You may remember from a previous blog entry (I Raised a Racist) that my dog, Dewey, has been pegged as a racist, and was banned from Dog Days Buckhead.  The folks there suggested I try Dog Days Chamblee because it’s a larger location and he might do better with more space.  With Thanksgiving quickly approaching and the need to board him while I’m in Delaware, I had to find a place that would accept him STAT.  I called Dog Days Chamblee, explained Dewey’s issues and they agreed to let him come in for his “temperament test” – a 4-hour time period in which they let him play with the other dogs and monitor his behavior, and after which they’ll let me know if he’s been accepted or denied.  What…a screening process.

I dropped him off with high hopes at 10 a.m. and went to work, where I promptly put on the Dog Days streaming video webcam and found him.  I was on the edge of my seat.  It was like watching a scary movie, where the next big “cover-your-eyes” moment could be right around the corner. Dewey’s fate was resting in the hands of this 4-hour time period and I could watch every second of it.  It…was intense.  The first thing I noticed was a huge, black Newfoundland in the play area.  Great.  The f*cking Shaquille O’Neal of dogs.  Not only was this dude black, but he was large AND in charge.  This looked like trouble.

Dew was playing nicely for the most part, but every time he even so much as looked like he was about to get aggressive or got near Shaq, I would tense up and have to fight the urge to yell “DEWEY NOOO!” at my computer screen.  Then, he would go back to playing nice…and I would breathe again.  This continued on and off throughout the day (is my boss reading this?), and at 2 p.m., I called to see if all had gone well and if I could pick him up.  I was told that he did fine and he would be allowed to come to day care AND I could also make a reservation for him for Thanksgiving.  SCORE!

I hopped in my car, so excited to pick up my pup, hightailed it over there and walked into Dog Days…only to be greeted with the same somber faces they gave me when I picked him up after the “Labor Day incident.”  “Dewey got in an “argument” with another dog,” they explained.  Really?!  In the 20 effing minutes it took me to get here!?  In the 20 minutes I WASN’T near a computer to watch him!? Sounded like a total conspiracy to me, but I kept my calm.  “The black Newfoundland?” I asked and they looked at me like, “how did you know?”  That effing Shaq.

They told me that, yes, it was the black Newfoundland and then proceeded to inform me that, “we think that maybe he doesn’t like dogs larger than him.”  This must be a joke. So, now, for the record, Dewey is a racist AND has a Napoleon complex.  If he was black…he’d be Kanye.

As for Thanksgiving, I think I found a feasible option with a dog sitter coming to the house.  If I could fly him up to Delaware, I would, but my mom is CONVINCED our family dog will want to fight him and we’ll have a Michael Vick situation on our hands.  Apparently…the Hesseltines breed aggressors, which is strange since I’m so submissive and even-tempered.  Wish us luck – if no dog drama ensues over the Thanksgiving holiday while I’m away, it will definitely be what I’m most thankful for this year.

I have been super busy the past week and have had to take a short vacay from my blog.  The worst part is that I have lots of new material, but I just need to get it down on paper, er, screen.

What have I been so busy doing, you ask?  Apparently eating tots at Tin Roof Cantina.  This was the THIRD order I got in on this past weekend:

That’s right.  3 orders of tots….in one weekend.  In my defense, I did go to Tin Roof more than once.  And by that, I mean twice.  This weekend was the head-on collision of snackcidents.  And I wondered why my pants were snug this morning.

However…I’m not the only one that loves the Tin Roof tots.

That’s right, folks.  There he is:  my senior prom date (see: The Prom).  Clearly, we’ve made up since that fateful night.

SPEAKING of dates…tots are even MORE fun when they’re shared!

I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that that’s my arm reaching in to snag a delicious piece of fried potato.

Well, I’m done talking about tots…for now.  If this blog was exhilarating and exciting, stay tuned.  There’s more where that came from.  Like, tot-ally.

Chesley and I plan to go play trivia at Hand in Hand with some friends and I stop at her place to have a glass of wine beforehand.  I brought a bottle but we end up just drinking from an open bottle she had so I throw mine back in my car and we head to the bar.  As we pull up in the parking lot, we decide to take a glass in with us so we won’t have to wait on Hand in Hand’s less-than-stellar service.  I whip out my stash of red solo cups (never leave home without ‘em) and we pour ourselves two glasses of red.

