Where the Wild Things Are

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum y’all! It’s a new year and my eye patch is gone. No more pirate life for me. It was fun while it lasted. Bedazzling your eye patch gets some attention.

If you’re still following and/or reading thank you! I know the last two posts were a little rough. Some might say a little dating rage. Kinda like my road rage, but worse. I’m back on the road now and hopefully this year will be even brighter than the last.

My eye injury healed just in time for a fun event. My salon anniversary party. So y’all know how long it takes to get ready for a regular party. This one was at the new swanky hotel downtown. I had to be on point for the party. This means many hours to get to ready.

How to make a party truly fabulous:

• Open bar (need I say more…. but I am)
• Awesome goodie bags
• Delicious food and an after-hours taco bar (drunk people of the world rejoice!)
• Fantastic decor
• Location, location, location

My girlfriend (we are each others dates) we were drinking wine and people watching. We all know people watching is the best. We found a corner to watch and make commentary.

Dear readers, let me first say good friends don’t let friends leave the house looking a fucking mess. Especially for a salon party! That’s being photographed by a magazine and paper.

Example of fucking hot mess: her dress is part summer, part evening in different colors that don’t go together, then she paired with a beaded tri color belt, a navy bra that kept showing because the dress was too big, inappropriate accessories meant for casual wear, non existent makeup, a brush was not brushed thru her hair, and shoes were a size too big. I mean come on, SALON PARTY people!

She was so happy. Just blissfully unaware of the mess she looked. If she wanted to make a statement, congrats she did…

Back to the fabulous party, we had a blast. We won door prizes, chatted with friends, and had a grand time while drinking free wine.

Next morning, the average person would be sleeping. Because it was a night filled with booze, booze, and more booze. Instead my Bunny ass is in the car at 7am. Little to no sleep, got home at 4:30am. Now my beloved readers you’re probably asking yourselves why I would torture myself in such a way. Well I was driving my hung over ass to Atlanta to see Out of Towner (please refer to Chin Up)The things we do for great sex with airbrushed abs.

Que drooling….

I was so hungover even the elixir of life wasn’t an option. The thought of anything made me queasy. Thirty miles outside of Atlanta my car starts to beep at me. Apparently I’m about to run out of gas. Well fuck.

I have to go off road. When I say off road I mean, country where even McDonalds doesn’t inhabit. I get my gas. I go inside to pay because there’s no credit card reader (that should have been my first sign). The people inside were all wearing camouflage. Like hat, face paint, the whole nine yards. They are stocking up with boiled peanuts and beer.

Inner Monologue Moment: Please don’t let me die in a place where they don’t even accept credit cards!

I ask where the restrooms are. She replies, “Do you mean the bathroom?”

Inner Monologue Moment: long sigh………………………………..

She points me outside. I go around the building, there’s a sign that says bathrooms towards the back. I continue to walk. It’s stepping stones thru tall grass, it reminds me of (please refer to hide your body) a past rest area experience. A serial killer could make his or her home here. I then see a small building that looks similar to and outhouse.

Inner Monologue Moment: Do outhouses still exist? Apparently so.

Inside the outhouse is a single stall, without a lock. I had to do some maneuvering to keep the door closed. One foot is holding it closed, one hand is holding my phone in case of emergency, the other hand is holding my long sweater (I don’t want it to touch the floor), of course this feels like the longest pee of my life. Every sound makes me stop, which then causes my bladder to stop as well. I happen to look above me. There are leaves and branches sticking out of the light fixture.

Inner Monologue Moment: A true outhouse experience, the nature within. I’m just in here due to nature calling for me. I did not want it literally with me!

As I’m looking up, I notice movement on a branch.

Inner Monologue Moment: Fuck! Is somebody or something up there?

Then a tiny head pops out and stares me down. I’m frozen. I’m clutching my phone for dear life. I try to decide how do I call 911 and explain this situation. Operator, I’m in an outhouse. The 911 operator will tell me prank calling 911 is a crime. I’m screwed either way!

I realize it’s a bird. But now I have to keep an eye on the bird, hold the door, hold my phone, my sweater, and calm down enough to pee. Of course, there’s no toilet paper. Maybe the bird can lend a girl a leaf. I’ve gotta let it drip then give it a shake. It’s fucking freezing! Sitting and dripping is torture! Can you get a cold from your kitten freezing?

I finish up my business, tell the bird good bye, and head out. I text my girlfriend when I get to the car. “I just met a bird in the bathroom.” She responded, “I know I’m hungover but even that doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe you shouldn’t be driving. If you’re seeing things.”

An hour later, after dealing with Atlanta traffic with a major headache. A lot of screaming, flashing lights, and beeping happened I arrived at Out of Towners place. It was an amazing weekend! But that’s for another post.

Outhouse Rules:

• Pick your own leaves
• Check for critters
• Make friends with the security (aka bird)
• Use phone as flashlight

©️southerngabunny