So I spent the weekend in Pensacola, Florida, and I've just got to say, what a city! It's the Riviera on the Gulf Coast. All those expensive shops, 5 star hotels, and the restaurants -- WORLD CLASS. But the number one resource of Pensacola is its people. Amazing, well-educated, good-looking people. And talk about classy! The way they adorn themselves with exotic body art and glittering ornaments, you just know these people are a cut above -- I saw several Christians, too. They loved proclaiming their faith for all to see -- many of them wore diamond encrusted crucifixes on long silver or gold chains against their skin (they wore white undershirts as outer garments so that the religious jewelry would stand out more against their natural color, to better glorify God).
And honest! Let me tell you about honest! When we went to Dock's (The Dock ), the bartenders made extra sure to measure the exact amount of alcohol to pour into the rippled, plastic cup! You don't find that here in The Big Sleazy! Hell no, here those crooked bartenders don't bother measuring but just keep pouring long after the ice floats in the glass (obviously safety is not an issue here) -- they pour until there's about a millimeter left to splash some juice or soft drink into as a "cutter". Well, they could learn a thing or two about virtue from the bartenders in Pensacola. And I made sure to point out to the guy who was serving me Beam and cokes that I appreciated his dedication. I even told him I trusted him enough that he didn't have to measure -- he repaid my trust by telling me that he had to measure by law, but that he would "hook me up". He "accidentally" spilled about 8 extra drops of Beam in my plastic cup each time after that!!! I thought that was sooo cool. I almost got buzzed after 5 drinks, but I guess I am building up a tolerance or something in the last week. It took 6 drinks and 2 shots of Tequila this time. Weird. Must be my diet.
Anyway, the women were all so hot! I was so intimidated that I tried not to make eye contact with any of them. It seemed like everytime I did happen to look one in the eyes, she came over to talk to me, and I just didn't know what to say! I don't have that problem in New Orleans for some reason. Maybe it was the salt-water mist in the air or something. I kept kicking myself for saying stupid shit. They would come over and be like "Hi." And I would be like "Hi!! That's a really cool tattoo you have on your arm. It looks like a real vine wrapped around your bicep. Was it expensive? Where did you get the idea for that?" And they would be like "Yeah, I LOVE it! I got another one on my back." And they would turn around and show me the logo for Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Company tattooed across their lower back, about the same size as the actual logo on one of the motorcycles. I would be like "Wow! They must have paid you a lot for that advertising space!" And they would be like "No, it cost me $350, but a friend of mine did it for me. It would cost you like $500." And I would be like "Shit! Maybe I can get one of Kid Rock on my chest!" And they would be like "Yeah, my friend has that!"
Of course, I was there with my girlfriend, who kept having to tell guys in white undershirts and visors turned around backwards (I think they don't like the backs of their necks getting sunburned) that she was my girlfriend. I would have told them something myself, but they all smoked and drank Miller Light, so I figured they could kick my ass, so I just shut up and hoped none of them groped her or her sister. The only thing I would have had going in my favor was that most of them would have had to pull up their jeans before they could kick me, probably anyway. They all looked a lot lighter and more agile than I am. I was nervous.
So, we had a great time, and I can't wait to go back! I made some new friends, like the bartender who hooks me up. You don't really appreciate a guy like that until you're out in New Orleans like Lori and I were last night, and the bartendress gives me a drink that I can't even taste the coke in! I mean, I must have made a face when I sipped it, because it tasted so strong. Assholes! But at least I didn't pay as much for it as I paid in Pensacola!!!
And honest! Let me tell you about honest! When we went to Dock's (The Dock ), the bartenders made extra sure to measure the exact amount of alcohol to pour into the rippled, plastic cup! You don't find that here in The Big Sleazy! Hell no, here those crooked bartenders don't bother measuring but just keep pouring long after the ice floats in the glass (obviously safety is not an issue here) -- they pour until there's about a millimeter left to splash some juice or soft drink into as a "cutter". Well, they could learn a thing or two about virtue from the bartenders in Pensacola. And I made sure to point out to the guy who was serving me Beam and cokes that I appreciated his dedication. I even told him I trusted him enough that he didn't have to measure -- he repaid my trust by telling me that he had to measure by law, but that he would "hook me up". He "accidentally" spilled about 8 extra drops of Beam in my plastic cup each time after that!!! I thought that was sooo cool. I almost got buzzed after 5 drinks, but I guess I am building up a tolerance or something in the last week. It took 6 drinks and 2 shots of Tequila this time. Weird. Must be my diet.
Anyway, the women were all so hot! I was so intimidated that I tried not to make eye contact with any of them. It seemed like everytime I did happen to look one in the eyes, she came over to talk to me, and I just didn't know what to say! I don't have that problem in New Orleans for some reason. Maybe it was the salt-water mist in the air or something. I kept kicking myself for saying stupid shit. They would come over and be like "Hi." And I would be like "Hi!! That's a really cool tattoo you have on your arm. It looks like a real vine wrapped around your bicep. Was it expensive? Where did you get the idea for that?" And they would be like "Yeah, I LOVE it! I got another one on my back." And they would turn around and show me the logo for Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Company tattooed across their lower back, about the same size as the actual logo on one of the motorcycles. I would be like "Wow! They must have paid you a lot for that advertising space!" And they would be like "No, it cost me $350, but a friend of mine did it for me. It would cost you like $500." And I would be like "Shit! Maybe I can get one of Kid Rock on my chest!" And they would be like "Yeah, my friend has that!"
Of course, I was there with my girlfriend, who kept having to tell guys in white undershirts and visors turned around backwards (I think they don't like the backs of their necks getting sunburned) that she was my girlfriend. I would have told them something myself, but they all smoked and drank Miller Light, so I figured they could kick my ass, so I just shut up and hoped none of them groped her or her sister. The only thing I would have had going in my favor was that most of them would have had to pull up their jeans before they could kick me, probably anyway. They all looked a lot lighter and more agile than I am. I was nervous.
So, we had a great time, and I can't wait to go back! I made some new friends, like the bartender who hooks me up. You don't really appreciate a guy like that until you're out in New Orleans like Lori and I were last night, and the bartendress gives me a drink that I can't even taste the coke in! I mean, I must have made a face when I sipped it, because it tasted so strong. Assholes! But at least I didn't pay as much for it as I paid in Pensacola!!!
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