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Posts Tagged ‘The South’

A catalog of crimes against common sense #SundayStories

Posted in Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2026| 6 Comments »

Dear Andrea,

Most guests who visit my condo in Atlanta make very little impression on me. I remember maybe one out of 10. If I remember them, it’s usually for a not-so-great reason.

I’ll remember you.

Why?

Because you made my eyes roll so hard I saw my own brain.

Here’s your review:

I’m going to address each item as objectively as possible.

  1. Built in 1962 by the C.D. Spangler Construction Company, Peachtree Towers was the tallest residential building in Atlanta when it opened and was the first residential building in the center of the city. It’s not new construction. If you want a new building with that new building smell, go somewhere else.
  2. It is a condo building with 330 units, so yes, I guess it will feel like a hotel. 🤷🏻‍♀️
  3. You can’t have a “bargain place” and also luxury linens and pillows. Pick an experience, Andrea. You are paying half the price of a hotel.
  4. There is less than a foot of space between the back of the chair in the living room and the wall/edge of the window. Why are you trying to walk back there? There is NO REASON for that!
  5. The only dresser in the flat is in the bedroom and does not have “tons of little drawers.” So I asked:

No, Andrea. Just no. First, it’s sad and shocking that you’ve never seen a card catalog before. Second, I’m not going to get rid of it for more suitcase storage (what?!). Third, there is AMPLE room on either side of it (five feet at least) for your damn suitcases.

Also, Andrea, please do a better job in the future of picking places that are suited to your needs.

If you want a new building, choose one.

If you want a luxury experience, choose it.

If you want a child-friendly place with pack ‘n’ plays and other baby amenities, choose one. Don’t ask a host to supply them when the host has clearly stated these items are not provided.

(During that exchange, I even said, “I understand if you need to cancel.” Frankly, I wish you had.)

I hope you made it home safely.

I’d say it was a pleasure to host you, but …

At least I got a good story out of it. So thanks.

Best wishes and warmest regards,
Beth

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Feeling peevish over pudding #SundayStories

Posted in Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 29, 2026| 4 Comments »

Dear Organizers of the Georgia State Banana Pudding Festival:

As soon as I found out about this festival and realized it coincided with the day my son Dominic and I planned to drive from Atlanta to Savannah, I knew it was on the agenda.

I’ve been to many festivals and fairs. I have expectations. I can manage those expectations depending on the scope of the venture. Claxton Rattlesnake Roundup? It’s an annual, small-town, lookie-loo event. No expectations. McMinnville UFO Festival? Bigger event with a parade and a weekend of planned speakers. Higher expectations.

The banana pudding festival appears to be an annual state event with enough social media presence to get on the radar of someone in Oregon.

I had expectations.

I did not expect to wait 20 minutes on a two-lane road to be directed into a field to park — one of three, all off this same two-lane road.

I did not expect to wait another 30 minutes in line to pay a $10 entry fee. (Who charges an entry fee at a festival like this?!)

I did not expect to wait another hour in line to pay $10 to sample banana pudding along the “Puddin’ Path.”

This is the line for the Puddin’ Path.
Dominic is so happy to finally be able to eat some pudding.

What — and I mean this sincerely — the fuck?!

One hour and $10 to sample eight versions of banana pudding, two of which were inedible? [One was “sourdough” (What? No. Stop.), and one was pecan praline (so sweet that I immediately contracted diabetes).]

And that’s it. Those eight samples equaled the only banana pudding available at the Georgia State Banana Pudding Festival.

You are deeply unserious festival planners. Clearly.

So what did our entry fee get us?

A vendors fair with all manner of offerings, including “sassy sewing.”
A variety of wood creations and whatnot for sale.
A few people with festival spirit.
Hate crimes in merch form.
An obstacle course driven by a blindfolded tractor driver.
The ability to take this photo.

Not pictured: the 30-minute line for two porta-potties. Yes: TWO.

Also not pictured: The person running for Secretary of State who talked to us about his immigration stance, assuming we had the same political beliefs. Sir, I’m not your target audience, for a variety of reasons.

You know what WAS worth it: Spending this time with Dominic grousing about how lame your festival was. We are two of a kind and ended up having a great time.

So thanks. I guess.
Beth

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“GOAT” does not always mean “greatest of all time” #goatyogareview

Posted in Chickens, Guest post, Parenting, Random, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Readers:

Occasionally, I am fortunate enough to have a post from a guest blogger. Today is my lucky day (and yours too)!

I present to you the story of goat yoga, a strange phenomenon sweeping the nation. Sounds like something I would try. Alas, Bingo Lisa tried it first. Here is her account (edited slightly for blog voice and flow).

I’ll be back with a Words With Friends dating update later this week.

