My Redneck Weekend

So my husband went to a corvette show on Saturday. I had the kids all that day. I had been invited by my neighbors to a tattoo party. I think a tattoo here and then can be cute but too much is not attractive. I make up my mind to get a tattoo. Being the computer geek that I am, I thinking something along the lines of a floppy disk (I am just kidding. I would never put a floppy disk on my body; it would have to be a motherboard – ha ha).

Anyway the wait was 8 hours. So I head out and take my kids over to a birthday party at another neighborhood. I had planned to go back to get a tattoo, but then my dad called and wanted to go to the Octoberfest downtown (yes, I know it is only August; we party early up here in the hills).  Dad and I met up with my uncle and proceeded to down several pitchers of Oktoberfest beer. Well we soon came to the realization that none of us could drive. So we called my mom and she picked us up.

However, when I got home my hubby was at the tattoo party (now this party had been going on for 9 hours at this point). I grab my pitbull (because all rednecks own a pitbull) and she and I walk over to the tattoo party. My name is still on this, but four people were still ahead of me. At this rate I’d be getting a tattoo at four in the morning, Anyway, I left before it was my turn. So I am ink free.

Went back to the festival today. They stuck us in the section where you pour beer. That was probably not the wisest move for them. In between “sampling” we served the beer and made fun of the rednecks that ordered Coors Lite. Honestly, who comes to a German festival and orders Coors Lite. We worked for a few hours then Red came up and we hung out.

Our kids met and played. My hubby took the troops around in his corvette, with the newly suped up exhaust. I grilled out and we drank beer. Yeehaw.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

My dream vacation consists of staying at a five star resort where I can sun myself along crystal clear, sandy beach where lightly clad waiters will bring me cocktails right on the beach. I envision places like Atlantis or Sandals in the Bahamas. I would even enjoy a week at Disney or an elegant cruise. My vacation would involve lying in the sun, fine dining, shopping to my heart’s content, and having a plethora of entertainment options.

This summer my family decided it would be a good idea to stay in a camping ground in Myrtle Beach, SC. Now, I’m not one for camping to begin with, but driving nine hours to camp just seemed insane. To me the idea of going on vacation and staying in a place that is not even equivalent to your own home is beyond me. I also resent the fact that I have to cook, clean, and do laundry on my vacation. Why bother to leave home?

But the good sport that I am, agree to this trip. Now the drive alone was an experience (I should have started drinking then). I cannot understand why someone would drive nine hours to get to a campground, when there are perfectly good planes that would reduce the travel time significantly. But my husband doesn’t pack light. So we loaded up the old minivan, hitched up the boat, and cruised to Myrtle Beach looking like Clark Griswold and family. All I needed was a luggage rack and a spray painted sign reading “honky lips” on the side of the family truckster and I would be right out of the movie “Vacation.”

Nine hours and one speeding ticket later (on HIS shift, thank you), we arrived at the campground safely.  I stress safely because after nine hours together it is a wonder we didn’t kill each other. The campground was “interesting”. Actually, I was quite relieved that I did not incinerate the second I crossed the threshold. You see, it is a Christian campground; being a Christian campground that means NO ALCOHOL ALLOWED. Now anyone that knows me knows three things about me: (1) I love my cocktails (2) if there is a mosquito within 10 miles it will find me. (3) my language can be rather vulgar and (4) I love my cocktails (ok, I can’t count either). This campground was going to be a challenge for me.

After unloading my vodka, beer, and Smirnoff cocktails (anyone that knows me well also knows I do not always follow the rules), I unpacked the rest of the luggage. I mean I had my priorities, after all. So after my first cocktail (ok, five) I cruised the campground with my kids; all of us riding our bikes. I started to think that this might actually be a good week for me exercise-wise: bike riding, swimming, a roaring game of horse shoes. The sky was the limit! However the next day I woke up to the sorest ass I’ve ever had. It’s been a while since I rode a bike and the pain was excrutiating. It was comparable to the time I got diarrhea from eating uncooked poultry and had to wipe my bottom 10,000 times, ending up with a horrible rash. Still, I trudged along and tried to make the best of it. I’m a trooper, after all!

