I got into a conversation the other day about whether or not I want to have kids.  The jury is still out on that one.  Yup, that’s right:  you may find this hard to believe, but I’m not really a kid person.  I think one day I MIGHT be, but for now, it’s just not really my thing.  I think a lot of kids are cute and funny, but I just don’t feel the need to babysit (as if anyone would ask me anyway) or approach strangers’ kids at the park, kneel down and talk baby talk to them.  Someone said this will all change when I meet the man that I want to have kids with.  I think we all know that is very far in the future….if in the future at all.

But, there is ONE kid that I am obsessed with: my mom’s best friend Jen’s kid, Hayden.  Keep in mind that Jen is in her thirties, but their friendship works because my mom is 57 going on 28.

I love this kid.  Every time Jen posts new pictures of Hayden on Facebook, I get so excited and show everyone around me.  Whenever I’m home for holidays, I make sure Hayden comes over so he can entertain me.  That’s right; Hayden doesn’t need entertaining.  He IS the entertainment.  He’s super smart, unbelievably adorable and he has great taste in Halloween costumes.

Hayden’s Halloween picture from 2007 is hands-down my favorite picture that I’ve ever seen in my life.

You ready for it?

Ok….

RAAAWRRRR!!!!

Please tell me you just laughed.  And laughed hard.  Look at that perfect bowl cut!  The expression on his face is absolutely priceless!  And don’t even get me started on his paws up in the air!

After this picture surfaced, it got to a point where I was so obsessed that I had it as my phone background, on my desktop at work, on my fridge, AND my brother’s friend photo-shopped MY head into the picture and put it on Facebook.  Jen and Hayden even gave me a Christmas ornament with the picture on it (although I think Hayden was a little embarassed when he had to hand it to me).

The only people that I’m pretty sure DON’T think the picture is funny are the guys from Netherworld Haunted House (ie: one of the most intense, scariest haunts in the country).  When I got them as a client in 2008, I toured the haunt and later sent them an email saying how awesome and scary I thought it was.  And, since I felt like I could joke with them, I said something along the lines of, “if you need any more scary monsters this season, I have one for you” and inserted the picture of Hayden.

Cue:  cricket sound.

They did write me back…but didn’t even address the pic.  Which might even be worse than a non-response.  I guess they just hold their monsters to a much higher standard.

As Halloween 2008 started approaching, my friends and I were anxiously waiting to hear what Hayden would want to dress up as.  And then, Jen broke the news.  Hayden wanted to be a ghost.  Just a plain white sheet with 2 holes cut out for his eyes.

What the F*CK!?  We waited all year for Hayden’s ‘stume and it was a freakin’ ghost?!  I couldn’t even believe it.  I was pissed.  I told Jen that he better redeem himself in 2K9 or that was it: I was off Team Hayden.

Luckily, he did redeem himself.  While the photos aren’t as hilarious as Monsters, Inc. above, the thought of him going to his mom and saying “this is what I want to be for Halloween” is pretty funny.  Hayden wanted to be…

…a Nascar driver.

Why?, you ask.  Well, I think he does like the sport, but he also likes to make fun of rednecks.  No, seriously.  He has an impression of them and everything.  This Christmas, Jen sent me a video of him singing “All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” in his redneck voice.  Coincidence that he chose to sing a song about missing teeth for his redneck impression?  I don’t think so.  I told you he was smart.

The only kid I think gives Hayden a run for his money is his little brother, Heath, but he’s still a baby, so I won’t know how much I like him until he starts to talk.  However, he already has his brother’s taste in Halloween ‘stumes….

What…a tadpole.

Wondering what Hayden is going to be this year?  Jen and I have discussed pitching him the idea to go as  a Jersey Shore cast member.  We just can’t decide between The Situation or DJ Pauly D and we only have 246 days to figure it out.  Let the countdown begin.

I recently dug this story out of my Sketchy Guy Archives to tell a friend the other day, and it made me laugh AND still feel as confused as it ever did.

You know what, eff that.  I’ll be honest.  I just typed that first sentence trying to make it sound as though I “casually” remembered this story 2 years later and decided to tell it, but there’s a little more to it than that.  In all truthfulness, a couple weeks ago, Louisa and I were sitting on my couch, coming up with fake names that we could use at the bar the next time we went out.  Sadly, she moved and we didn’t get to use them, but that’s beside the point.  I decided on a name which I cannot reveal, but for the sake of this blog, let’s just say it was  “Audrey Arden.”

