Coffey Talk - Atlanta style

Gentle Readers,

It is with great pleasure that I announce the real-life meeting of yet another blogger, although this time instead of being in my own neighborhood I had the pleasure of venturing onto the turf of Atlanta-native Beth for an evening of delightful conversation and general debauchery. Let's just say that Beth brought the concept of "Southern Hospitality" to a whole new level, and all of it good.

The day had not started out well at all. I had booked myself on an early flight so that I could get to Atlanta in time to do some conference calls and Webex meetings from my hotel room (which Beth, bless her heart, had helped me find since there was not a single room available in the entire city. Beth's suggestion to stay in Decatur saved me the indignity of having to sleep at the Hyatt out by the airport.)

I was looking forward to settling into my room, taking care of a lot of miscellaneous business, preparing for the next morning's presentation and getting all of it done by 5:30 so that I could meet up with Beth for dinner and a tour of her fair city.

Smelt-ya Airlines put a huge wrinkle into all of this by losing my suitcase which contained, inter alia, the business clothing that I would need for my meeting the next morning.

Now despite the airline's promise that I would very likely have my bag delivered before morning, I was not actually stupid enough to believe them. Or at least not stupid enough to bank my professional reputation on it. So into a cab I jumped and $72 dollars later was delivered to a Macy's not far from where I would be staying.

As Beth had warned me when I called her from the cab to let her know of my plans, this particular Macy's was on the lower end of the fabulosity scale, but I have to tell you I very much enjoyed the experience. For one thing it was around noon on a Wednesday which meant the store was pretty much deserted, resulting in my being able to have a personal shopper do the footwork for me. As soon as I walked in the door I was greeted by a lovely woman who asked if she could help.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I could use some help," I replied. "The airline lost my luggage so I need clothes and shoes for a business meeting tomorrow."

"Well, Sugar, you just leave all that to me," she responded, and walked me right over to the men's section where she began sizing me up. "You're about a 44-long, right?"

Cynthia was uncanny. In addition to knowing my size with just one look at me, she also sensed my style and taste which was pretty remarkable since I was clad only in khaki shorts and a cotton polo shirt. She seemed to know instinctively which colors appealed to me, and when she left me in the fitting room to go find a belt, she even knew to choose one with a silver buckle and not gold.

She was so fabulous that in under an hour I was smartly outfitted with some casual suit separates, two shirts, handsome tie, belt, socks and shoes. (I also purchased some boxers but didn't make her pick those out for me.)

Another cab ride and I arrived at the hotel. Got a bit snippy with the check-in clerk because I really don't understand why hotels always tell you the type of room you requested "wasn't stated in the reservation." Yeah, my ass it wasn't stated. My corporate travel desk has a profile on me and they always request the kind of room I specify (king, non-smoking) when they reserve online. I don't know what the little game is, but I'd rather they just say upfront "you cannot request any specific type of room" instead of pretending they will let you. It's annoying.

I got to my room just in time for a conference call, after which I called Smelt-ya to inquire as to the status of my luggage. "It will be at your hotel by 7:30 am, sir," I was told after about a 20 minute wait.

By this time I had to get changed to prepare for my date with Beth and wasn't able to take care of any other business - including the prep work for the next morning's presentation. No matter, I thought, I'll just do it when I get back, or in the morning.

Ha.

Beth lives about five minutes away and was ready to go since she had been able to take the day off work. (Poor child had been pulling 80 hour weeks for a long time, which explains her extended absence from the blogs.) Although I felt bad that she had been having a tiring work schedule, I was happy to give her an excuse to cut loose for an evening.

We met up in my hotel's lobby and proceeded down the block to The Chocolate Bar, where the plan was to sit at one of their lovely outdoor tables and enjoy a cocktail to wind down from the stress of the day before moving on to a driving tour and dinner.

Scene of the crime

The idea of meeting up with a fellow blogger is always a little intimidating to me because I'm not a natural mingler or people-person. I have always been a little on the shy side and people like Mindy June and Lulu can attest to the fact that it takes years to get to know me -- and for most, even longer to be able to appreciate my quirks.

