Welcome to Atlanta where the playas play
And we ride on them things like every day
Big beats, hit streets, see gangsta’s roamin’
And parties dont stop til’ eight in the mornin’
There was one day when I felt as if I had a vacation. This was not one of those weekends. One entire day was completely spent in bed — and I wish I could say in a good way. Nothing that a “Best Pizza in Atlanta” could even heal — especially after my dinner guest put his fork right in the middle of my salad while I was eating. What is it about a salad that’s drenched in bleu cheese dressing makes it free territory for invading flatware?
I was snatched from the airport by a limo, which first off, was pretty freaking sweet… even if the driver had one exceptionally elongated tooth on the right side. Once I dropped off my bags, headed over to Publix for some grocery stash (am I the only one that reads the green sign and snickers and thinks “pubic?”), nearby for the Jack replenishment, then a quick uber-bite at Willy’s Mexican Grill (think Killer Buritto). After relaxing and catching up (and watching The Longest Yard), the party’s starting — and ahem, drinks pouring — to head into Buckhead for a (long) night out with the boys (and yes, another limo). And J.C., it’s colder than Cleveland down here. What is that?
First stop was East Andrews. To be honest, I have no idea what neighborhood or where the hell I am… but they had a really sweet Pearl Jam cover band in the back. Soon after belting out greatest rock hits ever, some random female grabbed me to share the men’s room with her (and yet another random dude) because apparently I looked as though I wasn’t someone who waited in line??
Next location was The Peachtree Tavern. Note: every bar had a $10 cover charge — not one of my favorite things to do. The bar/club was packed with a lot of horny hoochie peaches. Seriously, does my forehead read “Every woman please pretend I’m a lesbian for the night?” My friends and I were having a fabulous time getting to know the locals, dancing and just having a blast. Okay, here’s where it all goes downhill… one of those single ladies passed me some serious roofies because all the sudden I was sadly drunk. Drunk, not like an all-day-tailgating drunk.
Then, I spent the rest of the weekend sick. BAD, not hungover sick. Not the kind you can cure by a Red Robin Cheeseburger sick. Even worse, was that I wasn’t the only one sick. I tried my best to recover by Sunday (Saturday was spent lying around all day and a force-feed of aforementioned pizza pie) and we attempted some Beef O’ Brady’s — both food and beer. Hey, beer helps sometimes. Especially this PumpkinSpice/Fest/Ale pitcher we bought. And since we’re in the ‘burbs (I think we were in Roswell at this point), we continue at Taco Mac. Sounds like a really clever name for a fast food-eeze. Reminded me more of a Boneyard — with a shitload of beers on tap. AND oh-my-god they have my Brooklyn East IPA. (Which I should have discovered early on that 23-year-olds still enjoy the swill of beer piss, aka: Miller Lite, that it was NOT going to receive the fanfare it rightly deserved). But seriously, Taco Mac has 108 beers on tap and 200+ beer by bottle. Sadly, the beer and cheese dip-thingy did nothing for earlier stomach sickness. Sidenote: The smoking laws here are more skewed than Cleveland. I sharply remember smoking in the bars while out Friday night, but all the restaurants have turned non-smoking. Strange… adjusting to this no-smoking-thing is good, but it sucks.
When we returned back to the friend’s hacienda, all dressed up and cab called, ready, decide on American Pie. Guess who never made it? All of us… feeling more horrible than the day before. I’ve never been sick on vacation and it’s NEVER fun flying back home when you’re nauseous (and no make-up — sorry, guy in 10B). Oooh, but highlight: I got to drive a pimped-out Tahoe. Vrrooom, bitches!
*Sigh* Now, finals. I have a few days of recovery before Columbus this weekend, then a weekend home for the holiday, and THEN… I have my New Year’s Date for Chicago. He chose me. Awesome.
