Traditionally, summer around the studio is sloooow. I always plan lots of little trips to get away and refresh myself. Last year one such trip was a long weekend in New Orleans to celebrate my birthday. Immediately after that trip, like during the car ride home, we decided we would do this again. And again.

As my birthday approached this year I could think of nothing more that I wanted to do than return to the moody, mysterious city that has seriously stolen my heart. I wrangled up my pal Mikey and booked our trip: a long weekend away in the French Quarter.

We booked up a quiet room with a balcony, where we spent the majority of our three days in the city. It was magical, the perfect place to sip, chat, and people watch, three of our favorite things to do.

During the mornings we would wander around the city, picking the French Quarter apart, block by block. Then afternoons would hit with their blasting temperatures and temperamental pop-up thunderstorms, when we'd retire to the room for a nap, some lounging on our balcony, and a mission to decide what would be filling our bellies that evening.

Because, let's be honest, we were half there for the food.

For our entire stay, I accompanied every single meal with at least a nibble of gumbo. We chowed on fried okra, étouffée, shrimp and grips, and jambalaya. We drank Pimm's Cups and Bloody Marys. We did it right.

And with that, we've officially started a tradition. A French Quarter tradition of late nights, morning cocktails, wandering for hours, and soaking in a city whose energy fills me up. Every year, this will be our getaway date.

And then there's my 7-year goal of buying a condo in The Quarter. Our first second-home. Because I don't think I'll ever get enough of the magic of this place.