The amazing thing about meeting people in our blog circle, however, is that we all kind of know each other already through our writing. Because of this, I felt immediately connected to Beth and was able to jump right into a fabulous conversation with her that zig-zagged off into multiple directions within minutes.

Because of who Beth is, with her natural charm, wit and wonderfully casual sense of style, it would have been impossible not to feel at home with her right away. But I have tell you, Gentle Readers, that the connections we have all made with each other because of our collective writing is something very special. We would not all be here together reading about each other's lives if we didn't sense that we liked each other.

Beth and I had a very interesting conversation about just that. Or it could be just me who found it interesting as I went on and on about it while Beth ordered us yet another round of margaritas. But if I was boring her with my non-stop blathering, she hid it well.

We talked about so many different things, and both made references to items we had read in each others' blogs well over a year ago which I thought was pretty damn cool.

Within the hour I announced that she just had to meet Mindy June at some point -- because the two of them have so many things in common it is almost spooky. I'm not saying Mindy is at all replaceable in my life; I'm just saying that I know without a shadow of a doubt that she and Beth would totally crush on each other if they had a chance to meet.

We were both having so much fun with our conversation that we didn't want it to end, and as such remained squarely in our seats, fresh cocktails in hand. By round four Beth acknowledged that the driving tour would have to be postponed which is just as well since getting to know each other was more compelling than visiting the sights of Atlanta at that moment.

I can't even count the number of margaritas we consumed before we were through, but if you total them up between the two of us I know for certain we broke into the double-digits. It was outstanding.

Eventually, we decided dinner would be a good idea and we stumbled on down the street to Watershed as I had requested something akin to down-home Georgia cooking. This place did not disappoint, and despite their having run out of fried chicken prior to our arrival, we made do with all sorts of goodies that Beth unfortunately did not get to enjoy as much as I did because of our over-indulgence on the pre-dinner cocktails. I almost felt really bad for her as I downed an entire plate of fried oysters, a bowl of cheesy grits, most of my okra pancakes and part of Beth's bbq chicken which I swiped from her plate while she was in the restroom (sorry Beth!) It was D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S and made my petty crime feel totally worthwhile.

We then stumbled (Beth more than I since she had broken one of her sandals en route) back up the street to my hotel where we enjoyed a lively conversation with the desk clerk about my continuing lack of a suitcase. He took back-of-the-head shots of us on both of our phone cameras, but apparently neither of us is able to transfer the photos from phone to computer. Maybe I could figure it out but I'm lazy. (Update: I figured it out! See beginning of the post. But for the record, I am still lazy.)

I do remember offering to see Beth back to wherever she had to go, but she insisted she was fine and that she was on her own turf and would get home OK. Being too drunk to insist otherwise, I let her wander off into the night unaccompanied, for which I felt really bad when I came to my senses (at about five the next morning.) Thankfully, she did get in touch over email so I know she still lives and breathes. You can even read her recap of the evening here.

To sum things up: Beth is FABULOUS. I absolutely adore her. I strongly encourage you to seek her company should you ever visit Atlanta.

Cheers!
CP

Mystery blogger

Beckeye & CP with mystery blogger

New York seems to be the place for coolio blogger meet-ups.

And who is this lovely and mysterious writer in our midst? First reader to guess correctly gets some homemade flan for dessert.



Ok, so that was really stupid.

Friday Night Diary

Blogger legend Beckeye and I felt sorry for Chelene who, due to a nasty cold, had to miss this week's East Coast Blogger Conference. To make her feel better, I am providing this play-by-play of last night's activities.


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5:35 pm: I arrive home from work and call my sister-in-law Ruby to arrange travel into the city. I advise her to take her own car since Poor George and I may be visiting Pyramid Club after the ABBA party and she may not want to stay out that late. Ruby complains, loudly. Just to get her off my back I agree to give her a ride and let her drive the car home, leaving me to take a cab.

5:45 pm: I shower and shave, nicking my neck in the process. Charming.

