(I know I need to post the second part of the 4th of July thing, but I had to post this while it was fresh on my brain. I'll do the 4th thing tomorrow. Or never. I don't know.)
This weekend found me in Arkansas. It's a long story that involves clean underwear and me being broke due to my little brush with local law enforcement. I've already deleted this post like 40 times due to length issues, so I'm not going into it.
I had a feeling this would be a good trip when I saw a Mennonite in the Wal-Mart cause I think the Amish and Mennonite people are adorable and I want to hug them. I may or may not also have a desire to tickle Amish men under their beards. In addition to not allowing me to photograph the Mennonite lady in the Wal-Mart, NJ also requested I not hug or tickle them. He may have also rolled his eyes at me. Whatever. He's not the boss of me. Next Amish or Mennonite person I see? I'm totally giving them a bear hug. If they're little, I might even pick them up and swing them around. It's gonna be awesome.
This particular county was dry and, even though I brought beer because I think ahead like that, NJ learned his stay was going to be much longer than the 18 beers I purchased him would last. That meant we had to go in search of a wet county. Yeah, cause that's not a recipe for disaster. Or at least random adventure.
Okay, first off, did y'all know there's like this booming wine business in Arkansas? Like vineyards and junk? Me neither. I was all like, "Shut the front door, look at all those vineyards." But NJ didn't hear me because a) he tunes me out sometimes for his own sanity and b) he spotted an old Budweiser sign on the horizon. He was like, "If that's a bar, we're stopping because I bet it's cool." Uh, duh. That's what we do. Don't know why you think you gotta announce it.
But, when we pulled in front of the bar, we both looked at this sign:
And then we looked at each other and he was like, "How do we keep finding these places?" He knows the answer, he's just not ready to come to terms with it.
There were only like eight people in the entire bar, counting us and apparently I missed a huge portion of their shenanigans because I had to go in search of the ATM card pin number (the bar is cash only) since NJ hasn't yet received the memo that I'm not Rain Man and can't remember every single number I've ever looked at. But, I wasn't back 10 minutes before a drunk and disorderly man asked me if I wanted to mud wrestle for beer. Then, a few minutes later, he got all belligerent at the nice lady bartender and said he was never coming back and went stumbling out. The five remaining people at the bar were like, "He's on the crank. Bad. You'd think since he just got out of prison for making it, he would've learned his lesson." And "just got out" was pretty accurate since he'd only been out since 2009.
I guess in addition to making you loud, pissy, obnoxious and a convicted felon, the crank also makes you not so much keep your word, since he was back in about 20 minutes and swore he'd be good. When the man came in the with the homemade beef jerky for sale (NJ swore it rocked. It had the word "swamp" in the title and was a beef product, so I'm taking his word for it) and they realized Swamp Man knew Crank Man's family, I almost shot beer out of my nose when Crank Man said, "I moved away for about four years and I just moved back." Guess how long he was in prison.
Around 10:00, which also happened to be last call, another guy who had been there for nine hours told a story about some people that escaped the local halfway house living in a tent under his house. I knew we should probably go ahead and leave at that point since I think NJ and I both had to lay our heads down on the bar cause we were laughing so hard. We were the only ones laughing, so maybe it wasn't supposed to be a funny story.
You know what the bartender did when we left? She hugged us. And we're not even Amish. I love her and I hope that we're related even though I stand by my assertion that not everyone from Arkansas is related.
Since the night was still young, we went to meet NJ's friends at the hotel pool, but had to stop to get Dr. Pepper for my vanilla rum (cause that just sounded so good at the time and still does). I found myself in need of peeing, so I handed NJ the drink and told him to go pay for it. After he got done beating on the bathroom door cause he knows I can't pee with an audience and thinks he's a comedian, he presented me with a little gift in the car. It's a purple switchblade. A laser sharpened one and he demonstrated its sharpness for me by shaving a little hair off his arm. Nothing says lovin' like buying your slightly insane girlfriend a switchblade. He said he got me purple cause it matches my cellphone. I'd be lying if I didn't say I love him just a little more for that.
I was like, "Score, Babe, now when I say I'm stabby, I totally have something to back me up." And I immediately stuck it in my bra because I've always thought if I had a knife, that's where I'd keep it.
In order to make sure I could work my knife and retain use of all my fingers, NJ ran drills with me making me open and close it. I have to say, it may make me a little less gangster when I'm closing my eyes and holding it far, far away from me to open it and squealing as I do it. Also, taking away from my badassedness is me hollering, "I can't close it. It'll mess up my nail polish." He was like, "Seriously, Babe?" Uh, yeah seriously cause my nails are cute right now.
But, two 32 oz. Dr. Pepper and vanilla rums later on top of the four beers I had earlier, I may or may not have sent Aunt Crazy a text message that said: "He's teaching me how to bust it out like a greaser. He's also giving me booze. I'm practically an Outsider."
Her reply? "It is now official. You are soft and a killer bitch at the same time. Only YOU can manage that shit."
My friend's baby daddy (also Hispanic) said he must either be suicidal or a Mexican.
NJ asked if he was maybe going to regret giving me that knife.
I just smiled sweetly and said I always try to be a nice lady.