GIRL TALK: Sometimes you just need a road trip
First Posted: 5/13/2013
Sometimes in life, we need to run away from the harsh realities of everyday life and go be someone else, somewhere else. It could be something trivial: stress at work, unrequited love, arguments with friends and family, or in my case, all of the above. I was feeling overwhelmed and sinking, so my friend Loren and I decided it was time to hit the road and get out of dodge for a week.
We had five destinations in mind. We started out in Virginia Beach. Our time here was brief, but notable. I became an honorary Hooters girl, a pole dancer, and mingled with some crazy characters on the beach (Shout out to Bryce and Chaz!). Our next stop was Savannah, Ga. The only real memorable scandal of this stop was being sexually propositioned by homeless transients who were drinking moonshine behind a shed. We respectfully declined. Our third stop was Pensacola Beach in Florida. This was absolutely necessary for recharging my battery. I sat in the sand with a drink in my hand just staring at the beauty of nature; those were some fine-looking surfers.
We decided to spend the weekend in New Orleans. I have partied in Vegas, clubbed in South Beach, Miami, and have gotten sloshed in the finest of pubs in Ireland, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was to encounter in life on Bourbon Street.
As a check off my bucket list, I had to earn my beads (Sorry, mom and dad). Once this was achieved, things got crazier as the time passed. I won a dance-off in a transvestite karaoke bar, sang my heart out with dueling pianos, was nearly tea-bagged at a male strip club by a Jonas brother lookalike, was told by a tarot card reader that my future holds failed relationships and feline companionship, and chipped my front tooth doing shots off a pregnant woman.
I met a boy and we danced the night away. Eventually, he got on one knee in front of everyone and proposed marriage. I said yes. Everyone there was so happy for us…until I realized that I never caught his name. I decided that instead of becoming a Carrie Underwood song, I would just leave the bar and return to the madness of the jazz bands and boob flashers who were trolling the streets.
The final stop of our crazy adventure was Nashville, Tenn. There were plaid shirts, boots, and belt buckles as far as the eye could see. My mother called and said she hoped that I would find a nice cowboy to settle down and start a ranch with, but alas, I left the city unhitched.
The drive home was long. It was bittersweet crossing back into Pennsylvania. I came home to the drama that I had fled from, but at least my cat was happy to see me. Maybe that voodoo card reader was right after all.