Friday, July 27, 2012

Virginia is a weird place.

My experience with the state of Virginia has been fairly limited to this point in my life.

There were a few horrid family vacations that ended at Virginia Beach. I think I might have even went there once on a marching band trip where I marched in a wool prison suit in 85 degree weather.

Long story short, I've never had a reason to go there for anything serious.

I've always thought of Virginia as Florida's less successful brother. The kind of brother that goes to a two year community college, flunks out, still somehow marries a beauty queen, has three kids that all end up with drug arrests and beat up old ladies for crack money.

My perceptions were not far off after this trip.

I think the whole experience can be surmised with what occurred at an Applebee's.

First, I know, Applebee's. Between Chicken Poppers, Fish Flingers and the Horse Meat Supreme Nachos—Applebee's sucks. It's a rancid chain usually frequented by people who tuck in polo shirts and have jobs that sound way more important than they are. But when you're in the land of Jerry Falwell's homosexual hating ghost, your options are limited.

So after pulling in and finding a bar stool, the adventure began. We were immediately greeted by Delta Burke's less poignant cousin, let's call her Kristy. (I use the "K" Kristy instead of "C" Christy to help paint the picture of what we were dealing with.) Right off the bat, we could all see through Kristy's shirt. Which prompted one member of our party to ask, "what's that?"

Kristy kindly said, "oh that's my tattoo." Then proceeded to pull her shirt down, pop out her boobs and show us her, "Got Milk?" tit tat. Not kidding.

As I could see the edge of a nipple skirting her bra and cresting on the row of pint glasses directly in front of her on the bar rail, she informed us, "I used to have Fs, then I lost weight but only in my boobs." From there she proceeded to tell us about how she used to have both of her nipples pierced but have to had the bars taken out after she got MRSA. This is a staff infection from dirty needles, usually. I have no idea if the dirty needles came from drug use or the piercing. I'm going with drug use.

As the Nine Pound Hammer song, "Rode Hard & Put Away Wet" danced through my head, we encountered a woman named "Sweet Tea'z". She informed us she is Lynchburg, Virginia's official queen of karaoke. While we had just missed her 3 hour performance at this particular Applebee's she invited us to visit her the next night at the Moose Lodge.

Yes, this woman makes a living going from bar to bar to bar, signing karaoke. She doesn't really share the mic with anybody else as far as I can gather, she just sings renditions of songs she likes. I think she has a set—probably a little ABBA, a little Dolly and a little Tammy Wynette.

She gave me her business card and told me to call her the next time I was in town and she could arrange for a private karaoke session. To which I shuddered, shit myself and rolled around in the floor like a stuck wombat.

The whole evening ended with one of the members of our party screaming Cindy Lauper's, "Time After Time" at the top of his lungs. No there was not karaoke playing. It was not on the radio or TV. I have no idea why but he serenaded Kristy with his lovely, slurry version of this 80s pop classic. She in return made her tits clap as we walked out the door.

Thanks Virginia, I'll be back!

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