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Rusty Newport
Works at 33 Events
Attended University of Georgia
Lives in Acworth, GA
114 followers|47,553 views
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Rusty Newport

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Amazing!!!  I do not want to miss this next year.
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Rusty Newport

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#e37photography Plans to attend Feb 2015
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Rusty Newport

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Have him in circles
114 people
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Rusty Newport

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Rusty Newport

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Can't wait to hear you guys at the Winter Blues Party on January 25!
People
Have him in circles
114 people
Domminetti's profile photo
Mary Ray Welden's profile photo
Zack Podskoc's profile photo
Andy Puckett's profile photo
David Jameson's profile photo
gary vinson's profile photo
Mack Whaley's profile photo
Drew Lane's profile photo
Lyle Chadwick's profile photo
Work
Employment
  • 33 Events
    Managing Director, 2 - present
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Map of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has lived
Currently
Acworth, GA
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Tagline
The quintessential Irish Libra male in all its undeniable forms, unburdened by capacity, scintillated at every turn, & laughing at the wonder of it all.
Education
  • University of Georgia
    English & Philosophy
Basic Information
Gender
Male
I made the obvious mistake of choosing the geographically closest hotel (and trying to save the vaunted charity for which I've sacrificed my comfort a few bucks) to an event I was attending when I should have avoided this cesspool like the plague that's probably hiding in the bed sheets. Upon entering the parking lot, which looks like a scene in a post-apocalypse movie, we made our way past the bad drug deal between two other 'guests', thankfully before the bullets starting flying, to the Front Desk under the faded, circa-1958 Registration sign. I had hoped the golden statue of Buddha in the lobby was a sign of good karma and rubbed its belly for good luck, not thinking I would actually need it. How wrong I was; I should have rubbed harder. The sweet young girl at the counter took fifteen minutes to find our 'convenient' on-line reservations and we were finally off on our grand adventure. We walked up the faded staircase and entered into our luxurious suite. We were so overwhelmed by the nose-burning stench of bleach and ammonia, that visibly hung in the air like the purloined sorrow of previous guests, that we immediately failed to notice that the paper-thin, twin-sized comforter draped across the queen-sized bed was so riddled with cigarette burns that it looked like a beige domino. The patchwork paint on the walls was worse than my college dorm room that the boys and I painted after a case of cheap, bad beer and it had more cracks than the San Andreas fault. My wife literally screamed as she entered the bathroom and, instead of the dead hooker sprawled out on the floor that I, logically, assumed was the cause of her cause of distress, I was only mildly relieved to learn that her dismay was caused by the cascading black mold that covered the shower walls atop the grimy stained bathtub, seeming all too like the entrance to a mythological land of the dead. Fleeing from the curtain of black death, I raced for the 'vintage' phone to call said sweet girl to transfer us to a real room, as this nightmare was obviously just a set from an Ashton Kutcher Punk'd video. I never saw the camera crew. Our girl arrived with sincere-ish apologies and a new set of key cards. We fled the afore-mentioned hell hole and passed an ancient and wizened Indian housekeeper, who would have looked more at home atop a Tibetan mountain, searching for inner peace instead of a dirty mop bucket, who was obviously too preoccupied with the sitar music from his Walkman than bringing the rooms up to the lowest of OSHA standards. Scrounging for my last little bit of faith in the pride of entrepreneurship, we entered the new room with high hopes and had them summarily dashed on the rocks of despair. Needless to say, the new room wasn't any better and I freely invite the interns at the Center for Disease Control to come and write a thesis on what I can only imagine was brewing on the curtains. News flash, boys, a gallon of paint hides a lot of sins. We kicked up our heels and fled like a set of Monty Python knights from invading and insulting Frenchmen. Thank you, Macon Marriott, for restoring a bit of faith and having room at the inn. You've been warned, Macon travelers. Sleeping in a cardboard box on the side of the highway would be a sincere leg up from this travesty of hospitality. The one star is for the poor young girl, trapped by circumstance, who works for the owner of this abyss of the soul. I hope she escapes her indentured servitude someday and escapes to the wide, wide world of hotels that actually give the proverbial rat's ass about the quality of their establishment.
• • •
Public - 2 months ago
reviewed 2 months ago
Decent service, but terrible food. Party of 12 with some delivered; others took 20 minutes. Flat Guiness, bland buffalo dip, greasy fries from week-old oil, dark chunk turkey meat melt. Waste of time.
Public - 3 months ago
reviewed 3 months ago
4 reviews
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