The One with Ali and Animal Porn

SVV has spent a total of six weeks back in Tennessee with me in the past year and a half, bless him, and we’ve barely ventured outside of my parents’ zip code, save the odd trip to Nashville or the necessary jaunt to the Jack Daniels Distillery down the road. It’s so gross and gray and schizo in the South this time of year—19 one day, 62 the next; ugly most days every day—that I didn’t want to take him anywhere breathtaking like the Smokies, where the magic would be lost in the haze, but I knew we’d have to get out of town at some point or risk losing our sanity. So when I found out Ali Martell, she of petite stature but ginormous personality and endless wit, would be within 170 miles of me AT THE SAME TIME, a lightbulb went off! Not to mention, I’ve been dying to visit the world’s largest aquarium since it opened in 2005. Although it’s just a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Tullahoma to the ATL, we wanted to stay the night, so a quick search on hotels.com told me that, yowza, hotel prices anywhere in that city are CHEAP, so just like that we had a room at a five-star Hyatt for just $80 a night, plus an evening with Ali and gang to look forward to. Cha-ching!

Whenever I come home, we play musical cars. Sitting in our driveway is quite the used car lot for just the three-and-a-half permanent residents (Kari is at college three hours away, so she’s not here often and just constitutes a half): my sister’s old Z71 4×4 truck (which our contractor now uses), my granddad’s Caddy (he’s now 87 and prohibited from driving it), my mom’s Sebring convertible, my dad’s old school Malibu, my sister’s current Altima (just like mine, only the fancier model with heated leather seats and whatnot), and the 2000 little red Corvette (cue Prince) that my dad bought a few years back when he hit midlife crisis years. Well, when we said we were fleeing town for a couple days, no one seemed to want to loan us their car: “Don’t even think you’re taking the Altima to Atlanta!” Kari exclaimed, so that left us with the fun weekend car, the Vet. Ummm, not like we were complaining, but we felt kind of funny rolling into ATL all pimped out and whatnot, while carrying our clothes in plastic grocery bags (not really, but it makes for a better story). But, you know, we went with it, of course.

We headed straight to the Georgia Aquarium, which was pretty awesome but crowded as hell (note to future aquarium goers: pick a non-holiday weekday to go), and we were playing human bumper cars with pint-sized children. Still, you can’t beat eight million gallons of water plus FOUR whale sharks, reaching 25 feet in length.

For once, we were quite lucky. We happened to stumble upon the whale shark room at the precise time of the feeding, then left for the Arctic Zone wing and arrived just as the beluga whales were getting their fill of squid. (Someone else (not in my family), please tell me you know Raffi’s children singalong Baby Beluga because I have been singing it for the past three days straight!) It was all fun and games until the beluga starting flirting with me after it had met its daily fish allowance. After grazing the glass a few times, I noticed a big slit all along its belly. SVV, child of a pair of scientist types, thought it proper to give me an anatomy lesson. “That’s a female,” he said knowledgeably, pointing to the whale’s nether regions. “That’s its hooha right there.”

Then! Out of nowhere, from supposed “hooha,” emerged a wang the size of a baseball bat, pointed right in our direction! What did I do to excite you, dear sir? May I add that there were throngs of children plastered to the beluga tank glass no fewer than three deep? Really, Baby Beluga, watch where you’re waving that thing next time. Of course, once I took out my camera (because I’m obviously a pervert like that and found the whole situation hilarious), he tucked it back away for safe keeping. The funny thing is that I never really thought about whales having…erm, appendages. But should that ever come up next time you’re selected to appear on Jeopardy, now you know!

This was made all the funnier since I was on my way to meet Ali, who has a history with animal porn. It was really only fitting. After grabbing a quick bite at Nava (AMAZING), SVV and I headed out to the home of Ali’s dad and stepmom in Buckehead. Now, it may seem odd to non-bloggers that Ali and I had never actually met in real time (since I’m too terrified to be in the same facility with 1,100 other talented women at  the annual BlogHer conference) and I made a special 340-mile round trip just to hang out with her, but we’ve been emailing, snail mailing, blog commenting, Facebook wall stalking, etc. for a solid year now and I can more or less tell you anything about her (within reason). I adore the girl, and because we’re practically the same person (only, shameless confession: I actually adore Fergie! And Drew Barrymore!), I knew we would get along just as well in real time as we do on the Internets. And since her family has some Southern roots, I knew I’d get along with all of them just as well. (On the same night I first met Ali, I also made the acquaintance of her cute hubby, father, stepmom Doris, adorable siblings, their spouses and kids, three dogs including new puppy Indiana, and her children, save Josh, who was running around upstairs in his Luke Skywalker-doppelganger fashion, pantless.)

Only, I was nervous to meet one sole Martell…Emily. Yes, that Emily, she who is seven years old and barely three feet in height. But you see, the child is the youngest teenager you ever did meet and a certified fashionista and, well, I already hated middle school as it was, because I was never cool enough, so what if she didn’t approve of me? Would I be sent packing? Left on the curb in the Southern winter drizzle to atone for my fashion sins? Luckily, Emily was at a party when I arrived, and when she returned she was experiencing an intense euphoric high from her socialite status combined with having a brand new PINK DS Lite she had received earlier that day in her possession, so she wasn’t too difficult to win over. I never saw her give my outfit the once over either, so I think I’m safe…until next we meet, that is. (You think I embellish, but she’s been known to call after Ali as she’s leaving for work, “are you sure you want to wear that?”)

But Emily was a perfect angel—”of course, Mommy, I’ll put on my pajamas right away; I’ll do anything you say now that there are strangers here to impress!”—and Bella was cute as a button, playing the drums with her daddy on Rock Band, and my night with Ali & Co. was grand to say the least. I wish I could have stayed the whole weekend or even have been inducted into the family or something. They’re like the Walker clan on Brothers & Sisters, only prettier and with more kids and less drama.

The following day, SVV and I bummed around Lenox Square a bit, taking advantage of post-holiday sales, then went for the most delicious burger I have ever put in my mouth. If you ever happen to be in the greater Atlanta area and don’t try Flip Burger—opened two weeks ago by the uber-talented Top Chef contender Richard Blais—well, then you might as well just stop coming to this blog, because why are we even friends? I’ll give you a little teaser on what we ordered: SVV, Fauxlafel (falafer burger with roasted red pepper and goat cheese schmear), fries and Krispy Kreme liquid nitogen shake (FOUR blended glazed doughnuts, I KID YOU NOT); me, Flip Burger, vodka-battered onion rings, burnt-marshmallow-and-nutella liquid nitrogen shake (yes, they take a blow torch to the concoctions, then shake things up a bit with a dash of nitrogen).  (Clearly, no one here is engaging in a post-holiday diet.) I’ll tell you one thing: My life will never be the same.

Booked your ticket to Atlanta already, have you? Or rather, with me to Toronto to revisit the Martell clan?