6:00 pm: I dress for the evening, regretting that I own nothing flashy or tacky enough to wear to a disco party. I briefly recall having discarded from George's wardrobe some old plum colored jeans and a hideous colored shirt that might have suited the occasion.

6:15 pm: I get into the car and head over to pick up Ruby.

6:18 pm: Ruby gets into the car and begins talking.

6:20 pm: I tune Ruby out.

6:50 pm: We arrive at McDougal & West 4th Street and discover a parking spot right on the corner in front of a large SUV.

6:51 pm: I pull into the space and discover my bumper hangs just a few inches over the crosswalk. I become annoyed.

6:52 pm: Owner of SUV appears and starts admonishing me not to get anywhere near his bumper. I seethe inside.

6:53 pm: Owner of SUV agrees to back up five feet to allow me room to park. I feel grateful until he again warns me not to touch his bumper. I am overcome by a desire to get out of the car and punch him, but I refrain.

6:54 pm: Ruby orders me to pull my car closer toward the curb. I try to reposition but have to dodge half a dozen stupid NYU pedestrians while cringing in fear that I might get too close to the SUV.

6:56 pm: Ruby tells me for the fifth time that I'm 5 inches from the curb and I should really be 2 or 3 inches. I ask Ruby to verify the position of my front bumper but she ignores me.

6:59 pm: After various requests to Ruby to verify front bumper positioning I yell "FINE, I WILL GET OUT OF THE CAR AND DO IT MYSELF!!" I verify that I am no longer overhanging the cross walk. I become pleased with myself.

7:00 pm: Ruby tells me again to pull in closer. I opt to ignore her.

7:03 pm: We arrive at AMA for our 7:00 pm reservation. The rest of the party is not there.

7:04 pm: We are seated at our table and Ruby says "let's get you a cocktail to calm you down. You're getting hyper." I reply that she was really annoying while I was trying to park the car. Ruby looks hurt.

7:08 pm: My cocktail arrives. I heave a sigh of relief as I take a sip.


ALCOHOL CONSUMED: One large gin gimlet


7:20 pm: The rest of the party arrives. Poor George orders a bottle of wine.

8:20 pm: We are enjoying a wonderful dinner. Stanley and I have sweetbreads, Poor George has pasta, Ruby has quail, Pauline has fish. Poor George orders a second bottle of wine, much more tasty (and expensive) than the first. We opt not to care because we are filthy rich.


ALCOHOL CONSUMED: Approximately three or maybe four glasses of red wine.


9:07 pm: To avoid an embarrassing Asian arm-wrestle over the check, I go to the back of the restaurant and pay for dinner in private.

9:10 pm: Stanley learns of my secret pay-the-check scheme and practically throws his brother to the ground in an attempt to cram cash into George's pocket, causing a larger commotion than would have occurred if we would have simply arm wrestled over the check. The maitre d' approaches cautiously to ask if everything is ok.

9:17 pm: En route back to the car Stanley and George engage in a private conversation on the topic of why Ruby has to be invited to our outings, since she ruins things with her annoying personality. I am cited as the reason she often comes along, due to my "soft spot" for her. Silence ensues.

9:26 pm: We reach the car where I retrieve my cell phone and George and Ruby stash some personal belongings. We bid "good night" to Stan and Pauline.

9:30 pm: I retrieve a voice mail message from Beckeye who is concerned about the strange looks she is getting at the gas station as she fills up her car while wearing a 70s disco outfit. I admire her preparedness.

9:37 pm: I retrieve a text message from my friend Shania who was going to come but ended up puncturing her foot on a nail or something. I make no attempt to see if she is OK. George offers that she is probably lying to get out of the party.

9:42 pm: My friend Shelly calls to see where we are because she has arrived at the party on her own and is being circled by a lecherous looking blond guy. I assure her we will be there very soon.

9:48 pm: George lectures Ruby about the need to stop embarrassing him by talking non-stop. Ruby does not hear the lecture because she is talking about something else.

9:52 pm: We arrive at the club and are told to stand in line outside for a few minutes.

