Growing up, my family took bi-annual pilgrimages to the Great Aunts’ house for Mardi Gras and Thanksgiving. Everyone, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, and best of all, cousins would converge on New Orleans, just like the Great Aunts did, (only on a more permanent basis for them), once their husbands died. They all, as many as four at one point, lived together in this fantastic house on St. Charles and

Napoleon Ave.

And what a time we had. Mardi Gras was just like Halloween, only with beads and trinkets instead of candy. Really some of my fondest memories are there with my cousin Leif (from See Sunni Iraq fame).

One of my most vivid memories is of the year I dressed up like a witch for Mardi Gras. Now I say the memory is vivid, and it is, what is fuzzy is the exact time it took place. After awhile, Mardi Gras run together. I have tried and tried to figure out how old I was, but alas, the best I can come up with is around eight years old plus or minus 2 years. But what sticks out most in my mind about this trip down to the Big Easy, is my photo shoot. Yep, I said photo shoot.

The cousins and I were in full costume, waiting for the parades to start running. We were playing in the parlor, when I got bored, because all they EVER played were boy games. Now don’t get wrong I loved a good GI Joe battle, but come on, for two days straight? (Did I not mention that I’m the only girl on either side of my family? Yep only male cousins, and brothers.) So after having enough of the boys, I wandered out to the front yard that faced

Napoleon Ave.

I was just kicking along in the wrought iron fenced yard, when a man came walking along the street with a camera slung over his shoulder. He slowed down and timidly at first, snapped a few photos of me. I remember standing there cross legged dress in black with a green face and my right index finger in my mouth, like it was this morning. For the first few frames, I just stood there, but the more he snapped, the braver we both became. At some point, I have no idea when, I decided I was a super model and began posing. I took my finger out of my mouth and began twirling and posing like my next line of coke depended on it. The more I did, the more the guy snapped, like I was his shot at the big time, at a cover.

Of course he was probably just some pervert who, to this day, uses my pictures to masturbate. But I like to think somewhere, in some obscure magazine, circa 1980, I made the cover. I sure posed like I did.