“Oooh, I love the last name Arden,” Louisa said.

“I know, me too!” I said.  And that’s when it hit me.  The first time I had really decided I liked the last name Arden.

*Josh Arden.  Spring of 2008.

Let me begin.

It was March of 2008 and I had gone out with just the boys – Foley, Thad (Andrea’s current fiance), and a couple others.  I had just gotten my hair done and it was a warm enough day to break out my shorts, so I was on the prowl.  We went to Park Tavern for some patio drinking, then headed to Six Feet Under on the Westside for dinner.  While we were waiting for a table at the bar, I spotted a HOT guy sitting at the bar with an older man.  Just my type (the guy, not the older man).  So, my new haircut and I sidled up right next to him.  We introduced ourselves (his name was Josh, obvi), started chatting and really hit it offf.  I met his dad (read: aforementioned older man) who was in town visiting and we even had a convo while Josh went to the bathroom.

However, while Josh was breaking the seal, Foley grabbed the dude’s Blackberry and attempted to put my number in before he came back.  I mean, I appreciate the wingman attempt, but this was just plain awkward…especially when Josh came back and Foley still had his phone in hand.  It was obvious what was going on and my hair and I were caught right in the middle.  But, we laughed it off and continued to flirt it up, me secretly high-fiving Foley for getting my digits in this hottie’s hands.

When we got seated, Josh said he’d like me to come across the street to Northside Tavern after dinner for a blues show.  I tried to play it cool and said I would see what the guys wanted to do, then we parted ways.  During dinner I obviously forced the guys to agree to go with me.  Josh even called while we were finishing up dinner to make sure I was coming over.  Apparently…we were dating.

So, the boys and I headed over and Josh met me outside with a wristband so I wouldn’t have to pay to get in.  Could this guy GET any better?  For the next couple hours, my new boyfriend and I stuck by each other’s sides, got to know each other better, shared our hopes and dreams, etc.

Then, he asked me out.  Top Flr the following Wednesday was the plan.  Well, my work here was done.  I grabbed the guys so we could leave while I was still ahead, and Josh and I said our goodbyes.  His dad even hugged me.

For some stupid reason, the guys wanted to go to CosmoLava that night, so we went.  I danced ’til my feet hurt, took shots ’til my head hurt, and then my hair and I were ready to go.  I got home and received an “It was great to meet you tonight” (or something along those lines) text from Josh.  Wow. In my drunken state, I had almost forgotten about him.  We texted a couple times back and forth and I went to bed, excited about a new crush.

The next day, I was packing up to move out of my apartment and I got another text from Josh.  I didn’t save these texts word for word like I did for Sweaty, but I remember the basic gist.  There was something about his dad really liking me, something about me hating packing, blah blah blah.  And, then I received this:  “I’d like to see you today.”

Today?  Hmmmm, I thought.  VERY tempting.  Now, let me go on record and say that if this happened to me now, I probably would politely decline and wait for our date on Wednesday.  But back then, I didn’t know as much as I do now, so I said…..

“I could use a break from packing.  What are you thinking?”

And I waited for the response.

And waited.

And waited.

Aaaaand waited.

Ok, really?  Now, those kind of games I just CAN’T get down with.  There’s a .0001 percent chance his phone fell in the toilet or he got hit by a car right after he sent his last text, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.  I’ll admit – I was confused.  And pissed.  THIS had never happened to me before.  Guys not calling?  Sure, plenty of times.  Bailing on dates?  Happens to the best of us.  But, this?  Uh uh.

Did you hear from him on Monday or Tuesday?, you ask.

Nope.

But, I did find him on MySpace  (which should have been my first clue).  And found this photo:

Yup, that’s right.  A cat in a mother effing guitar case.  I should have RAN the other way.  Not only is he probably a douche that keeps a guitar around that he can’t play just to impress girls, but he also has a CAT…AND he takes photos that he probably thinks are “artsy,” but are just plain stupid looking.

But…I didn’t run the other way.

