I got into Georgia late Friday night and was whisked from the Marta station to dinner to the nerdiest party of all time. My cousin is a Georgia Tech graduate and hangs out with a lot of the sciencey PHD candidates. They had congregated in a loft apartment to play beer pong and have conversations about their projects and source code and other really really nerdy things. I was out of place being that the only science class I took in college was women’s bio and that was 1o weeks of mostly talking about our feelings.
Saturday morning Josephine and I drove to Savannah. We had room reservations at a place called the Thunderbird Inn— the hippest hotel in Savannah, that piped Motown through their outdoor speakers and served popcorn and cool lemonade to guests. After a 2 hour nap and hamburgers, we hit the town. Following the directions of a hipster, we went to a local Irish pub named O’Connell’s. Walking into the completely empty bar, I exclaimed “Man, this place is hopping’!” and then received hateful looks from the bartender. Dano, who was not impressed or amused. We spent the next couple of hours taking car bombs (they were insulted when we added the “Irish”) and taking shots of Jameson with a pickle juice back. That’s right– we chased Jameson with pickle juice. And it was delicious.
Quickly the bar filled up with groups of people. Josephine practiced her English accent with a tourists from London, as well as her Harry Potter spells. I made friends with a local chef named Scott who told me he blew 20K of his inheritance from his grandmother on cocaine, but was now clean and that his standards for women were so low they were non-existent. After he refused to go get hot dogs with us because he was a food snob and would not put something so gross in his mouth, Jo yelled: “How can you have high standards for food and no standards for women? You eat them both!” It is amazing Josephine doesn’t get beat up with the way she shit talks strangers.
After we took our leave of O’Connell’s, we walked up the street for the hot dog the hipster kid had promised us earlier in the day. Jo stuck her finger in his gauged ear and tried to order ALL THE HOT DOGS. Happily shoveling hot dogs into our mouth on Congress Street, two men came up to ask me if I knew how to get to the Holiday Inn. I took that as my opportunity to yell– stop drop kaboom baby rub on her nipples! at top volume (see below if you don’t understand the reference).
The dudes laughed so hard I wasn’t sure if that was what they were hoping would happen, if they were shocked I knew the words to the song or if they really were looking for directions to the hotel.
We spent the rest of the weekend napping and shopping. The proprietor of a consignment store asked me what we were planning on doing while we were in Savannah and I explained “I’m reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil— I’m straight”. The woman snorted. We did go look at the houses from the book and kicked it in Forsyth Park. We considered going on a ghost walking tour, but being that Josephine had been on one before, she decided to lead me herself and made up 80% of what she told me. I was OK with it. Before we left Monday morning, we took a stroll through a cemetery, as good mortician’s granddaughters should do.
I got up at o’dark thirty this morning to get from the house to the Marta to the airport, then on the plane to DCA and on the train to the office. I can barely keep my eyeballs open and have been mainlining coffee so the new girl doesn’t think I’m a crazy person. She’ll learn that soon enough. Hope everyone had a lovely Labor Day weekend. Remember– it’s Tuesday, not Monday.