Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. part two

I say! The events of the past few weeks of the Mardi Gras season have done wonders for my constitution and other mental abilities. How would I have found the wherewithal to continue this dreary existence without having experienced the amusements of the previous weeks and the subsequent days after of leisure and exploration with my dearest Monsieur Moose?

But, I will not shilly-shally. I will not punish you another moment by not elaborating upon the festivities of recent memory!

The Mystic Krewe of Satyricon presented its sixth spectacular bal masque, with the theme "Fantastic Dreams".

We all gathered at the Maison Moose for a few magnums of champagne before hand - We all meaning the creme de View Carre of course, including Monsieur Moose in perfect black tie, His broad back and sturdy thighs owned that tuxedo, Be still my aching ____!

I dressed in my own humble evening clothes -with about 60 carats of diamante in my studs, cuffs and ornate mask- (No one noticed, but it has been said - by my own mother- that I can make a masterpiece by Harry Winston look like a Bedazzler creation) Madame Peu de Joie Petrol, dressed in the most devastating gown of black jet beads, The Chevalier Petrol- (Hi-Octane to his friends) In the Faggiest tie EVER, (who knew Richard Simmons had a line of ties?) The Comtesse D___ , in a Hollywood glam gown with her lush long locks in ringlets held back by an Edwardian Diadem, Lady Catherine of Beau Chien, in her usual Glamazon finery- AND Louboutin shoes, her equally glamorous husband Lord Craig, The always devastating Monsieur Gianni Custard, aka The Infant of Prada, The Baroness Sandress de St. Philip in a black Givenchy with a white fur, and His Eminence Archbishop X in his full regalia with Miter and Crosier.

You know Monsieur Moose and I always like an equal Saint-to-Sinner ratio at a table, oui?
Who is whom you ask?- Ah, perhaps "sub rosa"at the Cathedral some Sunday....

We originally wanted to arrive at the ball in something -um- a bit unusual- so M. Moose and I had decided on a 18th Century Troika like the one from The Marble Palace - (a gift from Catherine the Great to her favourite Grigory Orlov- can you say "Whopper"?)

Having slightly miscalculating the climate, we had the Troika outfitted with wheels and instead of fine Russian horses, we opted for a handful of tranny hookers that Le Cornishon happened to know from the "hood".

As we arrived, the ball was vexatiously crowded, and though being momentarily hampered from procuring our customary table by an efficiently swooping and smooching Cour royale de Satyricon and it's entourage of drooling handmaidens and obsequious male escorts, M. Moose and I were able to find our way with our own little prissy yet powerful passel.

The eventide advanced with entertainment provided by an ensemble of musicians and petites scènes, as well as surprisingly adept MC talents of B____ and S___.

The Tableau was absolutely stunning- like a hammer to the face- we all had the best time - why, the Archbishop let me hold his Crosier- it was bigger, smoother and heavier than I thought- I loved the curve of it and He certainly could wear that Miter, all big and pointy... HEY 注意! Is your naughty mind leading you where devils lie? - Oh. Good. So after the Tableau, there was to be a bit of modern dancing on the part of the gathered audience. I Cha-Cha'd with the Comtesse and Chevalier, I Lambada'd with the Lord and Lady, I Bumped with the Baroness- (not for the first time mind you) And Mambo'd with the Madame et Moose. As our dancing pumps were growing weary we all piled into the Troika and headed back to the Va-Va View Carre.

The following evenings entertainment was to be the St. Brigid Ball- a bit of a Voodoo/Bacchanalian fun that was to be held at a place called le bar Saturne- as I have always loved this ball- M. Moose, The Marquis de Metarie and myself gathered to dress for the ball at Mansion Moose the following evening. not knowing what naughtiness lie ahead!

In essence my dear companions, Your beloved Cornishon's famous facade of genteel Victorian damsel was usurped by a crudity of character so spectacularly exhibited that one could have mistaken her for a charwoman, raging serving wench, jilted whore or irate stevedore.
It brings quite a fascinating picture to mind, does it not?
Hold your tomatoes- let me elaborate...

You see we all gathered to dress at the Mansion Moose, as it was a "Grey Gardens" theme we all we going as "The Three Edie's Three", I chose thigh high black lace up boots, a black square cut swim trunk, a midriff turtleneck- worn backwards- and a hot pink sequined headscarf with an important Edwardian gold and diamond brooch on the forehead- Picturesque no? Monsieur Moose Wore a "Pucci Edie" ensemble and The Marquise wore something more akin to Ethel Mertz than Edie Beale- but if you have a title- who cares?

We arrived at Bar Saturne at the appointed hour in time for the invocation of St. Bridgid. (I was raised to know the Voodoo version, Maman Brigitte, one of the Loa of Haitian Voodoo. She came to the new world through the Irish who were kidnapped, enslaved and forced to labor in the Caribbean alongside the enslaved Africans. Because of the intermarriage and cultural blending between the Irish and Africans, it is possible that Haitian Voodo is partially influenced by survivals of Celtic polytheism, Maman Brigitte is worshipped as the Lady of the Cemetery; her colors are purple, violet and black. She is the wife of Baron Samedi and characterised as a hard working, hard cursing woman who can swear a blue streak and enjoys a special drink made of rum laced with 21 hot peppers or a large amount of American whiskey and Cajun spiced food. )

Having said that, I must admit after the third fifth of Jack Daniel's and having M. Moose's gumbo, The invocation had quite an effect on me. I was a bit of a whirling Dervish leaving the soiree, and as we were walking through the parking area at Mansion Moose I was taken up by the spirit to run and tackle M. Moose for a dainty kiss- All 6 feet three, 250 lbs. of le dainty Cornichon. "We all Fall Down..." I suffered a nasty gash on my head and M. Moose was left with a cracked rib... L'Amour- L'Amour, how it can let you down, Ah... Luckily The Marquise de Metarie had my purple patent purse so all was not lost. What to do about a head wound? The rest of the holiday season I was totally rocking a variation of the ubiquitous 1980 headband, A few days into it, I quite thought that it was up to me to bring the look back, being the fashion icon that I am. Hhmmmm.... Physical, Physical, I wanna get physical... I realized a week or so layer that I more than likely had a concussion, but in the fever pitch of the moment who can tell?

How about a wee drinky? Something safer than Rum and 21 peppers...

The Voodoo doll!

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1 shot vodka

1 shot white rum

2 oz grenadine syrup

orange juice
Pour rum and vodka into a collins glass. Tilt the glass, and pour the grenadine down the inside. Fill with chilled orange juice, and serve.
Try not to Whirl...