What I’m about to say next is really embarrassing.  What I’m about to tell you I did is completely inexcusable and I would rip a friend a new one if she pulled this shit today.  But, since I throw myself under a bus as much as possible on this blog, the truth has to come out.  Ok, here it goes….

I texted him.  On Wednesday.  About the date.

AHHHHH, I KNOW!!!!! How could I?!  I just slapped myself across the face thinking about it.

I can’t remember exactly what I said.   Something I thought would sound casual, like, “Hey you…tonight still?”

And, of course, no response.

So, at that moment, I officially forgot I ever met this kid and moved on.  And, for SOME crazy reason, the dating Gods were looking down on me in the next couple weeks and 2 new guys surfaced.  And, I tried to date them both.  But, that’s a blog for another time.  Long story short, Josh Arden was nothing but a distant memory.  I didn’t even care about him enough to erase him from my phone.  And I’m glad I didn’t.

Three weeks went by and I had just gotten off the phone with Boy #1 and was heading out to meet Boy #2.  What…a player.  I stopped by a bar to meet a few friends for a drink before meeting up with #2 when I got a text.  From Josh Arden.  Now, THIS one I can remember word for word.

“Sorry for the delayed response.  Wanna come over?”

I could barely believe my eyes.  SORRY for the DELAYED response?!  THREE weeks later?  This…was…hilarious.  My favorite part was that he even addressed the delay in response.  Some guys might have pulled this move with a “Hey, how’s it going?” or “What are you up to?”  in hopes that the girl had forgotten he had asked her to hang one day, then disappeared.  And, then, to ask me to COME OVER?  Someone…was clearly on drugs.

I debated whether or not to respond.  But, I knew I had to.

I wrote, “Sure, I’ll be right over!”

He wrote back, “Don’t be sarcastic.”

What…a command. I never responded again, except for a couple months later when I told this story to some girlfriends while we were eating at Top Flr (remember? the place we were supposed to go on our date).  They dared me to text him “Sorry for the delayed response.  Wanna come over?”

So I did.

And he immediately wrote back, “I’m sorry, I lost all my numbers – who is this?”  Of course, I didn’t respond.

Maybe if he’s reading this, he’ll finally have his answer.  And, he can write a song about it…with Whiskers in his lap.

-

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

**I couldn’t find the original “cat in a guitar case” photo, which is probably for the best, so I found that one from Google.  Just know that the one on his MySpace page was even better.**

Just when I feel like I’ve created the perfect clique of girlfriends, someone has to move and f*ck it all up.  That’s right; our friend Louisa moved to New York this past weekend to pursue her dreams of becoming a fashion writer (and she also got a job there, so that kinda sealed the deal).  Sadly, Louisa’s and my Atlanta friendship was short-lived because, while we have technically known each other for years, we only started hanging out this past November.  We knew we were destined to be friends when during our first one-on-one hang out session watching The Hills, Louisa asked, “So which do you like better – The Hills or The City? ”

My dead-serious answer:  “I really can’t answer that.  They’re just…so different.”

Our friendship continued to blossom and along the journey, we established one very special ritual.  Let me enlighten you.

The first event Louisa and I attended together was the Gold Room Grand Opening Party.  I drove us there and when I decided it was time for me to leave, I just left….without Louisa.  I headed to Taco Bell (read: there was limited food at this party) and was waiting in the drive-thru line when I got the feeling that I had forgotten something.  I felt like the mom in Home Alone when she realizes she forgot Kevin at home.  Well, maybe not THAT upset.

I texted Louisa, “what do you want from Taco Bell?” so it would appear as though I had just left to pick us up a FourthMeal and would be returning to Gold Room to pick her up.  I think she fell for it.  I remember getting a bag stuffed full of food for just $7 and feeling like I had hit the lottery.  I picked Louisa up in front of Gold Room, taco in hand, and we came back to my house to finish plowing through our napsack of Cheesy Gordita Crunches, Crunchwrap Supremes and Chicken Soft Tacos…while catching up on the the latest episode of Jersey Shore on DVR.

And, that’s when the tradition of late-night Taco Bell and Jersey Shore was born. I like to call it:  Guidos & Burritos (or G&B for short).

