The Trip

Subtitle: I may not be fast but I don't ride bitch!

Wednesday

Most of the day was spent flying. We had a long layover in Atlanta (which saved us close to $200) and killed time. My friend suggested Sweet Water Pub, which turned out to be lackluster. They gave me a “bowl” of chili that was only halfway full. They also refused to refill my tea, which pissed me off. I ended up having to go across the way and buy a fruit salad after we left. Worst of all, two disgusting perverts practicing the Mystery Method were in the pub hitting on women and asking them intrusive questions about their lives and their travel plans. The ringleader of said crew weighed like a good 400 lbs and looked like Del Griffith. Gross. About 6, we make it to Charleston and experienced the teeny-tiny airport there. On the plane, I sat next to a gay Bradley Cooper. Nice guy and easy on the eyes. I was grateful. On the other side of us was a rude Chinese lady with bad BO who refused to keep her seatbelt fastened. When we got to the rental car counter, the guy who helped us was really friendly and gave us some good advice about the city. We made it to the hotel and it was pretty quiet. Everything was clean and normal so I was glad of that. The closest thing was an Olive Garden, which is where we had dinner before the Ghost & Graveyard Tour. A bleach-blond barfly lights up a cig next to us in the Olive Garden. I thought pretty much every city had gone clean air in the restaurants, so it was a bit surprising. The bartender, who sounded like a broke-down Justin Timberlake, goes, “Ma’am, are you enjoyin that cigarette?” She looks at him and says, “Yeah.” He goes, “It feels goooood, don’t it? Smokin in public.” I wanted to laugh so bad. It took a lot of suppression to hold it in. He also asked me later if I wanted to take any scraps home for my dog, which I declined. The Ghost & Graveyard Tour was a lot of fun. The guide was an older lady who seemed very well-informed about the city. The Circular Church graveyard is ancient (by American standards) and very creepy. The ambiance is perfect for a ghost hunt. I caught plenty of orbs on camera. More orbs than people in most cases. The guide was also nice enough to walk us back to our rental car so we didn’t get lost. She also told us that downtown is safe to walk at night. I was a little skeptical of this because when you are dumped off I-26, you get tossed right into an area of projects with cops everywhere. I was a little worried with that being one of our first impressions of the city, but luckily, as you get closer to downtown, the atmosphere changes. And it is truly beautiful. The historical homes and cobblestone streets are amazing. The waterfront is beautiful. You can see the appeal of the city for sure. There were two dudes on the graveyard tour who looked like Vladimir Putin. They called my friend “Dora the Explorer” behind her back (because she has Dora’s hairstyle) and I was amazed that she didn’t hear them. I said nothing!

On the way back to the hotel, there was a bad traffic jam caused by four separate accidents. Drunk driving seems to be a problem in Charleston and I was glad we were not mowed down. During said traffic jam, a man wearing only boxer shorts got out on the freeway and danced in a meth haze to “Party Rock Anthem.” The cops drove by and did nothing. A couple also conducted a Chinese Fire Drill and a man behind us exited his car to put something in the trunk. I guess during a jam in Charleston, it’s totally normal to abandon your vehicle and walk around.

Thursday

Oh boy, LOL. One of the coolest things I was looking forward to on this trip was a 2.5-3 hour kayaking trip where you go around Shem Creek, Cooper River, oceanfront, etc. The weather held even though there was a chance of rain. It was hot as blazes, to be sure, but we booked the morning trip. So . . . we get there and the tour guide is like 70 but luckily he is in good shape and kayaks like 24 hours a day. He gives us a pretty rapid fire lecture on how to kayak and then we get fitted for life jackets. They ask about tandems versus singles and, being smarter than the average bear, I knew the only option was going in a single. At 31.5, I know my limitations physically and, to some degree, at least, mentally. I am neither willing nor able to be the horsepower for 120 lbs of me + 250 lbs of another person. Nuh-uh. I can pretty much do whatever I want to physically. If I overdo it, I pay for it the next day. I find that Aleve for muscle soreness is a Godsend. But more to the point, it is neither my responsibility nor my desire to haul someone around while I sweat balls to move the kayak. So I am like third to get in a boat and I’m sitting there getting the life story of this chick and her friends who are also on the trip. Everyone had elected to go in singles so it looked like it was going to be a fun little group. We waited and waited and waited. And I keep thinking it’s odd that my friend has not appeared. When she did, I honestly thought I was going to rupture an internal organ from laughter. I had to hold it back. It was like what I imagine Cleopatra must’ve looked like floating in on her golden barge to see Antony. Bloody hell. (I am laughing right now at this retelling.) She has this scrawny, nearly anorexic 70 year old man doing all of the paddling for her in a tandem kayak. She was pretty relentlessly mocked throughout the whole trip, though I don't think she realized it. We were with kind of a tough crowd. Everyone there was a regular exerciser and they were not very sympathetic towards someone not wanting to do the ride for herself. (One lady had recently given birth and had just been cleared by her doctor to resume vigorous, tough exercise again.) There were mumbled musings of insults going around the rest of the troupe. I said nothing. There was also a conversation that went thusly:
Dude: Let’s race. We’re out here killin’ time. Let’s see if we can race each other.
Me: No way. I have enough stamina to make it back and that’s it. My goal is not to be the fastest or the coolest. My goal is simply to finish.
Dude: Come on. Don’t be a chicken.
Me: I’m not a chicken. I just don’t have enough gas left to race.
Dude: (makes chicken noises) I go white water rafting all the time but this is different. So I am not at an advantage.
Me: Yes, you are. Besides, even if I go slow, at least I’m not up there ridin’ bitch with the elderly instructor.
Dude & Me: riotous laughter

What really pissed me off is that the elderly instructor kept making little digs at me like it was my bad for even bringing her. I felt like saying, “Sorry this fucked up your ride today, bro, but this is not my fault. She is nigh on 40 years old and you could always say ‘no’ and refund her fucking money. Don’t put this on me.” I dunno. To me, life is way too short to wuss out. As Satan says in the great Saddam love triangle, “Don’t be such a pussy, Chris.” Most of the water we were in was surprisingly shallow, so it’s not like we were in some 200 foot Davy Jones Locker situation.

