Date: March 4, 2003
Place: Various Atlanta locations
Scene: Picture, if you will, a typical Tuesday. This can, and usually does, involve work, home, dinner, and maybe even a bit o’ “24”, my latest guilty pleasure. It likely involves going to bed about an hour after you had originally intended, teeth brush and (if lucky) makeup removed. General stuff.
And then there’s last night. Fat Tuesday. I’d like to take you on a little journey and the reasoning behind the loss of my soul. But I’m getting ahead of myself here, so will just begin…
Place: Work (ugh)
Am quite excited for the hours to come, rattling off emails on our meeting place (Fontaine’s in the Highlands) and time (8pm). I’m feeling quite smug over my strategic choice of this New Orleans inspired bar that’s not too far from my house as the perfect meeting place. Small butterflies of giddiness flit around my tummy.
Place: My bed
Just need a few minutes of shut eye — just a bit. Will definitely awake by 6 to shower and be ready for my 7:15 dinner plans.
Place: My bed, still
SHIT. Am late.
Place: The Highlands
Driving around every single street in the Highlands proves futile. Apparently others have a similar thought of celebrating FT (Fat Tuesday) in style. Well, that’s good, the more the merrier.
Place: The Highlands
Mood: EXTREME frustration
STILL DRIVING AROUND. Aubrey, sans food and rapidly decreasing blood sugar, is getting a bit testy.
Mood: Violently irritable (and starving)
OOOH, I think I’ve made a huge mistake. The bar isn’t just crowded, it’s drink-spilling, people-pushing, fire-hazard packed. They’re not serving food save from ordering from the kitchen. Further, the menu is reduced, none of which choices falls even nearly w/in my diet except for the Oysters, and I’m not a fan of sand in my teeth. I’m growling, audibly. Getting a drink takes nearly 15 minutes, food is out of the question, so I decide to make the most of each trip and get two VS+2L (Vodka Soda’s w/2 limes). Killing two birds with one stone and all ‘dat.
2 drinks later, a little bit o’ shit-talking, and some reminiscing about freshman year randoms including Little Chicken, his Friend, and Square Root of F-D up Hair Dudes Squared (as well as Ray’s passed out bathroom fetal position nap and my toast to cheese at the cocktail) are working. The night is looking up.
Mood: Rather good, thank you very much
Despite the difficulty finding the people that I knew were there, somewhere, drinks 3 & 4 are outstanding. Especially when #4 was so graciously purchased by Eric. And wearing my red boa ALWAYS puts me in a good mood.
Place: Moe’s & Joe’s
Mood: God, I really AM a rock star, aren’t I?
Feelin’ REAAALLLLL good. Chatting up a storm. Discussing the thought of marketing an all-in-one VS+2L as an entreprenurial effort (basically, lime-flavored, carbonated vodka in ONE BOTTLE for convenience) and deciding that PBR pitchers for $3.95 is the best deal in town.
Place: Still M&J
Mood: Damn, I’m hungry
Realizing that a liquid diet has never worked well for me, I think I need to eat. Now. Only problem, have no money. No card. No nothing. But you know what I do have? My soul. It makes perfect sense for me at this juncture to sell my soul for 8 chicken wings. And that’s exactly what I did.
Mood: Ravenous and carniverous
Pictures are worth 1000 words, and since verbal communication at this point was limited at best, I’ll let them do the talking…
Damn, those were good wings, but I feel like I’m missing something.
$10 for anyone who can get my soul back…