A few weeks later, the whole crew hit up the BMI holiday party, then Yacht Rock, and it was sheer debauchery.  We even knew it was going to be a crazy night from the second we met up at Chesley’s house for the pre-party with our game faces on.  And by “game faces,” I obviously mean…party dresses.

Still not quite sure why this photo didn’t end up in US Weekly.  But, anyway…

Louisa was actually staying relatively sober so she could cart me around in her Impala all night, so I took the opportunity to get extra toasty.  Now, let me preface this next part by saying that Louisa has perfected the art of giving guys her number in this cute, casual way that 50% of the time, makes them call.  Ok, maybe 33% of the time.  This particular night, she caught me chatting with a tall gentleman at Yacht Rock, and when it was time to leave, she ambushed the both of us to make sure a number exchange had ensued.

“Did you give this guy your number?” she asked me, while the dude and I both stood there, drunk and stunned.  I had NOT given him my number, nor had he asked for it.  Awwwwwkward. But, the dude played along, got my digits and we went on our way.

On this particular night, we ended up driving to 3 different Taco Bells before finding one that was open, which gave me entirely too much time in the passenger seat with free hands.  Let the exting begin.  And by “exting,” I obviously mean, texting an ex.  We finally found a Bell that was open, picked up our knapsack and came back to my place for some G&B action.

I woke up the next morning and couldn’t even look at my phone;  some shit had definitely gone down and I couldn’t face it in my hungover state.  I decided I would wait until I had a few drinks in me later that day to check out the damage.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad.  I only told one guy friend, Foley, that we should make out, “but only for 5 minutes” and texted an ex about how he should come visit so we could go to The Varsity together.  What…a hot date.

That evening rolled around and I got a phone call from a strange number that I let go to voicemail.  Turns out it was the guy from the night before and he wanted to hang.  That’s right: the one Louisa forced to get my number.  What….a surprise.  We texted a bit back and forth, but we actually never did hang out.  I think it was because he was scared I would blog about him.  Why do I think that? Because he sent me a text that said:  “you can’t blog about me.”  Then, when I told him the URL and he actually READ this blog, I never heard from again.  Well, buddy, here I am, blogging about ya.  Suck on that!

But, I digress.  This blog entry is supposed to be a tribute to my short-lived BFFness with Louisa in Atlanta and our Think Outside the Bun/GTL/Fourthmeal/Fist-pumping obsession.

My favorite G&B session happened to be when we invited a special guest to partake in the ritual with us.  I met John* while out at a holiday party one night and we hit it off immediately.  He was in town visiting from Tampa* and Louisa and I ended up chatting with him for most of the night, so when it was time to leave, we just asked him to come back to my place with us.  And no, this story is not going to end in any sort of threesome.  I have standards, folks.  And by standards, I mean I would never write about a threesome on this blog.  On my Facebook page….maybe.

So, we hopped in the Xterra and headed to Taco Bell with John in the backseat.  Please note that John is of Latin American descent, so Taco Bell is probably not his idea of quality Mexican food.  But, we forced it on him anyway.  He told us TWICE he didn’t want anything, but Louisa persisted, and finally got him to order a Crunchwrap Supreme.  Why that menu item? you ask.  Because she wanted to eat it if he didn’t.

We brought John back to my house, all 3 of us squeezed on the couch, and Louisa layed out the spread while I turned on Jersey Shore.  Now, John was one of those rare specimens that wasn’t that familiar with Jersey Shore and had no interest whatsoever in becoming familiar.  But, we made him watch it anyway, asked his opinions on the characters and forced him to react to the drama on screen when he clearly was NOT interested.  “What do you think of her outfit?!” we asked him.  “Can you believe the way they dance!?” Louisa pressed.  “Do YOU own any Ed Hardy or Affliction tees!?” I interrogated. Looking back, I honestly still can’t believe we subjected this poor guy to our disgusting ritual.  Ok, well maybe I can.

To our surprise, he DID eat the Crunchwrap Supreme.  But, I think it was just so he wouldn’t have to talk to us for 5 minutes.

For the record, John and I still keep in touch.  Turns out, the G&B is a real way to impress a man.  Ladies, take note.

