Remind me to never go out in Marietta again. The night started off quite pleasantly. Mandy and I proceeded to her mother’s house, though this being a house in Georgia, her momma’s house. Awaiting for us upon our arrival were a dozen or so boiled eggs, in their traditional white dress. My gaze fell upon them, fixated on this blank canvas crying for beutification through the art of colored dye. We opened the Paas egg dying kit, who, by the way, has a monopoly on the egg-dying product business, and concocted our potions out of the standard vinegar, water, and tablets. “Let the creative juices flow…” I thought to myself. As the three of us, Mandy, her mother, and myself, started dipping the eggs with those flimsy little metal holders, we started realizing the patience and effort required to dye eggs with. Our eggs ended up having some sort of mixed coloring in the middle with some solid color on top, such as green (aka teal), and some other color on the bottom, like red (aka pink). We did happen to have another kit that allowed you to “paint” onto the egg, but once we saw the lack of definition left by the paint brushes, we left the two eggs with childish writing on them alone. By the end of the evening, we had about 6 eggs that looked like someone had threw up paint on them and another 6 or so that resembled something decent. At the close of this ceremony, Mandy and I precede to head out for the evening.
We decided to meet up with some friends of hers out on town. The way it was advertised to me was that we would be going to an “Irish Pub” on the Marietta Square. I knew the friends we would be meeting up with and have always enjoyed their company. We drove around the square a few times looking for the location. It had the standard sign on the outside with the Celtic style font painted in green with some guy in an Irish hat on it. The bar was called Mc…something… or maybe O’…. something… oh well. When we entered the bar, we noticed the tinier size of the venue. One man was playing some fairly authentic irish songs and their were a few tables packed with people who were eating and drinking beer. I noticed right away the more authentic than standard decorations, including uniforms from Ireland, as well as many of the people there had thick irish accents. I realiaed that this was much different than any Irish bar I had been in before… this was a literal Irish bar. Our friends were not immediately in sight in the first room, so we walked down the hallway to another room. We found two of the folks we were meeting, and immediately I could tell on their face that we would not be staying here much longer. They had been there for a while, including dinner and beers, and were about fed up with the atmosphere. After the rest of the party got there, we chose to leave immediately and head to a new location that was guaranteed to offer more… only this was a night of a downward spiral.
In Buckhead there used to be a dueling piano bar called Jellyrolls. I had been there before and enjoyed my time, though would have appreciated a smaller venue. The bar tailored to the sit down and drink crowd as well as bachelorette parties that were interested in getting on stage and acting like fools. The Jellyrolls in Buckhead closed and moved into this redneck bar out in Marietta called Runaround Sue’s. Driving up to the bar, my eyes immediately struck the flashing arrow sign with the movable type letters that I have only seen for boiled peanut and fruit stands. We figured we would give it a try, see what happens. We walked in and sat at a table out where the pianos were which was sort of an outside but enclosed area. There was an indoor portino of the bar, where the average age appeared to be 40, the average clothing coverage was about 15%, and the average blood alcohol was at least .15. This, of course, leads to nasty women dancing on tables, a memory that I have been trying to wash from my mind for a few days. The visuals of that would only be trumped by the experience outside. After some technical difficulties, the pianists started doing their thing, and we started with a few standards, like “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel. They then moved onto some country songs. Between the songs, the guys on staged intermingled with the crowd and continuously talked about the necessity for girls to show their boobs and the like. I knew this was going south in a hurry. We then moved onto an old irish song about a unicorn. The song had hand motions and everything and the pianist went out into the crowd to make sure everyone was standing for this experience. One of the girls we were with was in the bathroom at the time. Mid-song, she came back out and sat down, already ready to leave. The pianist spotted her… stopped the song… dragged her up on stage, and proceed to embarass her despite some pretty adament threats on her behalf. Yes… it was funny, but in that pissed off, ackward sort of way. The next song was for a bachelorette there that night. Now, I usually let crude comments or lyrics slide off and not bother me, but the song they sang her was ’special for bachelorettes’, and was probably the crudest thing i have ever heard. Now, I remind you, I grew up in Miami/Ft. Lauderdale, home of 2 Live Crew and Luther Campbell. I have heard some pretty crazy things, but this just takes the cake. Lastly, the asked the girl to show her boobs for everyone and she proceeded to. At this, our whole table left the bar and got our cars. On our way out, I could clearly hear one of the pianists say, “Here’s 10 beads for showing your boobs, and here are another 2 beads for the quality of your nipples.” Class… real class.
The rest of the evening lacked the narrative fortitude of that experience so I will spare you the rest of the story, but I have decided… a night out in Marietta is not for me.
