Well, got back last night from my weekend trip to Charleston. It was a much needed getaway from me to hang out with folks and get out of town for a few days. Otherwise, I would just sit on my ass and watch tv all weekend. Here are some highlights:
After a five hour drive filled with 90s hip-hop and low brow humor, we arrived in the Charleston area. We started taking some surface streets as we searched for the Tamsberg Palace, home of Prince Edward. Our directions suddenly said stay on the road we were on for 17 miles, thus effectively removing us from the Charleston area and putting us in a very remote intercoastal area. We passed a ghost car and some other lovely sites and turned onto the road upon which his house was located. It was here we found that we actually possessed no address for Edward’s house. So, 11pm at night, driving down a dirt road, surrounded by a dense coastal forest, spanish moss as the curtain for the sky, wondering when some deranged knife wielding man will jump through the bushes. Cell phones are of no use out here, so we can’t reach them, neither can they reach us. Luck would have, the Tamsberg’s have their name painted in large letters on the mailbox to their house. Just about our turnaround point, we find the box and pull in. We then proceed to play games, drink beer, and have a good ol’ time in a barn. It wasn’t red, so I do have a hard time coining it as a barn, but oh well.
On Saturday, we spent the day at the beach, which was enjoyable and uneventful all at the same time. I didn’t get sunpoisoning, so the term ‘uneventful’ really appeals to me. The only thing eventful was Jake referring to his younger sisters breasts as “the goods.” I guess that is just more disturbing than uneventful. Saturday night we went to a seafood dinner in the downtown Charleston area. We followed it by heading to a chocolatier and candy shop. The candy shop had these metal tins for children that you could fill with any of their assorted candies, so I purchased two for my girlfriend’s two kids. Nothing makes you feel more like a man than carrying around a Disney Princess lunchpail and filling it with Laffy Taffy.
After sitting out by the water and grabbing some beers at a local brewery, we headed over to Wet Willies for some more drinks and dnacing. Upon finding out it was a cash-only bar, drinking became out of the question, so we headed over to the dancefloor in this fine Charleston establishment. I have to admit, I do love to dance. The music was fairly top-notch, ranging from 80s Rock (i.e. “All Night Long,” “Pour Some Sugar On Me”) to ridiculous dance songs (i.e. “Jam on It,” “Jump Around”) to modern hip-hop. At first, it was just our crowd dancing in our little circle. After some time, the crowd in the dance room changed very quickly. Lets just say, by the end of the evening, our group of 4 white guys may have been the only white guys in the room. Not that this bothers me, just funny to find myself in that situation. Here is a fact that I learned from the experience: black women love this white boy. On multiple occasions through the night, I had various ass grabs and pinches as I was out on the dance floor, entirely of black women. At one point in the evening, a larger, heavy-set black woman proceeded to grab me, turn me in her direction… and put her junk all up in my biz-nas. Well, being the gentleman that I am, I of coursed danced with her, not wanting her to feel rejected. It was soon after this experience that we decided to head home.
To quote the weekend fully, “that’s what she said.” I think we used up our quota for that quote over a 48 hour period. Oh, and to explain the picture, we stopped at a gas station on our way back… with that sweet sign. Gotta love rural Georgia.
