Church of the Patron Saint of Lost Causes and Weary Wanderers…a.k.a. the Bar (Georgia…Day 3).

Disaster central. I try to be a good human but it would seem that the Karma gods are still after me. At least, that’s how it appears.
This morning, I decided to go to Charleston. I made the two hour drive only to discover I had left my wallet behind in Savannah. So back I went. And I was so ticked off and frustrated with myself that I needed a drink because what else do you do when you’re a dramatic human whose life is crumbling?
And so I drove to the nearest liquor store and picked up a delightful little buzz ridden beverage and as I was checking out, some guys came in. One of them approached me, gave me the up down, got in my face.
“Damn girl, you look good for a Friday afternoon.”
And I was polite and said thank you but little did he know just forty five minutes before I was seconds away from slamming my fist through the dashboard also what does that even mean? Are Friday afternoons reserved for leggings and baggy tees? Am I overdressed? I must have missed that chapter in the Savannah guidebook because I never read it mostly because that would require too much preparation.
And then he leans against me, presses me against the counter and asks what I’m doing later and the guy behind the glass just shrugs his shoulders. Not you, that’s for certain. I say excuse me and he doesn’t move and sorry but as a Californian, that whole Southern Hospitality thing doesn’t apply to me so I kindly ask him to get the hell out of my way.
And then I leave and I decide to head to the Wormsloe State Park and my car starts acting strange and this is particularly outrageous because the rental car company just towed me a new one from four hours away, that I had to pick up from Forsyth park at 12:00 AM. Less than 24 hours ago. (Side note: never go to Forsyth Park at 12:00 AM). But I drive it anyway because I’m living on the edge over here and I pull up to the park at 5:01 PM and the gates are shut because they close at 5:00. So I leave and realize I haven’t eaten all day and I head for the the historic district and I park and dismount and start walking, at which point I promptly lose the heel from my left boot. And I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and I reach to tug up my jeans and a belt loop snaps free of its bindings and I look up to the heavens and cry out why and some people nearby give me a weird look but fortunately we’re all standing next to the Cathedral of St. John’s the Baptist so this behavior isn’t entirely out of place.
And eventually I find a bar in which to drown my sorrows and the bartender is kind and makes fun of my ID photo and the fact that I look like a bleach blonde bimbo and that’s okay because he pours a damned good drink. And I’m sitting here reflecting on this terribly unlucky Friday the 13th and I realize that sometimes, in life, you just draw the shitty cards. I’m on a beautiful adventure in a beautiful city and sure, I’m walking lopsided and my new jeans are all fucked up and my rental car is liable to combust into flames at any moment, but no one ever said that life is easy. I am the disaster queen, and I wear that crown with pride. Life is messy. Growing is messy. Sometimes, all you can do is just sit tight and enjoy the ride.
Besides, there are worse things than sitting in a bar, listening to the clopping of horse hooves on cobblestone walkways and gazing up through the window at the church spires that graze the skies. Not bad for a Friday. But next time, I’ll read the guide book.

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