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THE PENCOPAL PROJECT

2004-04-12 - 3:23 p.m.

OBX rocks. OBX rules. OBX fun.

People along the Outer Banks, N.C., are very proud of their beaches, and can tell you why in two words, as shown above. I spent last week doing yoga, reading books, getting sun, and journaling in Duck, N.C. The vacation was relaxing, holistic, and, subsisting on lots of oranges and salad, I lost three pounds. Nice. Even nicer is my tan. Call me conceited, but the only thing better than my cappuccino brown skin is my sun-kissed, golden (with red highlights) cappuccino brown skin. *Excuse me while I straighten up from kissing my own ass.*

As I write this at 2:30 p.m., I think back to last week at this time, when I�d be nursing my afternoon Chardonnay buzz and preparing to take a cat nap. Nevertheless, the week wasn�t all meditation and Mike�s Hard Lemonade. Thursday night we decided to hit the town. How could we call it a vacation if we didn�t get wasted and offend some of the locals?

Bar # 1: Kelly�s Restaurant and Tavern. Looked like a fucking diner to me, but my friend insisted she�d met some fun people there last summer. As we paid our staggering $3 cover to gain entrance, I had the sinking feeling that we should�ve stayed home and watched the Apprentice, vacation or not. We entered the dark room and made a beeline for the bar. I looked around at some of the toothless locals, and even they looked bored. Scanning the room for signs of life, my eyes landed on the huge stage in the front. A five-piece band put its heart and soul into a song I�d never heard of, and never wished to hear again in life. I realized that in crossing the threshold into this room, we�d walked through a portal leading directly into hell. A countrified hell, no less. Was this The Wedding Singer, sans Sandler? The guy who was singing had his eyes closed, and gripped the mic with equal parts melancholy and yearning. I wanted to give him a wedgie, a hard one, so maybe he�d cry a little. The back up singer, hair all kinds of Clairoled out, wore ill-fitting leather pants, high, fake tits in a cleavage bearing shirt that she had no business wearing. The sunglasses-wearing keyboard player was doing that weird, �I�m so into this Casio� thing, where his shoulders went up each time he hit a key.

I turned to my friend.

�Drink fast. This place is ruining my vacation.�

�Aw, c�mon, it�s funny. Look at the lovely ladies.�

I shifted in my seat and saw four middle aged women, dancing their hearts out to music that I couldn�t hear. What the hell kind of beat were they dancing to? It boggled the mind. What was even more mind-boggling was the blond mullethead across the bar, hair pulled back into a ponytail. He didn�t look like the type to dance, but when Ms. Boobage launched into an awful rendition of Pink�s �I�m Coming Out,� Mullet Man grabbed his girl, and walked onto the dance floor. Or should I say pranced. Off they went: she did the two-step and he did a hair flinging, ass shaking, twirling dance that hurt my feelings.

�Do you see that? What the hell are we doing in a place where you can see someone dancing like that?�

My friend was riveted to the scene.

�Can�t leave. Must watch him finish dancing to his theme song.�

I drank my flavored beer. (Bacardi Raz bears the label �Flavored Beer.� Funny.) The twirling, oh the twirling. The mullet, why the mullet? How does someone in tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a tight white shirt twirl like that? The song finally ended, and Mullet Man and his hag started to walk back to their seats when they heard the first strains of �Girls Just Want to Have Fun.� Of course, they skipped back to dance floor for more twirling.

I turned to my friend.

�If we don�t leave here soon, I�m either going to start crying, or I�m going to punch you in the face.�

She raised one eyebrow.

�I guess its time to leave, then.�

She picked up her purse, and we left that awful place, through the portal from hell back to good old OBX. The other three bars we tried were replicas of the first. I�d had my fill of townies and made a motion to return home.

We should�ve stuck to yoga.

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