Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Married? Yeah, married...sheesh!

I don't know why I get a kick out of the title of today's blog entry - I used this "Sixteen Candles" quote when telling a few friends that my youngest sis was getting married sometime soon (the wedding date and location have moved around quite a bit). First it was September in Illinois then March in New Orleans. If she can pin down a date, I'd love to go!

So anyway...I really wanted to write about my big weekend in Hooterville. I really didn't know what to do - we wanted to do something but didn't have the motivation to drive to civilization (Tampa), so we chose to make do with the cavalcade of entertainment that only Port Richey has to offer. Of course, we ended up at the movie theater (much more pleasant since they enforced the curfew!) Saw "Date Movie", which ranks up there with the worst movies I have ever seen (and that's really saying something!) It was just bad. Not "so bad it's good" - a la "Showgirls". Just godwafully bad. Usually chattering and texting teens annoy the hell out of me, but this time they were a welcome diversion from what was going on onscreen. I felt ripped off. So anyway, after such a promising beginning, how to end an evening like this? Why, the "Jale House (yes, that is actually whay the sign says - "Jale". Maybe the guy who owns "The Karl Reef" owns this one too -'s just that no one in Pasco County can spell) Karaoke Cafe"!

We approached the rundown building and saw a sign that said $10 cover. Since we were only staying for one drink, we didn't want to pay the cover. We started to head back to the car and a guy popped his head out the door and yelled to us that there was no cover. So we ventured, hesitantly, inside. There were about 15 people on the cramped dance floor doing "The Electric Slide", so things were not looking good for a lengthy cocktail stop. There was an assortment of motley folks in the club (about 25 in all) - there was the guy who looked like Greg Allman, the lady in the blue velour track suit (very tight and not too kind to her shlubby physique), a guy in a cowboy hat, and the obligatory black guy/fat white chick combo. There was a karaoke "host" floating around, wearing one of those dumb rasta wigs from Spencer's. He didn't sing, he just contributed a few "Awwwwyeah"s over the mic. Actually, for a karaoke bar, there was a strange shortage of karaoke. There were fat binders, full of songs on the tables, and a few people perusing them (Greg Allman for one), but no one took the stage. Until...finally..."Let's bring Rose to the stage." Rose, who was most likely in her mid 50s, proceeded to launch into "Roses Are Red" by Bobby Vinton. She got to about the second line when P. said "That's it" and made a beeline for the door. Guess we'll have to find another place to hang out. At least it was a concrete, tangible example to show P. what was wrong with Port Richey - and insurance that we'll soon be moving to civilization!

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