9:54 pm: I text Shelly inside to tell her to stash up some free drinks for us before the open bar closes at 10:00. Shelly doesn't notice my message and does not order us any drinks.

10:05 pm: We enter the club. Shelly is standing near the bar trying to ignore the lecherous blond guy who is still staring at her. We hug.

10:07 pm: I order two gin & tonics and a glass of water. The bill is $18. I decide we will be drinking $5 Carslbad beers for the rest of the evening.

10:15 pm: We make our way to the back of the club and congregate at a table near the dance floor. Ruby sits down next to a handsome gentleman and then proceeds to whisper to Shelly that the man has a strange, pungent odor. Shelly looks at me questioningly.

10:18 pm: We are told to move away from the table because it has been reserved for certain VIP guests.

10:25 pm: Beckeye arrives, dressed in a gold lamé halter top, leg warmers and approximately three ounces of blue eyeshadow. Her hair is feathered in an attractive style that vaguely suggests "key party."

10:38 pm: George complains loudly that there is not enough ABBA music playing, and scorns the random assortment of 70s pop coming from the DJ's booth.

11:07 pm: Ruby looks like she's about to pass out, and George reluctantly offers to drive her home. She accepts, and George bids us a good evening with an underlying "I'm going to kill you, CP!" tone.

11:29 pm: The gals and I continue to dance and gawk at the odd assortment of party guests, which includes a disco dancing 70+ year old couple and a bona fide giant who is close to eight feet tall. We start wondering whatever happened to the guy who played Lerch on "The Addams Family."

11:47 pm: I offer to buy Beckeye a drink, and she requests an Amstel. I inform her she will be drinking Carlsbad because it's a Swedish party and it's on sale.

11:59 pm: Shelly suggests we ditch the ABBA party and head over to Club Pyramid. We agree.



ALCOHOL CONSUMED: One Gin & Tonic, two Carlsbad beers



12:07 am: We cab over to the East Village and enter Club Pyramid. I am the only one not carded at the door.

12:15 am: I buy small 5 oz. plastic cups of beer for Beckeye and me. I do not bother asking Beckeye if she would like anything else. Shelly disappears into the dance floor in search of her friends.

12:19 am: Beckeye graciously accepts her drink, assuring me that she really does like the taste of flat, room-temperature beer.

12:25 am: We join Shelly and her "gays" on the dance floor. We start dancing to "Thriller." Shelly regales us with tales of having played "Zombie Number 3" in her grade-school remake of the video. I feel old.

12:32 am: The DJ heats up with a well thought out playlist of popular 80s songs, and we get into a serious dance groove with Shelly and her Gays.

1:17 am: We are still dancing, and I scream "they are killing me with these songs!" every time another great oldie starts up. I pontificate on the fact that 80s pop music is more danceable and more fun than 70s disco. No one is listening to me.

1:28 am: I exit the dance floor and buy two more beers.

1:32 am: I return to the dance floor and empty the better part of a cup of tepid beer onto Beckeye's arm. She thanks me and keeps dancing.

1:39 am: As the first few bars of "Our Lips are Sealed" start up, Shelly asks me what group it is. I chastise her severely, then dance like crazy.

1:47 am: Beckeye complains about the noted lack of "Duran Duran" songs and suggests we take a break. I follow her off the dance floor and buy two more beers while she excuses herself to the ladies' room.

1:53 am: I sit on a bar stool with my two beers and begin talking to one of Shelly's friends. I tell her about the blogs and she asks what we write about. I try to say "I don't know, funny things I guess" but it sounds more like "I dullo, fuddy tings I gezz." I sadly come to the realization that I am plastered.

1:55 am: I attempt to recite a list of everything I had to drink until I realize Shelly's friend has no interest and that the math is too hard anyway.

2:07 am: Shelly's friend says she would like to be able to write like David Sedaris, but is worried that she's not original enough. I try to think of something inspiring to tell her, but all I come up with is an "opportunity cost" question about having sex with Mary-Ann vs. Ginger. I take comfort in the fact that my speech is too slurred for anyone to understand me .

