After a rainy drive into the city we were immediately greeted by a tall pasty looking man waving at waist level as we pulled into the parking lot. We thought this was a good omen.
Turns out he was the hotel front desk clerk. His name was Patrick. He smoked the same brand of cigarettes as one of our ex-boyfriends. Another good omen?
We asked Patrick to identify some great bars to go out and meet men at. He told us that we would have good luck because Savannah is a military town. We were thrilled. He also told us that he got off at 11. Scoooooore.
We did a quick 180? 360? Showered and made ourselves Monday night going out presentable. We listened to the Songza station called "skinny white boy going to a dive bar" mix. Don't quote us on that.
We exited the front lobby with a much anticipated encounter with Patrick. We confirmed are chosen two bars and the order we would go to them in; Patrick said okay and that he would call a buddy to come with.
After walking two blocks Danielle realized she did not have deodorant on. Time to turn around. End of the cool encounter with Patrick. We were deodorant-less nerds. Or at least Danielle.
Deodorant freshly applied we finally went along our way to the Irish pub, McDunnough's.
We thought the bar was empty initially and we ordered drinks and plopped down. Then we realized we were on the lame side of the bar. We relocated to he side filled with men... Please note we did not say men of quality.
The back bar was fairly crowded so Danielle pulled up to the stools next to a kindly looking older man.
We promptly realized our mistake. Kindly old man was sour drunkard named Scott. Scott asked us at least eight times if we were lesbians. Scott made reference to my dusky complexion. Scott was a fucking mess. Scott also said that there wasn't a single hair on the attractive lumberjack-esque bartender's ass because he was too muscular to grow any hair there.
The bartender looked quizzically at him and said "I want to live in your world."
Next we met a surly rude rude rude old chubby saggy deaf man. The man asked us repeatedly if he could buy us shots. It was sketchy. We clearly said no. You're welcome, mom.
After accosting Danielle for 10 minutes and eventually calling her a stuck up snob in sign language, he moved on to Hillary. He signed 'kiss my ass' to Hillary three times before the kind gentleman to Hillary's right stepped in to end the situation. Kind man's name was William He owned quite a cab Empire in the city of Savannah.
Across the bar from us, one young man and older companion were playing "horse" by throwing small balls of paper into various ice buckets and containers in the bar area...and at Scott.
Scott got more and more belligerent and more and more touchy. Intense racial language was used. Don't worry, we're still friends, kind of.
When Scott went out for a cigarette, Danielle tried to give his chair away to the first comers. Two attractive frat boys declined her offer. Thankfully two 60-year-old women walked in and demanded to sit next to us.We'll call them Susan and Carol.
Susan worked in schools and Carol was engaged to Susan's brother. They were both 62 years old and on a girls' road trip over the course of 10 days.
Scott came bounding in belligerently and promptly asked if they were lesbians as well.
We thought the answer was no.
After Susan started telling us about her boy toy and sons' mental illness we realized we needed to hightail it to another locale.
Scott made sexual advances towards the 60-year-old roadies while we intelligently scrambled out of the place. We let the girls know where we were headed: a bar that a coworker recommended. Why did we tell them, Lord, why?
We rolled up at Pinkie Masters bar and took a quick inventory of the 15 people in the crowded one room space. On the right wall was a delicious poster included below. On the left wall was a booth not attached to anything.
The bar had the soft lighting that reminded me of Christmas in my grandmothers woodpaneled living room. Accompanied by the smell of fresh made popcorn.
Monday at Pinkies's may have been a little "swishy." Sorry those are more of Mom Mom's words-- in modern lingo it looked a little LGBT.
Danielle was so drunk she had no problem eating popcorn out of the dirty public container. Hillary didn't even notice it was a dirty public container.
Soon the two male companions that were playing horse at the first bar walked into the second. Hillary exclaimed loudly, "Oh god!!" (Channeling Stu, clearly)
They were clearly regulars at both bars and greeted their butch crowd. "Electric Avenue" began playing on the jukebox and Jimmy Garnier Fructis, a blonde-locked portly gentleman of 50 got up and started doing a sassy robot as the cute hipster bartender yelled, "Get it Jimmy, Get it!"
We were in Mortville.
The male companions from the first bar were ripe for the talking-to, so Danielle, undeterred by his questionable sexual identity (what else is new?) walked up to initiate a conversation with the younger one.
Have you read "Midnight in the Garden of good and evil"?!
He briefly humored Danielle and confirmed that he, too, was 30, wished us luck on our trip, and then turned to sidle up to Jimmy Garnier Fructis.
Slightly tipsy, to say the least, when we thought nothing more could entertain us, the road trip gals walked in.
The rest of the evening was a vaguely lesbiana experience between the 60-year-olds. Susan threw popcorn at Carol. Carol stared at Susan in disgust. Susan suggested that Carol lick the salt off her boobs. We learned about Susan's threesome and sons' vasectomies (TMI) and the loss of their husbands and cougaring, etc.
Carol steered her drunkie ship home (after asking if she could stay with us instead of randy Susan).
Finding ourselves drunk and without Patrick or his buddy, we decided to follow their lead. Thank god for Hillary's sense of direction (Danielle was traipsing god knows where). And after a walk in the savannah rain we put ourselves to bed in hopes that Charleston would be more promising.
Oy. Savannah: you strange bedfellow.
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