Honky Tonk Woman

     Friday night, instead of attending my friend's beautiful,  weekly Shabbat dinner, I was in a honky tonk  (aka bar,) in Nashville, Tennessee.  For those of you who have never been, although beautifully historic, Nashville is one long street with bar after bar, and band after band. There are some nice old churches and a few boot stores, but the focus is on the booze and the bands.
      We arrived at about noon, and the plan was to hit one bar after the next, listen to twangy country western bands, and end the day with a  a great dinner and fun evening entertainment.   To me the height of luxury is having a drink while the sun still shines.  I mean if I am going to participate in day drinking, I prefer it be on a beach or next to a pool, but I could make this work.
    Anxious to hit the town we make a quick stop at our room to drop our bags.  I unpack, not my clothes, but my medicines.   First and foremost are my Immodium caplets.  I think we all (my fellow plane mates and I,) learned a valuable lesson when I travelled from California to Tampa without them.  Then there is my Milk of Magnesia if things go the other direction,  and my Prilosec pills for acid reflux.  There are my sinus pills, my Advil for body aches, my Tylenol for headaches,  Mucinex in case I get a little congested,   and Xanax, should things just take an all around  turn for the worse.
     My clothes I generally leave in a ball in my suitcase, and pull items out as needed, much to the disgust of my travel mate.  My skin care is another story, I lay these items out with the exact precison of a brain surgeon. There is sun screen, moisturizer,  lip poofer, wrinkle filler, spot fader and eye depuffer.  There are pots of eye shadow and blush, eyebrow pencils and lip brushes.   I have claimed the bathroom vanity as my work station, this is where the magic happens.  Just saying.
     Okay we are hitting the town by 1:00.  First bar.  Time to order drink.  But it's 1:00.  No way can I drink dirty martinis at 1:00 that is my sexy night time drink.  Wine?  No.  This is a country western honky tonk, not one of those swank places that the Real Housewives of New York City go, where we see them eating a piece of lettuce while downing numerous pinot grigios.  I do not do beer.  Never have, even after two years of college in Texas, and countless chili cook offs.   Okay, I guess I 'll do a bloody mary, start slowly, and build to a crescendo later in the day.  The band is cranking out Johnny Cash's "Burning Ring of Fire," and here comes my bloody, no celery or olives,  but ok.  It goes down pretty good and quick, "Bartender hit me again."  "YEE HAW!" I am yelling, I love this band, I love this place, Nashville is so awesome!  Why have I never been here before?  I am belting out, "I'm going Down! Down! Down! in a burning ring of fire!"  while making eye contact with the lead singer, who btw seems quite taken with me.   "Where you guys from?" I am  asking people around me, my peeps.  Some of us have teeth, some of us don't, some of us have been here since 8 am and some of us just arrived but dang it, we are all good folk.
     Halfway through bloody number 2...uh oh ....my head sort of hurts alittle and this band is so fucking loud.  It is now 1:20 and we have made it to one bar with like 10 to go.  I am dreaming of a nice lunch and a nap.  My peeps look freakish and weird now.   Ew. I want the band to pipe down.
     Four bars and four renditions of "The South's Gonna Do It Again," later, I can take no more.  My head is pounding.  I am in country music hell.  I trudge back to my room and fall onto the bed.  I sleep through dinner, wake up around 10 pm, order room service and watch the food channel for a few hours.  It is then I realize, I might be getting old.
     No, I choose to believe my early demise today was from drinking  honky tonk vodkas, instead of my clean and pure GreyGoose.  A shock to my system.  That's all.  Nothing a Tylenol and Prilosec won't fix.  Morning will come and just like the south, I will live to rise again.

Comments

  1. I fantasize about going out bar-hopping again but I know damn well it ain't gonna happen . . .

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