i totally just burned my eyes with my ethiopian fingers!
i seem to be a walking ball of disaster these days, with the (almost) cutting off of the thumb (twice) and the dropping cereal bowls on my big toe (which is really starting to get gross on me now by the way). in addition to my physical injuries, i've been swimming around in a giant fucking cauldron of stress, boiling and bubbling over into pretty much all aspects of my life. the fucking economy is in the shitter, every day someone is losing their job, home, car, etc. i can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of these people and am really trying not to complain about my shitty job anymore (it's really not all that very shitty anyway) as a person who worries, these times do worry me. i worry about not saving enough money, i worry about paying bills late because i forget, i worry about turning in assignments on time, i worry about being able to afford my grad classes, and i worry about my friends being able to get back on their feet again.
all this worrying is ever so obnoxious when i'm trying to sleep and i'm suffering from the craziest most bizzarest fucking dreams i've ever had in my life, and it's all making me very crazy.
so, what's a girl to do? well this girl, decided to ES-CA-PE! to hotlanta for a glorious feminine rendezvous with the one, the only, southern skull princess of mystery. seeing as when we were together in mexico we ended up doing this...
i knew i was in for a pretty good time.
and sure enough, as usual, i was right. we hit up moonshadow tavern to listen to some band and drank sweetwater beer until we ultimately decided it would be a far better idea to start tossing back tequila shots (responsible for whatever the fuck is happening in the photo above) and making fun of the rednecks all around, especially 45 year old carol who was supposedly molesting her puerto rican friend under the table while her 20 something boy toy was on stage playing bass. i guess it's a good thing he was high.
the bar was a total dive, full of cigarette smoke which i never really realized was so awful when i smoked myself, the wait staff as trashy as any you'd expect to find in tucker, ga. but the music was good. the crowning moment was a basket of deep fried pickles that the aformentioned trashy waitiress delivered at ashley's suggestion, which was fucking, brilliant. deep fried salty and greasy crisps of pickle, with a lovely pool of ranch dressing in which to dip them. whose idea was this anyway? through my tequila haze, i became more and more fascinated with this which was kind of like being in a dream/nightmare depending on the angle. through her's, ashley made sure to throw herself at a bulldog before we left.
on saturday, i embarrassed myself at an indian buffet (like i do) by practically making love to my plate of deliciousness surrounded by a bunch of, well, indian people. mmm...naan. we continued to spend money (that i didn't really have) on things (i didn't really need) and drove in circles around atlanta trying to find this ethiopian place ashley just knew "is around here somewhere!"
a virgin to ethiopian cuisine, i ate whatever ashley told me to eat, all the while feeling the eyes of ethiopians on the only white chicks in the place. ashley ordered way more food than we could ever possibly eat and then leaned across the table to whisper, "i can't eat anymore, but i feel really bad leaving anything on the table. because, you know....they're ethiopian." i told her if they're really that hungry they can surely help themselves to our leftovers, we didn't even touch the lamb thingies. ethiopian food....is weird.
full and happy, we drove through downtown atl, laughing and telling crazy stories while ashley made sure to point out EVERYTHING potentially of interest in the city. if you ever need a tour guide, she's your girl. by the time we made it home, we each drank some absinthe and decided to watch some fucking ridiculous will ferrell movie which was so unfunny that i couldn't even tolerate and so passed out on the futon instead.
on my way home the next day, i felt better. sad to be leaving (especially without my tattoo....grrr..) but better. my thumb, while still very sore, was rocking a kick ass new skull bandaid. my busted toe had walked through someone else's shoes in someone else's city, and felt a little stronger for making the trip. the weight of stress in my chest was lifted, but not by something found in a bottle (although the absinthe may have helped). i think her hair would make it a bit difficult, but if i could bottle miss southern skull princess of mystery, my world would be a happier place. sometimes the best doctors, the best experts on what to prescribe, the best medicines....are our friends.
now...about those ugly dolls...
all this worrying is ever so obnoxious when i'm trying to sleep and i'm suffering from the craziest most bizzarest fucking dreams i've ever had in my life, and it's all making me very crazy.
so, what's a girl to do? well this girl, decided to ES-CA-PE! to hotlanta for a glorious feminine rendezvous with the one, the only, southern skull princess of mystery. seeing as when we were together in mexico we ended up doing this...
i knew i was in for a pretty good time.
and sure enough, as usual, i was right. we hit up moonshadow tavern to listen to some band and drank sweetwater beer until we ultimately decided it would be a far better idea to start tossing back tequila shots (responsible for whatever the fuck is happening in the photo above) and making fun of the rednecks all around, especially 45 year old carol who was supposedly molesting her puerto rican friend under the table while her 20 something boy toy was on stage playing bass. i guess it's a good thing he was high.
the bar was a total dive, full of cigarette smoke which i never really realized was so awful when i smoked myself, the wait staff as trashy as any you'd expect to find in tucker, ga. but the music was good. the crowning moment was a basket of deep fried pickles that the aformentioned trashy waitiress delivered at ashley's suggestion, which was fucking, brilliant. deep fried salty and greasy crisps of pickle, with a lovely pool of ranch dressing in which to dip them. whose idea was this anyway? through my tequila haze, i became more and more fascinated with this which was kind of like being in a dream/nightmare depending on the angle. through her's, ashley made sure to throw herself at a bulldog before we left.
on saturday, i embarrassed myself at an indian buffet (like i do) by practically making love to my plate of deliciousness surrounded by a bunch of, well, indian people. mmm...naan. we continued to spend money (that i didn't really have) on things (i didn't really need) and drove in circles around atlanta trying to find this ethiopian place ashley just knew "is around here somewhere!"
a virgin to ethiopian cuisine, i ate whatever ashley told me to eat, all the while feeling the eyes of ethiopians on the only white chicks in the place. ashley ordered way more food than we could ever possibly eat and then leaned across the table to whisper, "i can't eat anymore, but i feel really bad leaving anything on the table. because, you know....they're ethiopian." i told her if they're really that hungry they can surely help themselves to our leftovers, we didn't even touch the lamb thingies. ethiopian food....is weird.
full and happy, we drove through downtown atl, laughing and telling crazy stories while ashley made sure to point out EVERYTHING potentially of interest in the city. if you ever need a tour guide, she's your girl. by the time we made it home, we each drank some absinthe and decided to watch some fucking ridiculous will ferrell movie which was so unfunny that i couldn't even tolerate and so passed out on the futon instead.
on my way home the next day, i felt better. sad to be leaving (especially without my tattoo....grrr..) but better. my thumb, while still very sore, was rocking a kick ass new skull bandaid. my busted toe had walked through someone else's shoes in someone else's city, and felt a little stronger for making the trip. the weight of stress in my chest was lifted, but not by something found in a bottle (although the absinthe may have helped). i think her hair would make it a bit difficult, but if i could bottle miss southern skull princess of mystery, my world would be a happier place. sometimes the best doctors, the best experts on what to prescribe, the best medicines....are our friends.
now...about those ugly dolls...