Love,
Beth

This kind of yoga really got my goat*
Guest post by Lisa W.

I’ll admit I was a bit excited about being invited to a baby shower where there would be goat yoga. I’m not a big fan of women-only baby showers. Unless I’m sure there will be alcohol, I usually avoid them.

My friend Trina, my 6-year-old daughter Cali and I drove out to the sticks in Ridgeland, South Carolina, to celebrate our friend Jessie and her baby boy’s approaching arrival.

I’d seen pictures of goat yoga online and all of it looked happy. People holding poses and nuzzling baby goats or having them on their backs.

Preggo Jessie (left) and a family member pose with four-legged friends.

Dorothy planned this event. She could not be more thrilled.

The yoga was supposed to be outside, which I now know is ideal. However, the weather was misty so the yoga class was moved inside into our host’s sunroom. We unrolled our mats with anticipation for the nearly ceremonial releasing of the goats. Oh, rabbits too. And chickens.
However. These animals are not potty trained. My expected serene yoga event turned into a literal shitshow.

The releasing of the goats quickly led to the goats releasing their bowels.

So much poop.

I attempted child’s pose and lowered my head per the teacher’s instructions. A baby goat then ran full speed at me and tried to head butt me. I realized I couldn’t let my guard down for a second.

Here’s Lisa on high alert.

The actual yoga lasted maybe five minutes because everyone spent the time either holding the goats, picking up their lovely presents, or trying to keep them from eating our mats.
We passed around tiny shower cocktail napkins to pick up nuggets and sop up pee. I joked that this was great training for the mom to be. If only those goats had worn diapers.

The goats show Jessie how she got pregnant, in case she didn’t know.

It seemed like most attendees had a great time.

Sara (left) and Trina appear to be having a blast.

Cali loved it too. Me, not so much.

Cali pats the bunny. Meanwhile, Lisa reports that her face looked like this the whole time.

I just couldn’t. I was counting the seconds till the end of goat yoga.
Bye Felicia.
When I got home, my husband Rob and I had this convo:
Rob: How was goat yoga?
Me: There are three yoga mats in the bed of your truck that belong in your work dumpster.
Rob: That fun, huh?
Never again. Thankfully, I needed a new yoga mat anyway.
Lisa

*Don’t blame Lisa for that headline. It’s all Beth.

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This is a story all about how / My throat got burned turned inside out*

Posted in Cultural differences, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on June 25, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

Yep, that’s a moonshine still (and a guy named Bullet Bob). Welcome to the South!

Dear Liquor Lovers:

Though I am mostly a beer and wine drinker, I went on a mission that you would love: a trip to the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery.

For someone like me who likes to go on adventures and write about them, this had all the elements of a good story:

1. An interesting setting
The distillery is next door to Dawsonville City Hall, which is also home to the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame. The distillery is connected.

It’s a short walk to the Food Lion if you need vittles before or after.

2. Colorful characters
Inside, I met “Rocket Man” and “Bullet Bob.” That’s how they introduced themselves. Here’s Rocket Man with his wares:

And here’s Bullet Bob with the grain mash on the tour of the (about 20′ x 20′) distilling room:

And here’s Richard, the stuffed Raccoon, otherwise known as “Dickless,” according to Rocket Man:

Hando will be disappointed that he missed meeting his brethren.

4. Snappy dialogue
Me (introducing myself because I felt I had to as I was the only person on the tour): “I’m Beth.”
Bullet Bob: “Where are you from?”
Me: “I grew up in Stone Mountain.”
Bob: “I once drove up the mountain in my jeep on a double date.”
Me: “Was that the last date?”
Bob: “No, I married her. That didn’t last long.”

Rocket Man (at the tasting, pouring me a pink potion): “Ever had Sex on the Beach?”
Me: “Yes.”
Rocket Man: “I mean the drink.”
Me: “Har har.”

4. Believable conflict or peril
After a tiny taste of the White Lightning, I had to keep from screaming “Motherf—–” at Rocket Man and sprinting to the Food Lion for a jug of milk. (Moonshine that is 109 proof will do that.)

3. Compelling plot
I drove an hour to a city I had never visited to take this distillery “tour.” I put myself in great danger (Atlanta roads, moonshine tasting, jar of raccoon penis bones next to the tasting cups), all to get presents for friends (and a good story).

Peter Piper picked a peck of trash-panda peckers.

The tale also had a great resolution: I came away with an understanding of how moonshine is made, more information about “Awesome Bill from Dawsonville,” the aforementioned gifts, and this blog post.

And perhaps new items for the must-drink list for you boozehounds.

Salud!
Beth

The devil in a jug

*Apologies to Will Smith for changing his lyrics.

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