Hugs, Overpriced Pasta, and the Audacity of a Live Band – A Mardi Gras Tragedy

Darlings, Anita Bump reporting live from the social trenches of Galveston! So, last night I dared to leave my boudoir and attend a Mardi Gras party at Ashton Villa—yes, I put on pants. The tickets were gifted, so I felt obliged to show up, smile, and show interest in strangers. The event began at 7 p.m. and by 7:37, I had seen enough. Imagine a sea of recycled sequins from ’94, topped with blue hairdos and stale glares. The décor? Blah. The energy? Invisible. Everyone in this town is judging everyone else like it’s a sport. Galveston? More like Gossiptown. They all think they’re celebrities, when really they’re just beige with a side of “bless your heart.”

The venue itself? A sprawling VILLA that looked like someone said, “Decorate?” and another person said, “No!”. Minimal effort doesn’t even cover it. I’m convinced the entire 5,000-square-foot space was decorated in a solid ten minutes. And then—then—the same boring, offended-by-spice crowd from my “opera house” outing resurfaced. Like a cursed sequel. The Duchess of Shush was already complaining that the main room was too loud, asking if someone could turn it down. MA’AM. IT IS A LIVE BAND. What do you want us to do, gently ask the drummer to whisper??? Go home. Sit in silence. Read a pamphlet. This is not a library, it’s Mardi Gras chaos.

Then came the food truck…singular, because abundance is a fantasy. I proudly handed over $11 for Cajun pasta that tasted like spicy mayonnaise’s boring cousin. I overpaid. Massively. How do I know? Because the moment we got home, my husband made dinner like, “Yeah… we needed a palate cleanser and also nutrition.” That tells you everything you need to know.

I was plotting my Irish exit as my co-workers boyfriend clocked me as “hug-adjacent” and came in with arms wide like we were at a high school reunion. I froze. I am not a hugger. I did that stiff, one-shoulder, CPR-dummy lean-away thing while my husband and the would-be hugger absolutely lost it, laughing at how deeply uncomfortable I was. Apparently my face screamed call the po po. And now I knew it was time to bolt for the exit.

So truly…thank you for the tickets. I laughed, I cringed, I paid too much for pasta, I dodged a hug, and I watched joyless people demand silence from musicians. An experience. A journey. A cautionary tale. Why do I leave my house?

Xoxo, AB 💅💄💋