?” … Nothing. I assume she is inside and hasn’t yet noticed.

9:16 p.m. – Enter Barcadia. My buddy is perched by the bar with two of his pals. He is wealthy. I tell him to buy me a drink. He hands me a vodka water already made, because we are great friends.

9:25 p.m. – Hustle my buddy by asking him what that game is where you toss the little bowling balls up a ramp and into corresponding circles (skeeball)? He explains the game to me. I tell him it would be fun to play heads-up for next round of drinks.

9:31 p.m. – My buddy returns from bar with round of drinks. Skeeball score of 490–280 illuminates our area.

9:44 p.m. – Pocket vibrates. It is Bill’s phone. I answer. Bill is on the other line. He was separated from red laced bra lady and her friend. I give him our location.

10:05 p.m. – I ask a nice looking chick with a good dick-sucking countenance if she wants to play me in Mortal Kombat. She walks away. I rationalize that she most likely witnessed me playing skeeball earlier and assumes I’m an arcade shark.

10:19 p.m. – Bill arrives. To the best of his ability, he retells the events of his day and what transpired. Apparently he made out with red laced bra chick’s friend and red laced bra didn’t like it, hence their separation. We laugh. I have great friends.

10:31 p.m. – Group collectively takes a shot, decides it’s prudent to quit prolonging the inevitable, heads to Penthouse strip club.

11:01 p.m. – Arrive at strip club. Tell my wealthy friend I don’t have any cash on me. He pays my cover.

11:19 p.m. – Adderall has me locked in and I feel good. Naked women and surrounded by friends. I offer to buy a round. Order 6 mixed drinks. Strip club bartender asks me for $98. Instinctively open Bank of America app on my phone and make sure I’m covered.

11:31 p.m. – Text my ex. “Sup?”

11:31 p.m. – “What’s up?**”

11:34 p.m. – Check phone. No new messages.

11:41 p.m. – Bill leaves our table, apparently smitten by a well put-together stripper/dancer. She leads him upstairs.


12:15 a.m. – I am sitting with Allison at our table. My buddy is sitting by the stage with his two teammates. I feel a tap on my right shoulder. I turn to look. The lighting is dim, but I can make out a grizzled older woman bearing a perplexed demeanor. I ask her if everything is okay. She responds in a voice deeper than my dad’s, and asks if Allison is my girlfriend or wife. I realize she is a man. I then tell her that Allison is in fact just a friend, and that she should go talk to her.

12:17 a.m. – Older woman (with male appendage), tells Allison she wants to make love to her. Allison runs to bathroom. I tell her Allison is shy, and it was nothing she did.

12:44 a.m. – Go sit near the stage by my buddy. He hands me 50 $1 dollar bills so I can partake in the festivities. A lovely stripper saunters our way. She contorts her body and puts her muff in my buddy’s face. I slip away from the stage and head to the bar. I buy a drink and a shot for myself. I pay in ones.

1:03 a.m. – Allison and I exit the strip club. We make a short walk to Krystal’s, a delectable burger joint just a few blocks away. Combined, we order 25,000 calories and several thousand grams of saturated fat.

1:29 a.m. – Re-enter Penthouse. Find my buddies and join them at our previous table.

1:31 a.m. – Stripper approaches me, apparently taking a personal interest in me over my friends. I smile, confident. The stripper tells me I have mustard on my face. She ruffles my hair and walks away.

1:44 a.m. – Bill re-appears. He is dejected, and his shoulders are shrugged. “She got me,” he says. I inquire as to his damages. He reports total losses reaching $600, resulting in six subsequent private dances with no extra-curricular activity (first, second, or third base). Bill was hustled, and he knew it.

1:45 a.m. – Text my ex, “Penthouse? Titties good.”

1:48 a.m. – My phone vibrates. The ex replies, “No.” I smile. Playing hard to get. She’s a rascal.

2:01 a.m. – Bill is still visibly upset. He wants to leave. He is now sober. My other pals are occupied with strippers. We decide to say bye and split.

2:14 a.m. – Arrive at my car. I piss on the passenger side door. I write my name in Morse code.

2:21 a.m. – Bill drives. We exit New Orleans, approaching interstate heading north.

2:22 a.m. – Play that Sam Smith jam, “Like I Can.”

2:28 a.m. – Close my eyes. Fall asleep, smiling. Can’t wait to text my ex in the morning.

Image via Shutterstock

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I like beer, athletic competition, telling my friends "she is crazy" but really blowing her up, and writing.

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