This past weekend was my trip to somewhere-I-ain’t-never-been for April- Nashville, Tennessee.
And I knew before I ever laid foot there that I would love it, and love it I did. From the moment I got off the plane, the air was thick with honky tonk. Men opened doors. The girls were cute, even when their hair was teased an extra 5 inches tall. People made eye contact and smiled as they passed you on the street. Even the street bums were starving musicians, holding onto what was probably one of their only posessions, a guitar, and playing for dear life, often oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the street. It was difficult to find a bar without live music after 11pm, and not once did we pay a cover. The strip that was Broadway Street ended at the river, and was chock full of restaurants, and though we would have been hard-pressed to find one without a country feel, why would we want to? We were in Nashville, TN, after all.
I got in to TN on Friday after not going to bed Thursday night- I was bartending til 3, got home at 4, and had to leave for the train at 5… and pack. Funsies. So I sucked it up, and over my two flights (through Detroit?!? Who the hell booked this? Oh… right) I tried to squeeze in shut eye on the train, the shuttle, the check-in line, in the metal detector at security, on the toilet… what? Anyhoo, I felt a bit better by the time I landed in God’s country, and a much-needed nap ensured I was ready to let out my inner cowgirl.
BFF, BFF’s BF, and BFF’S mama and I hit the main drag for a killer dinner at the Broadway Brewhouse & Mojo (best. wings. ever.) Then we barhopped a little bit, but Kbo needed to get some rest before running the half marathon on Saturday, so BFF’s BF (we’ll call him M) and I scooped up his sister, H, and headed back downtown. I was not at all adverse to meeting some country boys, and brother and sister were glad for some quality drunk time together, so we hit bar… after bar… after bar. I think we saw the inside of 7 or 8 (shot count: a jagerbomb, a couple vodkas and 3 irish carbombs = oh dear lord status) before we landed in what we would later realize was the devil’s lair, otherwise known as “Buck Wild Saloon” (see above picture. This was the bar’s mantlepiece.) Starting to get the idea?
The BWS had a pair of sisters running a karaoke show who were, honestly, absolutely amazing. They were just as good as Carrie Underwood (who I love, so if you don’t, insert other young-and-talented-country-starlet-here.) We were drunk, enjoying their powerful duets and the shenanigans of their enormous and jolly bouncer? bodyguard? as well, seeing as he was a 400 pound black man who had no problem gettin’ down- they were like an ass-backwards oreo cookie. A “voluptuous” woman outside the window (which the stage was next to) apparently liked his moves, as she mashed her mammoth breasts up against the glass, humping it for all it was worth. He responded in kind, singing to and humping the window, and the entire bar broke out into ill-contained snorts and guffaws, loving every minute of it
It was then that things started to go downhill. Perhaps it was the 3 car bombs in less than 10 minutes we’d taken at the Irish pub across the street, but our judgment began to falter- badly. On the way back from the bathroom, I was stopped by a cute enough guy, and decided to talk to him. When it came out that he was a part-owner of that bar and a couple other clubs downtown, I decided he should meet M and his sister, so that we might develop a bar connection to exploit the following evening, and possibly on return visits to Nashville as well. Meet him they did, and we were still having a good time until M made friends with the jolly bouncer/bodyguard, and disappeared, leaving me with the gentleman-who-would-quickly-become-questionable. As I said, my logical reasoning was fading quickly, so when the gentleman offered to show me the upper floors of the “bar” that they were “renovating,” I, for some strange reason, thought it was a good idea. M was nowhere to be seen, I’d lost his sister at this point as well, so off I went with a stranger, essentially, to the darkened and bare levels above the bar.
He showed me around the stripped floors, probably saying stuff about what they were planning to do, and showing me “the amazing view.” It’s not like I didn’t know what he was doing, and at this point I thought I might like him, but he did something that made his creep-o-meter shoot up to about 4,000 (on a scale of 1-10).
He opened what appeared to be the door to a closet, and inside I saw a disheveled, half-deflated, twin-size air mattress, with one sheet draped over part of it. I looked at him, and he continued to say that he camped out there sometimes to “keep an eye on things,” or to “enjoy the view,” or “sleep it off”… and if I was tired, and wanted to lie down and take a nap, I was more than welcome to.
Ew. Ew ew ew ew EW. I told him I needed to find my friends, turned around, and walked back downstairs. Thank goodness he wasn’t a creep with a different plan- yet again, my drunken-idiotness somehow did not get me raped or killed. M and his sister were not to be found, but I jumped in a cab and managed to make my way home to a very worried and furious Kbo, who, because of worrying about all of us (M apparently almost got arrested, although none of us are really sure why; and he and his sister drove his truck back to the hotel, shitfaced, in the rain…) got approximately 1.5 hours of sleep before she had to wake up and run 13 miles.
With our tails between our legs, Saturday got off to a slightly better start, mostly because after her race (that M and I MISSED, because we are ASSHOLES) we indulged in an enormous brunch, cupcakes, and three hour naps, all of which were divine. Although we slept the day away, we had a fantastic dinner at the local Italian restaurant with all of M’s family- a kickass group of Kentuckians. We headed out on the town after that and heard some amazing live music. Unfortunately, everyone except me was sick and/or tired, so I convinced them to go home and had a blast flirting up a storm with a couple of boys at Tootsie’s, and then a really fun and interesting group of guys who were staying in our hotel once I got back. There were about 7 of them, and they tried to give me a hard time when I was about to go into my room at the other end of the hall, so 4-inch hot pink heels and all, I marched down the hallway and gave it right back. They were shocked, and thrilled, and we drank beers and swigs from a bottle of vodka until the sun came up, talking about ridiculous things you can only talk about with your best friends or complete strangers. I had no problem with being the center of attention for hours, either, seeing as there was one of me and 7 of them…
My favorite moment was when one of the guys, who had passed out for the last hour or so on one of the beds, suddenly raised his head, looked at me and said, “I remember you. You got here a few hours ago… Have any of these guys hit on you yet?!” I laughed and told him not particularly, even though each and every one of them had made it clear they’d jump at the chance. He shook his head, mumbled, “Fucking fags,”* rolled over, and went back to sleep.
Verdict? Nashville, I love you.
<h2>*I do not in any way condone the use of this word, especially in a derogatory way… but if you consider it in context, it was pretty damn funny.</h2>
{ 1 comment }
You guys are assholes!
That’s all I have to say.
Comments on this entry are closed.