I don't know how to put it well, but in certain settings alarm bells go off in my head as to the imminence of danger. I don't think it's prejudice; it's some atavistic instinct that something is just not right, that I ought to be on guard. I can't link it to specific, repeatable themes, but it just occurs.
Naturally, feeling that something might be amiss and taking precautions is better than to ignore those senses. The cost of taking steps to avoid the situation is less if I'm wrong than failing to take sense and being right.
I grew up in the suburbs of Nashville. Some, nontouristy parts of Nashville are less desirable, I must say. But the place that makes me real uncomfortable is Cocke County, TN and some places on the Cumberland Plateau.
Memphis, Atlanta, and Birmingham are statistically dangerous, and I am very careful of where I go after dark.
The reason why I'm nattering on about this is that I might move to Seattle. There are some parts of that area that I'm not sure about, like Pioneer Square or Belltown. Anyway, I have to balance safety and affordability. I would like to live on one of those islands across Elliott Bay, but doing that takes $$$.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Dry Counties in Kentucky and Tennessee
Tennessee and Kentucky both have some dry counties, the ones colored red.
As amazing as it might seem, Moore County, TN is dry. So what?
Well, that is the location of the world-famous Jack Daniel distillery. In other words, they can make it there; but they just can't sell it in-county.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Participation in Amateur Night
Among the wild escapades of the Chili Dog Sisters (an anti-sorority group) at Empty Ess You was our participation in Amateur Night at a strip club near the Tennessee - Alabama border.
We were bored. Too jaded to find the malls at Franklin or Nashville to be appealing, and Murfreesboro can drag at times. So we went one June down to Pulaski, TN to see a religious singing, which was different but did not have a long draw on our attention spans.
Finally, it was Deena who suggested that we visit one of the state line strip clubs, just to see what it was like. We were, like, desperate for something to do.
When we got there, there was a sign for Amateur Night, with promise of a $500 prize for the winner. There was a fair number of locals, and a few truckers needing a break from I-65, which is the Most Boring Highway in America.
I don't know who suggested it, but several of us tried our hand at stripping, mostly wearing what we came in with. However, there were a few old strippers' outfits that some participants had use in the past. Frankly, it seemed kind of gross to wear someone else's panties, so I went with my own.
The audience was encouraging: each bump and grind drew whistles and applause, as did the unbuttoning of each button. If you must know, I did remove my bra; and I untied my bikini panties and let them loosely dangle while I kept from being completely bare. It was enough for the audience; even though we had been told that we would get booed if we didn't go all the way. Actually, the audience seemed to be supportive of amateurs.
Did I feel any remorse the next day? No, as a matter of fact, I even looked into getting some nice costume materials for a repeat performance and got a skimpy purple bikini with a teeny yellow microbikini top to go underneath.
One of the further consequences of our sojourn to the strip club's amateur night was that we seemed to be bonded together more strongly.
We were bored. Too jaded to find the malls at Franklin or Nashville to be appealing, and Murfreesboro can drag at times. So we went one June down to Pulaski, TN to see a religious singing, which was different but did not have a long draw on our attention spans.
Finally, it was Deena who suggested that we visit one of the state line strip clubs, just to see what it was like. We were, like, desperate for something to do.
When we got there, there was a sign for Amateur Night, with promise of a $500 prize for the winner. There was a fair number of locals, and a few truckers needing a break from I-65, which is the Most Boring Highway in America.
I don't know who suggested it, but several of us tried our hand at stripping, mostly wearing what we came in with. However, there were a few old strippers' outfits that some participants had use in the past. Frankly, it seemed kind of gross to wear someone else's panties, so I went with my own.
The audience was encouraging: each bump and grind drew whistles and applause, as did the unbuttoning of each button. If you must know, I did remove my bra; and I untied my bikini panties and let them loosely dangle while I kept from being completely bare. It was enough for the audience; even though we had been told that we would get booed if we didn't go all the way. Actually, the audience seemed to be supportive of amateurs.
Did I feel any remorse the next day? No, as a matter of fact, I even looked into getting some nice costume materials for a repeat performance and got a skimpy purple bikini with a teeny yellow microbikini top to go underneath.
One of the further consequences of our sojourn to the strip club's amateur night was that we seemed to be bonded together more strongly.
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