On day two we had the pleasant experience of my 10 year old cousin having his bike stolen. Remember, this is a Christian campground and yet there are still thugs. Nice. I hope Jesus was watching and taking notes. Not that the campers seemed all that Christian to me. There was the redneck driving his jacked up camouflaged Chevy through the campground, flying a rebel flag with the words “redneck” on it. Then there was Mr. Clean with gold hoops in both ears and snaggleteeth. Claw foot has such nasty toes that when she stepped into the pool I was so grossed out I had to leave immediately. Almost everyone at this campground had a tattoo, as if it was a requirement to enter the campground.

I understand that many of these visitors are not privy to the lap of luxury that I am accustomed to. But honestly, if all I could afford was a pop up tent I doubt I would bother to make the trek to the beach. Spending the nights on the floor with nothing but a sleeping bag between me and the snakes is not my idea of a good time. However, one redneck did manage to make the most of the tent by cutting out a hole in the tent, propping up an air conditioning unit on a crate, inserting it into the hole of the tent, and securing it with duck tape. I kid you not! Take a look at my husband sitting next to it. I think this should be the brochure for the campground with the caption “Yeah, but wait until you see the bathroom!”

A couple days into the trip we celebrate the fourth of July. Now I have no experience with campgrounds on the fourth of July but this was just about the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced. It was like a cult. Everyone participated in a “parade” of golf carts. People were very into this. All the golf carts were decorated for the holiday and people lined the dirt paths to watch this madness. Why anyone would dress up in a full clown costume in 94 degree weather is beyond me. Old timers plucked their banjos while they cruised on their golf carts. I saw more cowboy hats that day than I did the entire week I spent in Texas. Those who did not don the cowboy hat typically wore a wife beater shirt and ripped jean shorts.

The campground also held a beauty pageant for the female youths at the the campground. Ages ranged from teen to kindergartner age. Now it doesn’t seem very Christian to me having little girls prance around in skimpy swimsuits with all the pedophiles that were surely staying amongus. Even if there were no convicted pedophiles there, the general clientele was just a bit abrasive. I felt even more protective of my daughter after witnessing that. In fact, the day we went to Hard Rock Park a pedophile from the FBIs most wanted list was captured! My daughter was in that park with that sicko. Anyway, the winners of the campground beauty pageant were featured in the parade of golf carts and this just disturbed me.

The kids club was quite an experience, too. I thought I’d check it out in case I needed a few hours away from the kids. But it was not like the vacation bible school I was used to in Maryland. I’m used to arts and crafts, snacks, stories from the bible. These people were jumping and praising Jesus with hands in the air, eyes closed, speaking in tongues (well that last part might be exaggerated). However, I felt like I was on a TV Evangelist show. I can’t say for sure but I bet there was a healer on the staff. I just didn’t hang around long enough to find out for sure. I was terrified they would sacrifice a live chicken or pass around snakes. My son would have had me committed if I had made him spend one minute in that kids’ club.  

And the other issue I had was the guitarists. What is it with campgrounds and half-assed musicians? Why do they feel the urge to play by the pool, at the coffee house or on the beach? I hate people who play guitars out in the open. It drives me nuts. It’s right up there with people that speak to themselves in public and women who have to take the bathroom stall right next to me, despite the fact the rest of the bathroom is completely open. I don’t want to hear any guitarist playing “You are my sunshine” on a crappy guitar just because that person can play. I can build databases but you don’t see me doing that for YOUR entertainment, do you? If you play an instrument play in a band; not alone on a beach.

Anyway, I did manage to have a decent week (Thank You Vodka, It’s Me Blondy), but it was not without its challenges. Lee’s Kitchen gets a plug for being a great place to eat. The wait is long, but they let you take drinks out onto the lawn while you wait. Despite the pedophile, Hard Rock Park was fun. The Ripley’s Aquarium is always a hit and Broadway at the Beach never lets me down. As far as camping goes, though, this will be the last campground experience I have in Myrtle Beach (and most likely anywhere else for that matter). I’ve been traveling for far too many years at this point to settle for less than my normal life. With that I now conclude my first blog and as the Lakewood Campig Resort would say “Have a Holy Day.”

Video – Redneck Woman (in honor of my camping neighbors)