2:11 am: Beckeye reappears and suggests we leave soon. I go back into the dance floor to say "good night" to Shelly and her Gays.

2:14 am: I hug and kiss Shelly as well as all her gays, and then fall face first onto the large platform they are dancing next to. I make a brilliant comeback to the effect of "who puddthis stage here?" Everyone ignores me because I am incoherent.


ALCOHOL CONSUMED: 4 small beers (I drank Beckeye's last one when she didn't return from the ladies' room right away.)



2:18 am: Shelly and her girlfriend follow us out of the club and we all attempt to hail cabs. I end up standing in this bizarre twisted leg position for a brief moment, and nearly fall over backwards. I feel grateful that I didn't break anything.

2:24 am: Beckeye and I walk to 2nd Avenue where we find a cab and ride back to her car. I continue to babble incoherently. Beckeye secretly toys with the idea of ditching me.

2:32 am: We arrive at Beckeye's car, and she lets me in after all. She makes me promise not to blog about some garbage she hadn't had a chance to throw out yet. I agree as long as she agrees not to tell everyone I'm an alcoholic.

2:45 am: We cross the Manhattan Bridge. I need food and decide to ask Beckeye to go with me to Purity Diner for some onion rings.

2:52 am: We get on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and as we approach my exit I realize we missed the Purity Diner. I decide to forget the whole idea.

2:57 am: I deliver explicit instructions on how many stoplights to go through to get to my street, and resume babbling about God knows what. We pass by my street and I continue talking. Beckeye asks if we passed my street and I suggest making a U-turn.

2:59 am: I exit the car and walk up my block. I consider turning around to wave to Beckeye but opt not to risk such a move for fear of falling over.

3:02 am: I enter the apartment and thank my lucky stars George had the good sense to leave a slice of pizza on the counter for me. I repeat my mantra "Georges rock. Everyone should get a George."

3:03 am: I put the pizza in the toaster oven, and fix myself a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

3:07 am: I remove the pizza from the toaster oven and sit down on the couch to enjoy my treats.

4:48 am: I awake slouched over on the couch with half the slice of pizza on the floor below me. I pick it up and eat it.

4:56 am: I hear George in the bedroom saying "what are you doing out there? Come to bed!" "Ok," I reply, as I lie back down on the couch.

6:53 am: I awake again and finally go to bed.



TOTAL UNITS OF ALCOHOL CONSUMED OVER 8 HOURS: 12 (although the last four beers were very small.)


OVERALL EVALUATION OF CP: Inexperienced light-weight or total sad-sack lush. End result is the same either way.


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Needless to say, much of today has been a wash. But now we're getting ready to go out for some Italian comfort food, so all is becoming right with the world again.

And so, Gentle Readers, until our next East Coast Blogger Conference, I will sign off.

Love,
CP

Calling all NYC area bloggers!

Those Chicago bastar---- oops I mean bloggers, don't get to have all the fun with their exclusive little cliquey blogger gatherings. The New Yorkers are taking it back!

NYC area bloggers as well as their friends, loved ones, admirers and creepy stalkers are ALL invited to gather THIS FRIDAY, September 28 for an ABBA party hosted by a bunch of damn Swede bastar----oops I mean people.

Starting at 9:00 pm on Friday, come to NYC to meet CP, Poor George, Chelene from Bliss & Bile, Beckeye from The Pop Eye and many more as they drink $5 Carlsbad beers and dance the night away to the sounds of the greatest group of the 1970s (and no Dale, we don't mean Peaches & Herb).

Click here for details, address, directions or to buy a ticket online. (It's $5 more if you buy at the door.)

I have no idea where we'll be, but by this time you've seen enough pictures of Poor George and me on this blog to be able to spot us. Just don't do what Write Procrastinator did and walk right past me if you don't see a Chinese guy nearby; PG and I are not always joined at the hip!

You can also email me at cp.marytylermoore@yahoo.com to warn me that you'll be coming - that way I can keep an eye out for you.

Most importantly, please don't let CP and Poor George be the only Dancing Queens at this party!

See you there!