Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Myrtle Beach

There is a magical little place in South Carolina where the grass is always green, the weather is crisp and clear each day and all your vacationing needs are within a pleasant afternoon stroll down flower encompassed sidewalks.

Unfortunately, I went to Myrtle Beach.

Me and 13 other good-intentioned young men embarked on a four-day adventure to North Myrtle Beach a few weeks ago to give our friend an auspicious send-off from bachelordom into the wonderful world I call marriage.

I suppose I could have just said it was a bachelor party...but they made a thesaurus for a reason, didn't they?

I'm going to attempt to recap a few of the highlights without boring you to tears or breaking the ultimate bachelor party vow of silence. But let's be real- if you invite me on a trip with you anywhere, the story of that trip will end up on this blog within a few weeks and I'll make myself to look like a hero while you look like a baboon trying to get peanut-butter off the roof of his mouth. You've been warned.

It's worth noting up front that this was really a golf trip. Four days, three rounds of golf and if you're obsessed like me, you play a local par 3 the morning before the first round cause you wanna be sharp. I wouldn't say I'm Rory McIlroy or anything...but I am.

Here's the breakdown-

Travel day.
Here are the highlights of travel day.


OK, that was it. Seriously. That's it. I'm not kidding you guys! On the trip down the three people in my car were doing one of three things.

1. Breaking down every possible scenario in the NFL draft,
2. Sleeping, or
3. Critiquing the ability of the local road crews to place the orange cones on the road. How was the spacing between each one? Was it consistent? If they were closing a lane did the angle cut off too quickly causing back-ups at the merge? Or was the grade just right? How close to the dashed road line were the cones? Is there a difference in difficulty between placing the big orange barrels vs. the pointy cones? If I were to start that job today would they start me with cones or barrels? How big of an impact does the driver of the truck have? If he varies his speed does it throw the cone-placer off? Does the driver use cruise control? Do large construction trucks have cruise control?

On and on we went. It was a 7 hour drive and that conversation took up about 5 hours of it.

Thursday Night-
The Arrival and Dinner.
Once the group finally arrived we figured we'd hit the town for dinner. Head into the densest area of restaurants and wander around until boredom or fatigue set in.

We all donned our Thursday night finest. Buttoned up shirts? Check. Jeans with intentional holes? Check. Boat shoes or sandals? Check. Watches Timepieces? Check. Wallet full of money? Eh...we'll figure it out.

We piled into the 15 passenger van because when you're on a bachelor party you gotta ride in style and let the townies drive you around. And when I say "townies" I mean it. Our driver Jason told us on the trip that everyone he knew in high school either "played football or was a meth-head". His words, not mine.

Let's just say he didn't have an answer when we asked him what position he played.

So we arrive at our destination and let the fun begin. We grabbed a bite to eat, wandered around, checked out a few of the local establishments to see if anything worthwhile is going on and began to wonder where all the people were. Wasn't this the central hub for all life at Myrtle Beach? Weren't there more restaurants per square foot here than white guys on a golf course? What was going on?!

Ah, yes. It was a Thursday night. In the middle of April. There were more people at Dane Cook's last movie premier. I think I was in bed by 9:30pm.

What?! I had an busy day coming up.

Round 1.
Early morning wake up for me and my roomie, Ricky. We had our first round of golf at 2pm and wanted to hit a local par 3 course (for the golf-illiterate, a "par 3" course is the Rhode Island of golf courses. It has what is legally required to be called a golf course, but is so small and insignificant people don't usually acknowledge its existence).

Ricky and I got all of our bad shots out of the way early, returned to the condo grabbed a bite to eat then headed out for the afternoon round of golf. We are the terminator robots of golf.

Three groups, ten players, and one hole that was 767 yards (Again, for the golf-illiterate, that's the Texas of golf holes. No need for it to be that big, but insanely proud that it is bigger, longer and more fun than any other hole in the world. Plus, it gives everyone who plays there an ill-conceived feeling of self-entitlement).

Round 2.
Remember when there were all those tornadoes in Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina? And it was hailing, and the wind was crazy and things were flooding and there was weeping and gnashing of teeth?

Well it missed us and we played a sunny round of golf with, perhaps, a touch of extra wind. Plus our bachelor netted a 75 foot birdie putt while I ran around the green screaming like I just won American Idol.

Saturday Night-
We asked one of the members of our group to recommend a good seafood place. We listened as he rattled on for five minutes telling us all of the bad seafood places. So we asked again.

We ended up at a place called Duffy Street.

Ever seen Kitchen Nightmares? The show with Chef Gordon Ramsey where he goes around to failing restaurants, screams at them, uses words like "dreadful" and destroys the self-esteem of every restaurant worker in sight? I found a candidate for that show.

Every item on the menu came deep fried. No, seriously. You had two options for food that was not deep fried- the steam pot, or the "Pirate's Plate", a menu item outlined in red and highlighted as "the perfect non-fried seafood combination." That is a direct quote. I'm not kidding!

Naturally, we all had a blast.

But, there was some unhappy porcelain hardware later.

Round 3. Travel.
Up early for a 9am round of golf that was an hour away, then immediately following that round a 6 hour drive home.

That idea can't miss right? Nothing can go wrong with that!

I vaguely remember waking up at a gas station in the middle of North Carolina buying a Butterfinger and a Gatorade (the staple meal of professional video game players everywhere) and trying to remember why I couldn't feel my upper body.

Before I knew it I was at home unpacking and receiving a text from the guy who drove me saying I left my golf shoes in the car. 24 years old and still losing my shoes.

It could have been worse, he could have asked to continue our discussion on construction cone placement.

For more on this extravagant journey, you should have been following me on Twitter! Again, my two rules of being invited on a trip anywhere: 1) I will tweet about it, 2) I will probably write a blog about it. You can't miss!

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