Roadtrippin' (which is not wordless. At all.)

I sort of dragged in on Monday night, less from the sheer exhaustion of a 5-hour drive and more from the hangover that lasts longer now that I'm pushing 32. But mojitoes were made and had to be drank...and then there were the margaritas. And Carlos. And Carlos making googly eyes at Salt...

Ah..I digress. So, I had every intention of writing this yesterday but as I was driving home from Sam's Club, I started crying through every country song on the radio (yes, even "All My Exes Live in Texas") and then remembered how I had given the stink eye to that lady in the frozen food department and I realized....I have PMS. It's been awhile so I had sort of forgotten how much joy this brings to my life for 5-7 days. I took that as a sign to take to my bed and Facebook stalk under the covers. But now, after several cups of coffee and a handful of macadamia nut Hershey kisses (Brooke, my supply is running low! Darn you, Hawaii, for controlling supply), I am ready to face the world.

Sunday morning came early after a cookout with my Air Force friends on base, but I was eager to reach Savannah where Amanda of It's Blogworthy and her hubs, K, awaited me. Brunch at Goose Feathers was fantastic and I cannot recommend it enough. The line was long but moved swiftly and the owner was actually working the cash register! I am not sure if that speaks to her dedication or her obsession with control, but either way, I was wildly impressed.

Amanda and K are the most adorable couple, him fretting over the space between her babybelly and strangers, and her giggling about his Mama Hen Complex. I could have sat with them for hours, chatting about work, blogging, and travel. K is sort of a diamond in the rough. You know how hard it is to find a man who will have an enjoyable and two-way conversation with you about something other than field goals...kind of like trying to find size 7 thongs in Victoria's Secret. But K does it and does it well. He and Amanda are the perfect compliment to each other. Kind of like us..

Many thanks to K for snapping the photo of us in Ellis Square, Savannah and many thanks to Amanda for unknowingly letting me hijack it from your blog.

I could have stayed until the junk in the trunk went numb from unyielding cafe chairs...but Salt of Salt Says was drinking beer and Mama Salt was pouring mojitos and the first sign of alcoholism is drinking alone with your mom. We couldn't let that happen, could we?

So, it started with a beer on Sullivan's Island:
And then progressed to margaritas at a Mexican restaurant (where I accidentally used my outside voice to order fish tacos. I think I insisted that they be so good they would make me bellow sex noises.)
And then the drunken photography ensued.
But at least there was no drunk Facebooking or drunk texting (this time). Just 2 girls and Mama Salt on the balcony, discussing Prop 8 and where we will all be on Judgment Day (tequila makes me very philosophical).

The next morning was a dehydrated haze of pain, but one latte and an egg/brie sandwich later, we were on the road to normal.
Salt picked up a little Jasper lovin' with her frap and then we hit the bead store, Beaded Venus, which we immediately renamed Bedazzled Penis. I've managed to put up a couple creations from my finds at the bead store, but more are on their way. Glass pumpkin puppy heads anyone?

Finding King Street in downtown Charleston, using only street signs, proved to be a little more dangerous than scavenging bead stores in Mt. Pleasant. Let's just say that Salt has seen the less desirable neighborhoods of Charm City and this area ranked right up there with them. We dialed the Preppy White Girl Look down and the Totally-Fake-Unconcerned-Look up until the windows with bars disappeared and no one would mistake us for Narcs. At this point, there were several hysterical "incidences" and I just don't think I want to squeeze them all into one post. Suffice it to say, those of you who read Salt's blog know that she has completely ridiculous stories and it's tempting to believe they are born in her imagination. I'm here to tell you this crap really happens to her! And to me when I'm with her. So, more later on that. Sorry to be such a flapjacking tease.

Salt covered our trip to the city's creepiest cemeteries in her post today, so I will send you over here to check that out.

And I'm headed out to the rest of you, who I've been neglecting in favor of fruited wine, Budget Travel magazines, and Pat Conroy's latest novel, South of Broad. Love and butt-bumps to Amanda, K, Salt, and Mama Salt for a weekend of buffoonery. Let's do it again, shall we?