We walk in, sit down with our friends and have barely had a sip of our fresh glass, or rather, solo cup of wine when the waitress walks up.  Figures, this ONE time, the servers would be prompt and attentive.  I order us two waters, and then, with the bitchiest tone I’ve ever heard (aside from myself), the waitress asks, “What’s in those cups?”  Her question is directed at Chesley, so I look to her to handle this one.  What’s she going to say? I wonder.  Grape juice? Just a casual “nothing”?  But, instead, Chesley, being the trusting individual that she is and giving this brat the ultimate benefit of the doubt, answers, “It’s Fat Bastard.”  The name of the wine.  I almost spit my first sip out.

Bitch waitress (BW) sneers, “you can’t have that in here,” and reaches to snatch the wine up.  Chesley has her cup to her lips to get one last gulp and BW literally grabs it out of her hand.  Is this happening?? I have NEVER experienced someone so rude in the service industry. Chesley and I bring wine to the freaking nail salon.  The last time I went to Nakato, I rolled in with my own cup of Chard and no one even blinked.  It’s not a matter of being cheap.  It’s a matter of not wanting to have to wait for a cocktail and being FRUGAL – why pay for 4 overpriced drinks when you can pay for 3?

I am fuming.  But, we need drinks.  And we are NOT ordering from her. What…are we going to do? Then it comes to me.  “Let’s go get drinks from the bar,” I say.  Chesley takes it a step further.  “Let’s order a BOTTLE of wine from the bar,” she says.  Done and done.  We go to the bar, order their “finest” bottle of Cabernet and come back to our seats and pour.  Take THAT, snatch.

About halfway through the bottle, we get hungry.  Shit.  We still refuse to order from BW.  So, I head to the bar to place my order for some bacon and bleu chips.  “Uhhh….you want to eat them at your table?” the bartender asks.  “Yes,” I answer.  “But, I would like to order them from you.”  He shrugs, takes my debit card and 10 minutes later, we have our chips.

Clearly…we are dieting.

The waitress is walking by every 5 minutes at this point…and glaring.  We finish our bottle of wine and mound o’ chips, but I still can’t get over her rudeness.  We would have ordered the same amount of shit and she would have gotten a nice tip from us, but instead, she effed herself.  So, I figure we should give her one last 1-2 punch…and order waters.  So, we do.  And she brings them.  But, of course, we don’t drink them.  Chesley and I could be swapping spit with complete strangers later this week, but it is NOT going to be with our waitress or another Hand in Hand employee and it is not going to be tonight.

Cheers!

I’ve tried everything to cure a hangover.  I’ve tried to run it off, and then I just feel like I’m going to die.  Greasy food: feels right at first, then I want to puke.  Chugging coffee: all of the above.  So, I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing officially cures a hangover except….getting drunk again.  And, I don’t think anyone abides by this rule more than my BFF, Cory.

When I’m planning on running in the morning, I usually like to rest up, not drink too much (if at all) the night before, and just make sure I’m in tip-top condish…even if it’s just for a 5K.  Cory TRIES to think this way, but it just doesn’t seem to pan out for her.  This past Saturday night, before the Delaware Mud Run (a 5K race through the mud to benefit the Leukemia Research Foundation of Delaware), Cory and our friend, Emily, went out for a “few drinks” with plans to leave the bar by 9 p.m. and be in bed by 10.  However, they had a couple guy friends show up and a few drinks turned into a lot more.  A couple sitting across the bar from them even came over and asked Cory which one of the guys she was with….because they were swingers…and wanted to recruit her.  In Cor’s defense, I don’t blame her for wanting a few shots after that.

They ended up shutting down the bar and weren’t in bed before 3 a.m.  They needed to be at the race site at 7 a.m.

Cory got on site the next morning on 3 hours of sleep and felt like death so she decided to crack open a beer.  Which then led to dipping into the alcohol stash intended for POST-race tailgating.  Here she is pouring monstrous shots atop her Nissan Murano:

Check out…that colossal wedgie.  I don’t even want to think about that situation after she ran through the mud for 3.1 miles.

