Sunday, September 10, 2006

Pleasent Valley Sunday

"What happens in Georgia, stays in Georgia."
-all Debutant-turned-punks and all other Polites-turned-Cynics


10. Ridiculously temperate sunshiney days, riding bicycles with pedal breaks through aforementioned sunshine, feeling wind in one's sand-tossed hair, etc. Riding bicycles to ice cream stores that sell ice cream for $1.50 and sno-cones that taste like childhood. Fresh air. Trees.

9. The inability to communicate one's desire for mixed greens instead of French Fries; an all-too-familiar request to the waitstaff of various Manhattan eateries from the Casual Urban Neurotic (even the greasy diners, where those beautiful men in black aprons are disarmingly familiar with the nuances of steaming vs. grilling vs. broiling, and the art of serving sauce on the side), which resulted not once but twice with the conclusion "So you want a Ceaser salad, then?" "No, just mixed greens." "With Ceaser?" "No. Just greens. just lettuce." "You mean you want green eggs and ham?" "Yes, that."

8. At Fanny's, the beachside lesbian-owned eatery, Friday night's musical entertainment was fronted by a fat man with a guitar strap decorated with a pattern of Confederate flags. Lesbians with Janet Reno haircuts were more than happy to cheer and dance, Indy 500-style, for this Bluegrass performance. They also had a really cute waitress. Ow!

7. This same lesbian-owned eatery features a "Time to Eat Out" clock. Get it? More the patrons?

6. People who say 'fixin' to' and tell me to have a "super day" when I buy a magazine. Really, I guess: Southern Hospitality, which is a jolt to my Well-Honed Northern Assholitosity.

5. Birds that chirp, audibly, and also fly from branch to branch.

4. A television set and an SUV that, if combined, would equal in square footage the approximate size of my room in NYC.

3. Pick ups like these two gems:

a) Three shirtless men in a car feel prompted to literally stop driving and send a representative to talk to "the prettiest girls we've seen all day" (obviously, me and Haviland, looking absolutely stunning in our swimsuits and un-made-up faces). He asked us 'what was goin' on' that night. The most remarkable part of this particular interaction was his tattoos, which included a marijuana leaf on his arm and a big ol' Jesus Christ on his chest.

b) A beachgoer passed our sunning spot to ask if we knew how to get water out of a lighter. We did not. He let us know, "I'll be back later to swim with y'all ladies." HOT.

2. Actual long walks on the beach, accompanied by actual stimulating conversation, tenderness, and heart.

1. Allegedly: eyeliner, lip gloss, hand lotion and concealer. JK! Try and stop me with your absurd color-coded warnings, you fascist bastards! Orange? Seriously? Are we seriously still using this? I've got a color code for ya: brownish black, which is my fave shade of CoverGirl eyeliner, and me going without it is a threat to My Security and to everyone who has to look at me. Take that, Al Queda! And um, the government! And the color ORANGE, which doesn't look good on anyone but is also the color of my hand lotion. You know, the lotion I rubbed on my hands in the air on the airplane.


Slinky Redfoot said...

Pot and Jesus go together like a saxophone goes with the night.

marie lyn bernard said...

Now there's a hot idea for a tat.