Ah, Atlanta. Bright lights, big city...you remind me of Philly yet you look cleaner.
We rolled into ATL looking to kick that town in the nuts about 9:30 PM. The drive wasn't by any means overwhelming, just absolutely boring. Not the company, as Joolie is an incredible wing (wo)man, just the scenery, or lack there of, that litters I-20 from Augusta to Atlanta is bleak. We found our hotel, checked in and began to slowly realize that the part of town that houses both the venue and our hotel appears to be the financial district of the town, i.e. it's a wasteland after 5 PM. We wandered aimlessly waxing philosophically about relationships and our stations in life, hoping to find a bar to pre-game at. No such luck.
We hit the venue instead, an interesting if underpopulated space, about 10 PM, grab a couple of drinks and perch ourselves in full view of a pillar blocking the over-anxious Wilco-wannabe band that is warming us up for the Lucero experience. In between text messages, Joolie slurps and slurps her Redbull and vodka and we try to engage strangers in conversation. Apparently unlike Philly, in Atlanta no one wants to meet anyone new. Everyone had their friends there and that was all they needed. By the end of the opening act's set Joolie had made it through 2 Redbull and vodkas and a Jager shot with ease. It was becoming more and more clear to me that her decision to not eat anything the entire day before consuming alcohol was going to become one she would soon regret. The words were slurring and her balance was completely off and Lucero hadn't taken the stage yet.
Fast forward. Lucero comes out, their fans go nuts, Joolie immerses herself into the crowd while I hang back. From a safe distance I observe the dance of the intoxicated that Joolie has perfected, she is eager to become one with the music, the people and more importantly with someone who is not there. As Joolie attempts to charm some local boy into helping her enjoy the show, I can see that she is quickly moving past the point of being drunk and into the abyss of possibly blacking out. The straw that connects her mouth to the flow of vodka soaked Redbull hasn't left her mouth for what seems like hours.
Although I had not stopped drinking, I was nowhere near the point of intoxication when it was obvious to me that we needed to leave the show and call this night just that, a night. Lucero was still grinding on in the background as I walked Joolie to the restroom since she had announced "she wasn't sure how to use it." Ouch. This girl is wasted I thought to myself. Once Joolie emerged from the Ladies bathroom, I looked her in the eyes and said "do you want to leave?" to which she replied "NO!". Without any coaxing or prodding by me she immediately changed her answer as she began to take one wozy step forward. "I want to go" she said.
At the top of the very demanding set of stairs that leads down and out of the club, I decided to sling Joolie over my shoulder caveman style to save her from what had become a challenge for her, walking. Luckily our hotel was about a block from the bar and I'm quite able bodied and she is like a feather in my arms. When the lights went out on our night in Atlanta and Joolie was nestled up in the covers I leaned in to her and said "do you realize that it is not even Midnight?" to which her response was "Nun-Uh!"
We had been in town for less than 3 hours and our crunkness was over. I spent the better part of the next couple of hours making sure she was going to make it. The idea of someone jumping out of bed, opening the hotel door and trying to piss in the hall is a little unnerving to me. Joolie was falling into the wall, the tub, the coffee table, it was all quite humorous in hindsight. I didn't mind a bit since I'm sure if I was in the same condition she would gladly accept the challenge of caring for me. That's what friends do right? We make sure you make it when it seems like you might not. We hold your hand when you want to hold hands. We hug you to make you understand that it's going to be alright.
The aftermath of this night was to wake up in a hotel bed next to me. What a lucky lady. As we ate our continental breakfast and Joolie bemoaned the fact that she cannot remember anything from the night before, I thought to myself how lucky she was to have me there. And how lucky I am to have her. Sure she was pissed that the entire trip cost us about $200 and we really only got drunk and passed out in record time. Sure she can't remember one song that her favorite band played. Sure she was too hungover to do anything except leave Atlanta in our wake as we checked out and split town before noon. But, what can you do? Even if she can't recall the night before, I know she was having fun. I could see it in her eyes that she was happy to be there. The catastrophe will make a good story for the coming weeks at the very least.
Look at the laughter on our faces. Fuck Atlanta. A city is a city. You've seen one, you've seen them all. Ha.