That was the last great Guidos & Burritos night that Louisa and I shared.  The weekend before she moved, we decided to get Taco Bell one last time for tradition’s sake, but A) Jersey Shore is over, and B) the amount of food we ate made us both sick in the morning.  I guess all good things really do come to an end.

I hope to visit Louisa sometime soon in NY and hopefully create a new tradition with a new fast food establishment.  There will be no more late-night Taco Bell for us…until, of course, Jersey Shore Season 2.

*

*Names and places have been changed to protect the guilty

I talk about sex a lot, and sometimes, I think that makes people assume that I’m some sort of freaky, lapdancin’, stripper-pole-in-the-basement kinda’ girl.  Which I may or may not be.  So, when Fab’rik boutique sent out an email titled “Good Girl’s Guide to a Bad Girl’s Striptease,” about an upcoming in-store striptease lesson and shopping event, I got the email forwarded to me with a “we should do this!” from about 5 girlfriends.  No lie.  Nothing better than your inbox blowing up with a string of emails with “striptease” in the subject line.  Even better if you’re a guy.

“Well, of COURSE we should do it,” I replied.  And, of course we did.  Two different groups of girlfriends came together for the occasion and we were really excited for what was to come.  We were instructed to wear leggings, a men’s dress shirt with tank top underneath, and high heels for the big event.  Sad to say, I didn’t have a men’s dress shirt laying around from an actual man, so I had to wear the same shirt I wore for my “Tom Cruise in Risky Business” Halloween ‘stume from 2K7.  Womp woooomp.

I woke up the morning of the striptease and thought, well I’ll just wear my outfit to work. I mean,  I belted it, of course. I AM a professional, after all.

I got to work expecting Kate to laugh when she saw my outfit…but she was wearing hers, too.  Horny Great minds think alike.

Obviously, Kate was going for the “sexy lumberjack” look.  Which I like to think my ex invented.  But then again…he was a dude.

We headed to Fab’rik after work and out of the 7 of us girls, 4 of us were “stripping” in the 8 p.m. time slot and the other 3 in the 9 p.m. time slot.  They were running a bit behind from the 7 p.m. striptease so we had the opportunity to have a couple drinks before we finally sat down in our chairs to listen to the intro from our “instructors”:  2 average-sized ladies from Pole La Teaz exotic dance studio wearing tank tops and skimpy boy shorts (where were THEIR leggings!?).

They  gave us a quick history of themselves and their love for dirty dancing, but, keep in mind, they’re not ACTUAL strippers.  Talk about a let-down.  Another interesting tidbit from our instructors: they both have children.  Now, I hope I’m not offending anyone by this, but, WHAT….a surprise.  Not that moms aren’t sexy or anything, but WHERE were the Megan Fox lookalikes that we were supposed to aspire to be like?  Definitely not in that room.

They instructed us to move our chairs out of our 4-row set-up and make a circle around them for a demonstration.  Showtiiiime!  The stripper-moms positioned themselves in the middle of our circle, flipped on the music….and I heard it.  The familiar intro to a song I’ve listened to entirely too many times.  Could it be?  Was I hallucinating?

Nope.  It was….Kings. Of. Leon. The song:  “Closer.”  One of my absolute favorites.

What…was going on here?  I was supposed to watch these two ladies roll around on the floor and gyrate to the song that I listen to almost every day on the way to work?  No sir!  I don’t need that mental image.  I want to picture Caleb Followill personally serenading me when I hear “Closer” – not 2 unfamiliar butt cheeks flapping to the chorus.

But, like having any half-naked person(s) dancing in front of you…I couldn’t really look away.  So, I just tried to cover my ears.

Thankfully, the song finally ended and we put our chairs back in their rows and started the lesson.

We really enjoyed it, but there was a LOT to take in! I didn’t know if I could remember it all to share on this blog, but LUCKILY, our instructors emailed us a follow-up after the class so we could remember all of our moves.  Phew.

Here they are, with my comments in parentheses:

Sway & Play (Last I heard, swaying wasn’t sexy…but I guess I just always think of it in the drunk sense)

Peek over right/left  shoulder (eye contact)- right/left  hip roll (Eye contact?  I would prefer for either my partner or me to actually have our eyes CLOSED during this whole routine.)

