"I can vouch for him, he's my little brother."

It’s Molly again. I tried to get George to write this entry, but he deferred, saying, “It will be better from your perspective,” which I think was just a way to continue his current activity of watching a movie and occasionally moaning about being hungover. Despite his bragging about blogging this weekend, George has learned that blogging is a hard lifestyle. Especially when you’ve been drinking so much.

He did just grumble something about how I should point out that all drinks this weekend were consumed legally, unlike his previous visits to Atlanta. (You may want to re-read that post…that’s foreshadowing for something that may happen in this story)

So being the less hungover one, I’ll shoulder on for both of us with this mildly humorous anecdote about what happened when we went to dinner last night. After walking around the festival for a few hours, we decided to drink at my apartment and then walk to this bar/Mexican place that’s behind my apartment complex. This place was chosen for two reasons: 1) we were getting sick of pub food of the sandwich/burger variety and 2) this place, being a five minute walk, was the shortest walk available to us.

So we walk down to the Mexican place, congratulating ourselves on our smart pick. We each order up a margarita, at which point we were asked for our IDs. This is the point where I hope you re-read that linked entry, or at least have a pretty good memory for detail.

George had forgotten his wallet.

As we mentioned in the post of George’s previous visits to Atlanta, George once forgot his wallet when he had sixty bucks in there from our parents to pay for our meals. This caused some strife since I was a poor college student. And despite George and I rehashing that weekend and talking about how awful it was, George went and forgot his wallet again.

We tried to sweet talk the waitress a bit, but she said firmly that she didn’t want to go to jail for George, and there was a big guy behind her watching the whole encounter, so we didn’t have much choice. We did the walk of shame and went back up to the apartment to get George’s wallet. So by the time we returned to the restaurant, we had made a 5 minute walk into a 15 minute odyssey. Thus defeating reason #2 why we went to this place at all.

But I will say, reason #1 was still a compelling reason to go, and we found our meals of Brazilian steak tacos and chicken chimichanga to be a great switch-up to what we had eaten so far. The margaritas also seemed like a great switch-up to the beer we had been drinking, although the margaritas have gotten a very bad name and been cursed many times in the harsh light of the day.