Holy Cheese Grits!!!

When you work second shift in hospitality its very easy to lose your social life. For the past two weeks my roomie Jennifer and I have been working all 2:30-11pm shifts. Which means 1. We're going out on the late night tip or 2. Im snuggling up with my ipad and a handful of twizzlers (because for the life of me now that Im back on the east coast I can't find red vines anywhere) before setting my sleep cycle app on my iphone and rolling over. More often than not its twizzlers and reruns of how i met your mother- cuz that shit never gets old. But tonight, tonight we decided was a night to get out... And relax.

Thats right ladies and gents, we made a date with the shisha. The long necked dragon. The mellowmer. The emperors new groove! Wait, no that was my groove to the southern hip hop they were blasting in the background. Rewind. First we had to find a place. Jennifer and I are both pretty new to the ATL, so we decided to ask Google a queston: shisha atlanta?

I found a place called Hookah Kingdom somewhere in midtown that was open till 1am, it seemed like a fantabulous idea. Yep, simply fantabulous. Until I missed our exit and then after a few loop-de-doos we found ourselves asking my GPS questions like: oh god, where are we going? Uh, where is this place? And lastly, WTF?!?!?!

It wasn't an awful area, there just wasn't really anything else around- ok, I lied there was a bbq place a block away with a fat screaming pig statue outside.

Yeaaaaaaa.

We pulled into the parking lot of Hookah Kingdom. There were two other cars there. Uhhhhh. What do you want to do? Should we check it out? Should we go in? We decided to go in. Let me paint you a picture, aside from blue club lights streaming out from this empty hookah lounge the street was completely black. Jenn pulled on the door but it didnt budge. Closed. About halfway to my car the door opened and a guy poked his head out.

Rome: What's up?

Jenn: you closed?

Rome: yea. We're open friday, saturday, sunday.

Jenn: oh, ok.

Rome: You girls wanna smoke?

(Reminder: shisha)

We look at each other, shrug and head into the empty hookah lounge. For the next 3 hours we're passing the pipe, throwing back grape vodka shots and wiggling to dope beats. Ok. I was the only one wiggling, because I was the only white person. And, yes, I said dope beats. Dope. What upppppppp.

By the time 2:30am rolled around we decided it was time to go to bed. By the time we were a minute down the road we decided it was time to grub. Waffle hizouse! We wanted to see Des, our other room mate who was working- it was her last day. After waiting about ten minutes so we could sit in her section the games begun. or should I say the fucking ass crackery. Aka tom foolery or just all around ignorance. The four other workers would not stop harassing Des... Telling her to shut up, f you, etc. I was fucking pissed. Then came the cheese grits.

I may have spent the last seven years in California, but don't EVER fuck with my cheese grits. The cook at Waffle House obviously did not get the memo. Desarae had to ask the cook where my grits were. He handed them to her... Sans cheese.

PAUSE. Uh, cest cheese?

Yes. Cest cheese. The cook threw a cold slice of cheese on my grits, handed it to me and said it would melt. I told him that was just plain wrong and that it wouldn't melt. He yelled back at me that it would (approximately 6 inches from my face). I said no it won't again, crossing my fingers that it wouldn't because I was just pissed at the way he had treated my friend and wanted to punch him in the face. I didn't punch him in the face, but we did get a free meal out of it. No, it wasn't on the w house. Apparently the two nice gentleman sitting behind Jennifer and I over heard the entire argument and said they wanted to take care of our bill. Score!

1. Free food

2. Oh yea, and Rome didn't charge us for the hookah

3. ... Or the grape vodka (thank god, i mean, it was grape. Insert fizzle face *here*)

Hmmm. Two girls. One night. Smoked. Drank. Ate. FREE!!! This is how we do.

Budget baby. Xoxo, Jildo

P.S. I still want my grits.