Monday, August 30, 2010

You Know You Live in the Boonies When...

Now I've never considered myself a Southerner, though I've lived in the south my whole life, but this weekend I got to see the pinnacle of Southern hospitality I've ever witnessed as I attended the Great NC Beer Festival with my mother and Bsarita.

As we entered the festival, cut off tees and overalls dotted the landscape of hick-ery that was out in full force. I can't say I was in my Sunday's best (donning running shorts and a t-shirt), but I can say I was shocked at the utter disregard for bodily coverage that many a person displayed. Mid-drifts gone awry with piercings and tattoos, not to mention the stab wounds that were making appearances. I wasn't too surprised since it was a beer festival, after all, but it definitely gave Lindsey Lohan a run for most exposed.

As we walked around the in sweltering sun, Bsarita and I commented on the array of disarray. I saw a few people dressed cutely that I knew from high school, though their names escaped me, but then there were those people I just couldn't place, which was probably for the better. My mom did see someone that we knew in middle school, whom she swears she thought "should have been a man by now."

Since we got there well into the festival, we didn't have to worry about conversation starters as the already tipsy attendees said things like, "Daaaayuummm," or "So how many samples have you had?" My favorite was (after Bsarita got beer spilled on her) "Well if you do end up taking off your shirt, I'm sure you'd make enough money to buy these ribs to eat." This was coming from a pair consisting of 5'2'' white dude with stabbing scars galore exposed due to his shirtlessness who was pushing a guy in a wheel chair....the comment of course came from the seated friend.

People were rocking out to some music and eating $10 sandwiches as we tried weasling around the half-clothed scalawags to get to the beer booths to get our samples before they were out. The temperatures reached what felt like 150 degrees and the people were getting restless, as exemplified through one hillbilly's rant about how Obama wasn't even really black but still didn't deserve to be President. Not only did I want him to stop fist pumping the air but I also wanted to throw him a proper shirt to cover both his gut and goatee but I was at a loss for what garment would do both.

Moral of the story: I need a pair of jorts and a child's size tube top if I'm going to continue living at home.

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