**This is a long one, kiddies. Settle in and get ready to giggle. As always, all links open in a new window.

ACT 1

Over the objections of my lifelong friend –the world’s most highly-degreed barista– I found myself in a Charlotte, NC Starbucks, which he insisted on calling “Charbucks.” Call it what you like, Bret, but I got my damn Venti Pike Place.

We settled in and got to catching up. Just then, two plump and low-to-the-earth hillbillies waddled in. They were physical arguments in the theory that gravity is more intense in North Carolina. As I tried to convey this, something caught my eye: the male Hillbilly Gruff had sharted himself.

In case you’re unfamiliar with the “shart,” I’ve supplied a short informational video below:

It was ghastly. It was the human equivalent of the Exxon Valdez: a wide, putrid slick of greasy human waste that was quite obviously very fresh. It covered  a considerable portion of the Hillbilly Gruff’s asscrack. And Mrs. Gruff? She was just as oblivious as her walking colostomy-bag-of-a-husband.

As wretched as that was, it was also inspirational. Cindy labeled it, The Shart Heard ‘Round the World, and it led to an entire weekend of shart-related puns: Bon Jovi’s “Shot in the Shart,” 80’s TV show “Shart to Shart,” favorite color Shartreuse, went to a museum and admired the objects d’ shart, Bill Joel sang about having a “Shart attack-ack-ack,” favorite detergent Shart it Out!, at work we use flow sharts, I bought some new button-up sharts, favorite philosopher is deShart,  … well, you get the idea. If it even remotely rhymed with shart; e.g., shirt, short, part, heart, etc., we found a way to work it into the conversation.

After coffee, we made our way to NoFo on Liz, a nearby restaurant. OK, three things about this place: 1) It is where I learned that I do not like Bloody Marys, 2) The servers wear watches that SHOCK them when customers push a button at their table, and 3) They have crazy long straws.

Seriously, I’m not making that up. The straws are, well, see for yourself…

L to R: Corey, Bret, Cindy, and Mayellen

ACT 2

The next day, the four of us made our way into downtown Charlotte to enjoy the monumental clusterfuck commonly known as Taste of Shartlotte.  It’s an outdoor food festival that is as well-organized as America’s smooth and timely withdraw from Iraq. And if the stagnant streets crammed full of half-drunk Southerners quickly ripening in NC’s heat and humidity wasn’t bad enough, well…there were no bathrooms. That’s right, no bathrooms at a food festival.

Fucking. Awesome.

After we’d had enough of that, we  were headed out of the city when Mayellen spotted this gem (right). In case this isn’t obvious, let me explain.

St. Peter’s Episcopal Church ’s sign welcomes any and all. And just below the welcome sign is a No Trespassing sign.

That, my friends, is irony . . . it has to be, because it sure as hell isn’t divine intervention.

So we made our way to NoDa: Charlotte’s Arts District. While I was in Charlotte, I had to visit fellow blogger: Leah, author of Daily Piglet.  So we made plans to meet up for dinner, but in the meantime, we made our way to Revolution. This former Mellow Mushroom pizzeria is now a Mediterranean-inspired pizza eatery and pub. Why do you care? I dunno, but I care because it was at Revolution that I had my first Fat Tire beer since leaving Montana in 2005.  I cannot explain how wonderful of an experience this was. But it was closely rivaled by New Belgium Brewing Company’s [new-to-me] Black Ale: 1554.

Corey & Cindy @ Revolution.

Revolution's bar, which featured Fat Tire!

OK, so after consuming mass quantities, we went over to the Crêpe Cellar Kitchen & Pub. This is where and when things got a whole lot more, ummm, interesting? So we meet up with Leah -whose blog, Daily Piglet, is a must read- and her very cool husband, Dale. Almost immediately, things began to get strange…which is just how I like it. It all began with my noticing that Guinness was misspelled (see pic to right):

So, of course, I tell our waitress that someone should really ADD A FUCKING “N” TO THE GUINNESS! Our waitress, Allie, sheepishly admits that it was she who misspelled Guinness. This, I tell her, will require severe punishment. And thus it began. When Allie returned with our drinks, she dropped them. When she came back with replacements, the floor hadn’t dried, so she fell again. From my vantage point, all I could see was her little arm holding a beer in the air. God bless her, she saved the beer!

Oyster Po Boy & Guinness

Allie the Super Waitress

Leah & Corey: Blob Buddies

Skipping ahead . . . there we were: eating, drinking and being entirely too merry when WHACK! SMACK! CRACK! rings throughout the crowded restaurant, bringing everything to a complete standstill. We look up to find a waitress -not our Allie- has stuck a chair into the ceiling fan just above our table – thus creating a snow storm of dust. Clapping ensues. Drinking restarts. Food is consumed. The evening goes on with entirely too much rambunctiousness, mostly cause by Corey’s love of beer.

Things to know about me: Drunk Corey varies by the drink he’s consumed.  On beer & wine, drunken Corey is jovial, gregarious, and horny.  And there’s drunken Corey on liquor: horny and devious – a potent and dangerous mixture. And then there’s drunken Corey on Tequila…so very not pretty. Tonight it’s all beer, so Corey’s jovial, gregarious, and horny. But mostly jovial.

Cindy has to play the parent and shush me.

Leah syas, kindly, “Your project well.”

OK, I get it, I’m drunk.

Time to go.

So we leave and make it about a block before karma throws us a bone. You have to love drunken Agnostics roving about the Arts District in small packs. Because, look what we found, graffiti Jebus:

Corey, Bret & Jebus - Tongue action!

Corey & Jebus...not drunk enough to call on him

So we made our way home and called it a night. I mean, why wouldn’t we? Let me recap the evening: Eat, drink, be merry for …oh hey, it’s Jebus!

We lol’d. For more pics of the evening, see: Daily Piglet’s Flickr.

The next day we hopped in the car and TRIED to make it to the airport. Bret, however, choose to ignore his GPS. It’s all right HERE.

Anyway, once we did finally make it to the airport, I noticed to something …Let’s work clockwise from he top left.

US Air Emergency Procedures Card: WTF?

Do NOT open the aircraft’s door if Aircraft is in the air.

Do NOT open the aircraft’s door if Aircraft is on fire.

Do NOT open the aircraft’s door if Aircraft is in the water.

Do NOT open the aircraft’s door if  . . . what the hell is that? . . .  Cheddar cheese? Goldfish crackers? Pac men?  Seriously, what the hell are those little orange-yellow blobs?

I knew being attacked by Cheddar cheese Goldfish snacks was a longshart, so I paid it no mind.

Before I knew it, I was back home. And that, dear reader(s), was my weekend in Shartlotte.

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