today is the day is the day is the day

So: I returned from Lodi, Wi a few lovely hours ago. Made my stop out at the bar to visit the dear room mate and have come home to take in a little travel channel. My most recent minutes were spent scouring the webspace over a shitty microbrew and updating my blackberry calendar with things like wedding, camping, work, etc. while waiting for Anthony Bourdain to arrive on my screen from San Fran.

This will be the highlight of my day. Shit, my week.

I highly doubt this last line is true, with the fabulous as hell life I lead, but it is worth a thought. I have decided that today, this moment I have found myself in is the very moment I am choosing as my point of departure in the uncharted/charted/halfhearted world of 2speakease’s blogspace.

Welcome.

I am watching this gig on the Travel Channel that has 1) further ignited my passion for South America/Chile, 2) made me quiero a glass of vino, and 3)jealous that I don’t have my own damn travel show!. So, I say to myself, instead of bitching how about I blog about my travels. I did after all come from the exotic (quixotic) land of beer, cheese and beef. Granted, my accommodations are a quaint toy room with a beautiful little mattress pad I call Rita. (Pictures of which would only imbue the hearts of my dear readers with jealousy, that green-eyed monster.)

The rest of this blog is to be simply devoted to me telling my beloved reader (s) just how my week was well and traveled. For this weekend, friend (s), I was in this land where the beer flows freely, for the strange phenomenon called the High School Reunion. With all the pomp and raucous of a musical by the same name 20 or so admittedly odd and for the better part estranged individuals came together to have the “what do you do, where do you live, how many beers is that conversations common to our 23 year old selves. Sure there were shots. Sure the keg was cashed even though it was Coors, and I have distinct feelings about coors, but dammit, in 90 degree heat, surrounded by near strangers and with my sister DD’ing, you better bet your bottom dollar my black ass is drinking my 15 dollars worth. Hell… yes.

So: there was drinking, there was swimming with my good childhood friend JB in a small lake the size of a City library, or a city block that was filled with algae and children (some with rat tails) and their parents (some with rat tails). It was great, pork sandwiches with buns from the town bakery, chips and salsa (munchies!) and watermelon to keep our sugar and h20 levels up in our blood. Great gig. Now if you friend (s), can sense the prior skepticism in my voice, then you are right on the money. I don’t remember people getting along that well in  high school. What was that you say, jaded you call me? Yeah, I’m freakin’ jaded but I’m also freakin’ real. This was a festival of fairytale bullshit. Bullshit that was fun and footloose and fancy free. I was there for four hours, did the claws come out after I left?

I can safely assume to some degree.

I met up with my sister (that is to say she drove me to my house so that I could rinse the film of algae off my sun soaked body). I went to KD’s the center of Lodian Nightlife, to find that the entirety of my class was still out at the lake. Staying the evening. If shit got rowdy, they waited for me to leave. 

KD’s had its share of shit go down, after all, like christmas, Prostitutes come to town but once a year. That is right friend (s) Ladies of the evening, practicioners of the oldest profession. And there we were, all ready to get our hometown bar-10-15 people of various age demographics, racial profiles, levels of intoxication… we come together, to drink be merry, forget our woes, talk about our woes, relive some woes and put others to rest. I always find myself in the midst of some wholeheartedly friendly and curious individuals. Which is what makes this place soo rad. And those motherfuckers can dance too.

Anyhow, back to the interesting part, the prostitutes. There we were, as were the ladies. They were fashioned in a state of undress something like I suppose you might expect, small clothes not necessarily appropriate for Lodi, not necessarily appropraite for non-boudior related activity… this didn’t go down so well with… well, anyone. Coming from a city where annonymity is taken for granted, even amongst the familiar, friend (s), these women, I tell you were not invisible, nor did they pretend or attempt to be so. As I said, there was drinking, and oh, the dancing but the pink panty showing and the stripper moves were… some could say, left little to be desired and/or curious about.

Well, the ladies felt that showing thier underparts and netherpants was more than appropriate for such a venue as the amicable, funloving, albeit laden with alcohol KD’s scene. The regulars had different sentiments, made these known, and pissed the fat, old and balding albeit laden with alcohol, Johns off. I think that may have been all they got off that night, considering there was a big, ugly, awesome trainwreck of a bar fight, girl on girl on bartender on john (not prostylover) on John (prostylover) at bar time.

We got the shit outta Dodge.

So no, Anthony Bourdain, you, my affinial foodie, did not make my week, but maybe you made my Monday.

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