What *not* to say to US immigration en route to New Orleans, and my love life takes a turn (New Orleans)

Here I am, most anticipatorily seated as I wait to board my business class flight to Chicago en route to the Big Easy. I am returning to New Orleans three years after I graduated from my Master’s degree from Tulane University… I can’t believe I’m actually going back!

It took me two full evenings to pack, and I managed to squeeze everything into only two bags.  Give me some credit; I cut down from six pairs of shoes to five. I’m sure I’ll have extra room when coming back as half of one bag is filled with tampons and pads to accommodate the period which was obliged to start the day before the trip, naturally.

I can’t believe what an idiot I was when clearing US customs.  Word of advice: do not choose the line which leads to a 21-year old American lad whose testosterone is fueled by the power he relishes as being a proud Yankee protecting his blessed homeland from the extremely dangerous vacationers seeking a little sun and respite in the very holy land he holds so dear to his heart. This dude grilled me obsessively on why I was going to the USA until I finally snapped in response to his question why I was going by myself from New Orleans to Florida.

“Because I Couldn’t Find Anyone to Go With Me!!!”

Satisfied, you fucking gun-toting, Waco-emulating little twit?!! Of course, this may not have been the brightest approach, but I made it through, the dangerous, subversive sun seeker I am.

Going back a few months, when things ended with Mason I was rattled. My social life stagnated as I retreated to a corner to lick my gaping wounds.  Then I decided to do something I never dreamt I would do.

When I was speaking with my buddy Yogi before he took off for a quick terrorization of the Australian continent, he mentioned that he had met a girl on line and was going to have a date with her when he returned.  On the same token one of my oldest friends, Aria, confessed that she had signed up on a Jewish singled Internet service called “JDate.” Yogi suggested I set up a totally anonymous Hotmail account and give it a try. I decided to take the plunge.

I had a stroke of inspiration when entering my Hotmail details.  While I had briefly entertained “cool female” as a handle, I figured with millions of people preceding me in the cyber evolutionary chain someone was bound to have considered that one already. (This concept – that others may already have claimed common handles – was lost on Aria as I patiently sat through her attempts at creating over 40 permutations of user names, all of which were taken.)  I selected “Catalina de Erauso”, thenunensign@hotmail.com, after the 17th century cross-dressing Basque nun warrior I discovered during my Master’s studies. (I thought it was the perfect handle until I got tired later of explaining what a “nunen” sign wasn’t.)  With my new account in place, I gingerly entered the mysterious world of JDate.