Walk behind partner (This one was easy – see Kate demonstrate in video below)

Outline Shoulders (Also see Kate)

Caress Lap (More fondling from Kate)

Play around the goods (Stillllll Kate)

Get Up Sexy (ie. Try not to let your partner hear your knees crack)

Sexy walk to front of partner (Cue: Louisa in the video below)

Amazon Stand (Whatever the hell this is)

Outline your legs down (Go Louisa!)

Open his legs ( See Louisa demonstrate with just a quick flick of the wrists)

Wiggle & Jiggle (You may recognize this move from music videos on BET)

Rodeo (See: Natalie in the video below)

Kiss partner on cheek (Phew…something we can all manage)

Smother 3 times (See: me on the video below, attempting this move…and stumbling of course)

Place toes in between his legs & hip rolls (Now, this move is NOT for me.  It would be way too dangerous for me to place my giant foot that close to a guy’s package.  Talk about…ruining the moment)

Strip Teaz out of Over Sized Shirt (This one was tough for me, also.  I have proof below)

Walk away & blow kiss (Read:  Just try not to trip)

*

See, I told you.  A LOT to take in.  But, I have to give our instructors credit – they had these moves mastered and were great teachers.  Talk about…an education.

And, here’s the video.

What…a porno.

You may notice that I didn’t mention that ass-smack earlier.  Strangely enough, it got left off the striptease cheat sheet that they emailed us after the event.  And it’s CLEARLY the best part of the whole dance.  Just remember:  when smacking your own ass, CUP your hands for maximum acoustics.

The night was a blast, but like any other night when I try to do a sexy dance, my outfit pays the price (see:  Halloween pantyhose).

This particular night, it was my Tom Cruise shirt:

Striptease.  Foul.

Clearly, I’m going to have to work on my moves before I go performing this little dance for anyone.  Unless, I want to do it as a stand-up act, in which case, I’m ready to go.

Now, there’s an idea….

I read Rich Eldredge’s review on Lunacy Black Market and immediately thought, I have to go there. Stat. Eldredge totally captured the essence of Paul Luna, “Atlanta’s original bad boy celebrity chef,” and I knew this man was someone I had to meet…because of the following quotes from him:

“Try that. If you tell me that doesn’t pair perfectly with everything I’ve just cooked for you, I’ll chop off my left [male reproductive organ]. It’s OK. My wife knows we’re not having kids.”

“I have a love/hate thing with Atlanta. It’s like a mistress to me.”

“Our prices are illegal,” Luna explains with a grin. “And I wanted the neighborhood drug dealers to feel included.”

“I’m not here to get reviewed. I don’t want to be one of those [expletive] celebrity chefs.”

“I’m still gonna throw you out if you’re an [expletive]. If you give us attitude, you can go [expletive] yourself.”

*

Don’t tell me you’re not intrigued now, too.

So, on Friday night, Louisa and I headed out in her Impala (yes, her real car) to try this crazy place.  I had a feeling I knew exactly where it was on Mitchell Street:  sandwiched between Oh! My Nappy Hair (I couldn’t make that up if I tried) and a pawn shop, right smack in the middle of the part of Downtown Atlanta where the businesses close down by 8 p.m. and the folks that you don’t ever want to meet in a dark alley come out to play.  Bring it on.  I’d rather walk by a hooker and a drug dealer on the way into a hole-in-the-wall restaurant than a rich uptown businessman and his 20-something mistress on the way into a swanky steakhouse.

We locked the Impala, fed the meter (although getting booted in Downtown Atlanta at 11 p.m. would have been a great story) and walked in.

Cue: cricket sound.

The 20 or so people in the restaurant (which more closely resembled someone’s home) looked up from their comfortable dining stations and eyed us up and down liked we just crashed their dinner party.  Whooopsiiieee.  This place was just a LITTLE different than we thought. I spied an empty table with a check on it and beelined to it, while Louisa (chipper and clueless as always), walked up to a lady at a cash register at the back of the “restaurant” and asked if we could sit down.  The lady looked at her like she had 3 heads.  What…were we getting ourselves into? Louisa came and sat down and said that she didn’t really know the deal, but it seemed as though we MIGHT be allowed to sit here.  As far as having dinner; she wasn’t sure.  She had also been informed that Lunacy closed at 10…and we had breezed in at 9:35.   Well,  it was official: we were the assholes of the night.  But, we planned to wait it out.  We didn’t come to the ‘hood for nothin.

