Hungover, though we were, (we blame Pat O'Briens hurricane concoction), Alex and I managed to get up and go touring. We marched our butts back to the scene of the crime -- the French Quarter -- for breakfast. After grabbing a quick bite, we meandered through the streets, listening to street corner jazz, window shopping in antique stores, and gawking at the 10am drinkers.
After thoroughly taking in what the French Quarter had to offer, we boarded a streetcar (named desire) and headed out to the Garden District. The area boasted beautiful old mansions, shady walks and a lovely old cemetery. We lingered in there until I was too burned and thirsty to think.
We rested poolside at the hotel before getting all gussied up to see Katy Perry at the arena. The show was absolutely wild. We had am amazing time dancing with tweens, screaming song lyrics, and squinting to see each one of Katy's 20 plus outfits.
After the show, we headed (guess where?) back to Bourbon Street! We sampled some less-strong hurricanes and called in an early night... if 1 am can, indeed, be considered early.
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