Lessons From a Trip Abroad.

I just returned from spending my 26th birthday in New Orleans with my boyfriend. That’s right.


I actually tricked someone into being my boyfriend.

Somehow I also tricked him into traveling with me, which is obviously the best thing to do in order to reeeeally test the limits of a new relationship. I bring back with me 7lbs that I swear were not on my ass before and the following bits of wisdom. See? I do this for you, people. I’m so selfless.

Lesson 1: Try not to bleed from the face in line for customs.

We touched down in NOLA and the first thing I needed to do was pee – obviously – because who pees on airplanes? NOT THIS GIRL. Luckily there was a bathroom right before the line up for customs. Boyfriend (we’ll call him BF for short) gets in line while I head to the washroom. I’m in one of the two stalls and the minute I sit down on the toilet my nose starts gushing blood. I immediately put my left hand up to my face to catch the blood as I try to desperately grab toilet paper with my right hand. As this is happening, the door to my stall (which, in my post-flight-haste, I apparently didn’t lock properly) swings open revealing me in all my glory – pants down, toilet paper everywhere, bleeding from the face. I manage to make my way out of the bathroom and find BF in line.

Really though. Take a second to imagine this scenario. You’re in line for customs in the southern United States and the girl you’ve been dating for about three months or so comes running up to you in line holding handfulls of bloody toilet paper up to her face going: “OMG MY NOSE IS TOTALLY BLEEDING. LOOK! BLOOD. FROM MY NOSE. IN MY HANDS. OMG. OMG. OMG.”

This is what it’s like to date me, folks. Jealous?

Anyways, a lovely woman behind us in line gives me her entire pack of purse-Kleenex as another kind man in front of us instructs me where to pinch my nose to stop the blood. By the time we make it up to the counter the blood has stopped pouring, but I’m willing to bet I looked like a racoon who just got caught eating out of a garbage can. Thankfully she was too preoccupied looking at our passport photos and telling us that we look like Reggie Bush and Natalie Portman (she was dead serious).


Lesson 2: What happens in [ANYWHERE] does not stay in [ANYWHERE].

This includes videos of you dancing on stage with the band in a jazz club on Bourbon Street. Apparently nothing is scared anymore.

Lesson 3: Boys want you to take care of them. But only kinda.

It’s a fine balance, you see. They want you to play the nurturing and comforting role that only women have truly mastered but nag them twice about needing a new toothbrush and all of a sudden you’re trying to be their mother. Whatever. Brush your teeth with a fuzzy ball of bacteria. SEE IF I CARE.

Lesson 4: Jumbalaya is the greatest hangover food of all time.

Also, if you ever find yourself in the French Quarter, do your mouth a favor and shove at least three beignets into it. Fun fact: beignets are the official state doughnut of Louisiana. Another fun fact: apparently there are official state doughnuts in the US. Go figure. I hereby proclaim the beignet to be the official state doughnut OF MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE.

Lesson 5: Write everything down.

Traveling means drinking. Drinking means forgetting. Try to get your drunk ass in the habit of writing down interesting or funny shit that happens in your phone. Granted, these notes won’t always make sense in the morning. So try to be as concise as you can. In the meantime, I’ll be over here trying to decipher the phrase: “Kids on the ipod, pocket full of democracy.”

Feels good to be back! (I’m totally lying. Fuck this place.)



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