And then…I saw the empty Trader Joe’s wine bottle on our table, leftover from the couple before us.  Awesome. It was BOYB.  Obviously, we didn’t get the memo.  And, we had never needed a drink more than at this moment.

So, just for the record, we showed up late to a dinner party that we weren’t even invited to…with no alcohol.  This night really could not get any more awkward.  Cynthia, the lady from the register, finally brought us menus and informed us (as if we didn’t already know and weren’t kicking ourselves over it) that the restaurant was BYOB for the time being.  We asked her how this place “worked” and she said that typically patrons tell her if they have any food allergies and then, she just starts bringing out food.  “Perfect,” we told her.  “We’ll do that.”

Yet, we were still skeptical.  We felt as though any minute we might get asked to hit the bricks, sans dinner.  But, sweet potato fries came right out.  Followed by a piece of meat that we concluded was the “mullet.”  Both perfection.  Maybe this wouldn’t be a total bust.

Yeah right.

Cynthia came back over and let us know that we might not be getting any more food tonight.  The chef was getting a little “temperamental.”  Hmmm, wonder which two idiot girls got him into that mood. We told her “no problem,” and that we were just along for the ride, and she proceeded to explain to us that the restaurant was actually reservation only and they turned people away nightly.

Oh wow.  Now it all made sense. At this point, I didn’t think we could possibly break any more rules.  We apologized profusely and she then let us know that she had to sneak our ticket in with the other patrons’ tickets (ie. the only reason we had gotten any food at all).  “The chef had ripped up your first ticket,” she informed us.

Now that…was hilarious.  He just RIPPED up our ticket?!  I loved it.  I loved that he’d seen us come in, said “oh, hell no” and tore our ticket in two.  Luckily, Cynthia (who we later realized is his wife and the general manager of the restaurant) had found us endearing (read: pathetic) enough to let us stay.  We also learned that we had walked in at the exact moment that the restaurant’s computer system decided to have a technical meltdown.  We just couldn’t win.

We waited nervously to see if we were going to get any more food.  If we didn’t, it was going to get awkward.  How long were we supposed to wait?  What’s the acceptable wait time at a restaurant to see if you’re going to get fed or not? Neither of us knew.

And, then, the food floodgates opened.  Hallelujah.  Small plates of  balsamic mushrooms, melt-in-your-mouth chicken, collard greens, blue cheese coleslaw, spicy shrimp, and more came out and we ate every bite.  Keep in mind, the average price of anything on the menu is about $3.  No joke.  This…was heaven.  Well, except for the lack of booze.

As we were wrapping up our last plate, Chef Paul Luna started making the rounds.  We were on edge.  Would he come to our table?  Would he curse us out?  Should we be scared? We both checked our teeth for food remnants.  Sadly, he didn’t stop by our table.  But, maybe that was for the best.

Five more minutes ticked by and we looked up to see Cynthia escorting Chef Luna to our table, her arm linked in his.  It looked to me like he was being dragged against his will.  He pulled up a chair and gave us the once-over.  We gave him the same apologetic spiel we gave his wife, but he seemed to have forgiven us.  He explained to us that this is the type of place where they don’t turn tables and that people reserve their tables for the whole night.

“Well,” I told him.  “Then the people before us broke the rules – they didn’t stay all night.”  I think he was amused at that comment.  I THINK.

Image courtesy of atlantamagazine.com.

We chatted with Paul Luna for a bit about the restaurant, our thoughts on Downtown Atlanta, and about his plans to run the next mayoral race.  Which I fully support.  The man is a true visionary, and we felt that we were in the coolest dinner club in the city by being allowed to dine at his restaurant.  He also said “f*ck” a lot, which I was expecting, so I’m glad he didn’t let me down. He even sent over Spanish wine.  And THAT’S when the evening we thought was going to be a total trainwreck turned into one of our favorite dining experiences to date.

Turns out you CAN crash a dinner party and still be welcomed by the hosts by the end of the night.  Well, at least it works if you just play dumb.  Although, the sad part is, Louisa and I weren’t playing.