The Mud Run is both an obstacle course and run with a team of 4 people.  Cory’s teammates (her sister Paige, Emily and Paige’s friend Caryn) took part in a few pre-race cocktails, but Cory took it to the extreme.  You would have thought it was her 21^st birthday at 7:30 a.m.  THEN, when she caught a glimpse of a group tailgating next to them and shooting straight Jager, her competitive edge set in and she really got down to business.  Cory openly admitted she was blacked out for the first mile.  “You know how you get that drunken energy and can just keep going,” she explained to me when describing how she made it.  Yes, I think we all know that energy – but it’s usually expended on the dance floor or in the bedroom…not on a race course.

Team Dirty Deeds ran the race, while onlookers chanted “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” à la AC/DC’s 1981 hit.  They crossed the finish line covered in mud, and that definitely wasn’t the first time Cory has been covered in mud while drunk.

To top if off, Paige’s photo made the front page of the Delaware newspaper, The News Journal, the following day.

Of course, I coined the nickname “Front Paige Ferguson.”

So, now you know – that’s how people from Delaware get down, dirty and drunk.  I have already booked my flight for next year’s run.

Check out more in this video if you like!

It was Twisted Taco Midtown’s 7^th Anniversary Party and a group of us were planning to partake in the festivities (ie: free drinks).  Chesley and I decided via G-chat earlier in the day that we needed some sort of gimmick, but decided to keep it simple and just wear sombreros.  Unfortunately, my good sombrero was in my friend Katie’s car, but luckily, I had a back-up at home.  Chesley made plans to borrow her sister’s ‘brero and we were all set.

That night, I had to drive separately from the rest of the crew and arrived solo at Twisted Taco, where I promptly realized I had forgotten my wallet.  No ID, no form of payment and I was NOT going all the way back home to get it.  Well, this should be interesting, I thought.  Luckily, our friend Lis works for Twisted Taco, so she let me know via text that she would let me in ONLY if I was wearing the sombrero.  Done.  There were going to be free drinks until 10, so I was cool with no money until then, and after that, the sombrero would just have to work it for me.  Upon entering the bar, I spotted my friend’s husband.…then I spotted his co-worker that I made out with a few months back and never spoke to again.  Awesome. I walked over, said hello and an awkward hug ensued, even more so because the sombrero got in the way.

I went upstairs to the open bar, ordered a vodka soda, let the bartender know I would NOT be tipping him until I could borrow a ten-spot from my friends who were on the way, then headed straight for the taquito bar.  Ten minutes later, Chesley, Jim and our friend Mike (whom I call Mark) arrived and found me at a table eating my taquitos, wearing the ‘brero and sitting by myself.  That….was a shining moment.

Then our friend Ben Rose showed up.  Ben is probably the most well-known photographer in Atlanta and let’s just say that if Chesley and I wanted to hire him to follow us around all night and take photos of us…we couldn’t afford it.  But, this night, we had the luck of the Mexican with us.  We asked Ben to take a “professional” picture of us with Chesley’s camera and he had the bright idea for us to hold the sombreros in front of our faces as if we were making out.  What…a creative genius.

It doesn’t look that realistic in this first picture, but we were on to something.  We KNEW we wore these sombreros for a reason.  So we grabbed the first two random guys we saw and gave them the sombrero fake-out.

But then…I decided to take it step further.  Dad, if you’re reading this:  I’m sorry.

Jagermeister – please contact me for the rights to this photo for your next ad campaign.

There also happened to be a karaoke contest going on, so we couldn’t let that opportunity slip away.

Chesley has coined the caption for this photo as, “William is Hung.”

Next, we headed to the bar for another round.  I figured this would suffice for my lack of tips earlier.

Then we got on stage and sang “Ghetto Superstar.”  The mics were off, but we didn’t let that stop us from showing off our finest moves and ensuring we had the attention of everyone in the room (even if they were just pointing and laughing).

After we exited stage right, we found this amazing couple ALSO wearing hats.  They just came from a pilot-theme baby shower.  I excitedly asked, “Was it for a mile-high baby??  Did they conceive on a plane??”  The girl informed me that actually wasn’t the case.  Womp Womp.

After this, a lot more jackassery ensued and it may or may not have included a dance-off, more stupid sombrero antics and me asking a server if they could “fire up the taquito bar again.”

Overall, it was a very successful night…and I didn’t spend a dime.  Looks like I’ll be forgetting my wallet and wearing my sombrero more often…and bringing a professional photographer with me everywhere I go.