After the ride, I was euphoric. I had that nice endorphin buzz that you get after a long, arduous workout. We visited the aquarium and I loved the albino alligator. He was beyond cool. The loud, noisy kids were severely irritating though. Little bastards. That night, we had dinner at Poogan’s Porch. It was good. I’d give it like a 7.5/10. Service was a little slow. I felt like they put us in a red-headed-stepchild room and checked on us every now and then. The fried alligator salad and the blueberry bread pudding were the best for me. I had a pork loin but it was way the hell too big and they didn’t give me a good cutting knife with it. I felt like I needed a hacksaw. I’d read somewhere that if you don’t dress up to par, you don’t get as good of service. I was wearing a beautiful green dress and heels, so I don’t feel like I gave any reason to deserve slow, zoned out service. I very nearly fell asleep at the table and had a hard time getting up the energy to drive back to the hotel. Almost as soon as we left, I was more awake. Maybe that is part of how the Poogan’s ghost attacks you, LOL. USA was showing GI Joe uncut so I watched that. It was blissful to have some downtime to veg after such a busy day. I sometimes consider myself an introvert in extrovert’s clothing. I require a certain amount of alone time to decompress and stay sane. It is so difficult to stay “on” for long periods of time. Part of that is because, contrary to popular belief, I actually filter more than people realize. If I said even 1/10 of what I actually think, I would be burned at the stake. An acquaintance once told me that if I ever lost the ability to filter, I would be cast out of society and ostracized to the woods. I laughed and agreed with him whole-heartedly. People seem to think I don’t know how sharp my tongue is; oh no, I know. I am fully aware of it. I Simon Cowell myself as much as anyone else, believe me. Having a job now that forces me to interact with masses of people on a daily basis causes me to be “on” a lot more than I used to be. When I was sitting at a quiet desk, I didn’t have to engage in such forced blitheness with people I do not respect. So I think in some ways, the need to crawl into my turtle shell and be alone hits me faster because I am depleted from work shit.

Friday

We slept in and it was glorious. Went to Magnolia Plantation and it was like, “Eh. OK.” Beautiful gardens and plants. Tours were overpriced and kinda dull. House tour only took us in like four rooms and didn’t really explain too much. I think a ghost show was filmed there recently and I have no doubt that they found things on tape. It had a creepy vibe. We took a boat ride which went virtually nowhere and almost put me to sleep. The petting zoo was the best part. I saw a duck gang rape (three males on one female) and a doe urinating. The petting zoo attendant threw away my Gatorade, which pissed me off severely. We also went on the Audubon Swamp Garden walk but nothing much was going on. Sweat from the swamp stinks something fierce. Good God Almighty. I wanted to take off my clothes and burn them. We ate dinner at High Cotton and it was glorious. I now must amend my “greatest meal ever” story. First meal was Delmonico’s in Manhattan and now they are tied with High Cotton in Charleston. Tomato and mozzarella app, rabbit loin entrée, and peanut butter pie for dessert. Totally wonderful. I also recommend the Southern Mule cocktail, which has an excellent kick of ginger. I had been told to expect a strict dress code, so I wobbled down the uneven streets of Charleston in high heels and a dress. Oy vey. We walk in and half the people looked like schlubs. I felt terribly overdressed until a family walked in wearing semi-formal attire. I changed clothes after the meal and we took the Dark Side of Charleston tour. It was awesome. I learned a lot about the dirty, perverted history. The guide had a great sense of humor and we were not with a group of uptight Puritans, thank God. If you go, leave the kiddies somewhere else and take the Dark Side tour. You won’t regret it.

Saturday

Once I’m on the last day of vacation, I am tired and in “time to go home” mode. It never fails. We took a tour of the Powder Magazine Museum along with a guided pirate tour. It was pretty informative. The heat was horrendous. I felt like my face was going to melt off by noon. We also walked through the Old Provost and I liked it because it focuses a lot more on the Colonial era. They had some furniture, art, and architecture from that part of Charleston’s history. We didn’t stick around for the weird animatronic robots in the dungeon. We walked around down there and then skeedaddled. We took a carriage ride and learned more about the historic homes. It was a nice break from walking around in the summer swelter. Plus I love horses, so that was an added bonus. They had a sign up that said “guard mule on duty” and that made me laugh. Also made me miss my horse buddies at home.

By this time, we’d done all we could with the day and it was time to return the car and go to the airport. The Charleston airport is tiny and that actually made the whole process faster and easier. It had gotten so hot that the plastic from my wallet melted to my driver’s license. I had to the get TSA agent to help me peel the plastic off of the license so I could go through security. Now that is heat! Ate a crappy sandwich at the airport and then got on the plane. Catnapped for a little while. On the ride back from ATL, I was sitting next to a very fidgety teenaged kid who had ants in his pants every 10 seconds. By the time I made it home, I was ready to kiss the earth. I love that feeling of coming home and knowing you belong there. I thought about that closing line from “A Sort of Homecoming”: “For tonight, at last, I am coming home.”