Last time I checked in, we were in Washington DC where we partied like Prince circa 1999. After what I could only describe as a good night of “sleep sweat” (where you sweat uncontrollably and uncomfortably from the humidity while attempting to sleep on a friend’s way-too-small love seat), I awoke with a pretty awesome headache. And it wasn’t from the brews or all the “Charlie’s Angels” pictures from the night before — no, I’m pretty sure it was caused by the thought of driving 10 and a half hours from DC to Nashville, our next scheduled stop.
But if I wanted tears, I would have called your momma. This was a road trip, and there was no time for whining or procrastination, so we strapped on our man boots and jumped into the car.
After an insane run on the open road and a brief stop at what we both deemed as “the most delicious Wendy’s ever” — seriously, that #1 combo with cheese was baked in God’s oven, and served with a delicious side of fries — we arrived in Nashville, Tennessee.
It was 10:30 when we checked in. Go time. We threw our crap in the room, turned around, and headed right out to the bars. This was my first time in Nashville, and for those that don’t know, it’s the Country Music Capitol of the World. And they did that slogan justice. We first headed down to Demonbreun Street, where we hit up three bars in a row.
Shots of Jack Daniels, please. Gag reflex. More shots, thank you ma’am.
Let me pause here to make a quick sidenote: The Southern Bell. A term I had heard before, but now fully understand. These are the lovely, beautiful Southern girls that populate the South. And seriously, they are gorgeous and nice and polite and love Jesus. I’d say that I fell in love a couple times that night, but I think then they would want to immediately marry me. From what I’ve heard, by the time college is over, if they don’t have a husband, they get shipped off to the butcher-shop to become pig feed.
The last bar we hit up on Dembreun was Tin Roof, and of course, there was a great live band playing there. But what was of great interest at this place was the lead singer of the band. He was portly, with a goatee and a southern draw — and he was the most unexcited, motionless singer I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure how he was singing, it didn’t even look like he was moving his lips. Picture a lump of butter just sitting there, somehow singing without ever moving. I deemed him “the first lead singer with Lymes Disease”.
Anyway, I took this picture of him and he got really upset. It made me laugh. I should note, that he is singing right now. How? I don’t know.
Somewhere in that twangy haze, we headed down to Broadway St. This is “the strip”, so to speak. It had all the bright lights and big bars that Nashville is famous for. Walk down that street and you will hear music everywhere. Very cool. There were two big ass bars we hit up there (The Stage and The Big Bang). I can’t say I sand along to much of the music, because I had no f-in’ clue what any of the songs were. I know they were country, and I know that the words “whisky”, “sunrise”, and “love you babe” were in every single song. A few had the words “down to Mexico”.
By the end of the night, I was full of honkey tonk and J.D. It was fantastic.
The next morning, not so much. That wake up call came way too quick. And there was inexplicably Chex Mix all over the floor. And let me tell you a secret, country music doesn’t make hangovers feel any better. But BBQ does. We headed down to Jack’s Bar-B-Que, a world famous barbeque joint that’s been there forever. I ordered a slab of ribs, and an extra pair of underwear for post-orgasm clean-up.
After that best-bbq-ever, I was feeling a little more human. The pile of smokey meat soothed my Jack Daniels woes, and thankfully so. We had another 9 hour drive ahead of us — down to good old New Orleans — the next stop on this epic journey.
So we packed up the mule and hit the road, leaving Nashville making up our own hungover country music songs. This is the new hit from Kenny Chesney that we’re writing:
“Oooh baby, I drank that whiskey and knew I loved you when I put that ring on your finger watching that sunset over Mexico…”
And if Kenny don’t like it, he can lick my spurs. ‘Cuz New Orleans, here we come…
