We each had a cup of coffee, and used the Internet for an hour or so. I'd brought my extra laptop, so we each had one.
We had lunch at Cowtippers, where we started off with Bloody Marys all around. Robert got his mild, I got mine spicy with no salt, and Joe got his spicy with salt.
|Harvest Chicken Salad||$8.95|
|Sliced grilled chicken tossed with apples, raisins, pecans, bacon, house greens.|
|Pulled pork, the best of the West, on baked bread.|
and Joe had:
|Southern Fried Chicken Salad||$8.95|
|Seasoned chicken tenders, carrots, corn and bacon on a bed of our house greens.|
This place was teeming with cute, gay guys, and we talked about, among other things, not having such a place in Raleigh.
Back at the hotel, in the room, Robert and I got under the covers contemplating a nap, when Joe came out of the bathroom, took one look at us, and said, "No, no... no, no, no."
He talked us into going out for some cocktails, and once we arrived at Blake's we were glad he did. I had some bourbon and diets, Robert had some Appletinis, and Joe had beer.
We enjoyed our time so much there that we had tentatively decided to go back to ring in the New Year later. It's one of the few gay bars that serve food, so they would be open and serving alcohol before midnight tonight.
Several of the other places, such as Hoedowns and the Heretic, thanks to Atlanta's blue laws, weren't opening until 12:01 tonight, just after the New Year is rung in. How fucking lame is that!?!
We thought we'd check out one of the other bars that also serves food, Burkhart's, to see what it looked like over there, and then decide between the two where to ring in the New Year.
It turned out that Burkhart's looked like it was going to be more festive than Blake's, so we decided on that, and returned there after a run back to the room to have a little din-din and freshen up.
I was shocked to find a Blackjack gambling table set up in Burkhart's, even if it was clearly marked as "For Entertainment Purposes Only," and you had to sign a "waiver" saying you understood this to play.
A transperson (I believe), named "Miss Lauren," was the dealer, and she was a very interesting person to watch. In addition to being fastidious about her table, including keeping your betting chips in the right place, emptying the ashtrays, and pushing your chair back in when you got up, she actually tried to educate the players about odds and the rules for the dealer by which she had to abide.
She did all this calmly and diligently, taking twenty dollar bills after twenty dollar bills for entertainment purposes only, and tossing in as she dealt, an occasional, "Those are bad for you," to someone lighting up a cigarette.
During a short lull, she pulled out an aerosol can from under her chair. I resisted the temptation to say, "That's bad for the environment." When we could only see the "Ra.." on the can, Joe said, "She's got a can of Raid!" but as she turned the can around, we saw that it was actually:
and she proceeded to coif her hair. After that, she pulled out her Harry Potter book, put on her pince nez, and read until some more
We rang in the New Year watching the giant peach descending in Atlanta, juxtaposed on the big divided screen in the bar, with the ball in Times Square.
Evidently, the announcer in the bar, who was upstairs, or somewhere in the bar other than the room we were in, was watching a different channel, because his countdown did not match the one that was on the screen in our room, and following a schizophrenic, counterpoint, cacophony of verbally enumerated seconds around midnight, serial Happy New Years ejaculated about the bar. Bunch of drunks.