No news is...no news.

Some say "no news is good news", but when it comes to my sex life I don't think that axiom holds true. I would much prefer to have lots of news.

I was in North Carolina all last week on business. I spent two days in Charlotte, one in Greensboro and two in Raleigh. I usually work my ass off when I travel because there really isn't much else to do. I treat myself to a nice dinner, but other than that I really only work and go to the hotel gym for an hour. Thus, the gym and dinner are generally the highlights of my trip. For dinner, I try to find a place with a large, crowded bar. Some restaurants look great, but the bars are dead, and most crowded bars have, well, shitty "bar food". There are just so many fried chicken wings you can eat in a week, so I try to find a place has both a good crowd and good food.

I went to my favorite Charlotte restaurant, Zink, on Monday night. Zink is where I met the girl who passed out while we were making out on her inflatable mattress. I know that lightening never strikes twice in the same place, but I like the food so I went back. The place was pretty empty so I had some sushi and crashed early. Similar evening on Tuesday.

On Wednesday night I got a hotel room in "downtown" Greensboro. There seemed to be a small strip of bars and restaurants four blocks from the hotel but nothing looked too interesting to me. I wandered off the beaten path a bit and found an Irish Pub that looked cool. I walked inside and took a seat at the bar between a few groups of people. The stereo was blasting Gaelic folk songs and the place smelled like a frat house, but I figured both were good signs in an Irish bar. The group on my left was a mix of about four girls and three guys doing a crossword puzzle with the female bartender. They were having a really hard time with what sounded like an easy puzzle ("I need a five letter word for a large body of salt water."). The group on my right was a pack of(heavy) girls who seemed far too drunk for 7pm. I had one drink and asked for my check, which came with another drink (I was charged for both). I slammed my unsolicited second drink and left before the bartender could bring me a third.

I walked around some more until I determined I was no longer in an area I should be walking alone in (by "alone", I mean without a gun). I turned around and back tracked a bit until I came to a small place called S.O.B. I looked in the window and the place looked crowded. I thought I could hear Jimmy Buffett playing, so I decided to try it. Sure enough, Jimmy was playing while a cute bartender served up raw oysters and hot sauce to happy (drunk) patrons. I bellied up to the bar and ordered a dozen raw oysters and a shrimp po-boy. I starting chatting with the bartender, a cute brunette with big boobs and a deep southern draw. I swore I had met her before, but she looked like every other chick I had seen in Greensboro, so I didn't think much of it until she said "Have we met before?". We finally figured out that she was the bartender at a restaurant I went to last year when I was in town. This was really not good news, as I recalled she was the worst waitress/bartender I have ever come across. She had improved since last year, but not much. At the end of the night some of the waitresses were leaving and they asked the bartender what she was doing later, and she said "I may let this guy take me on a date", referring to me. I kind of laughed it off, as I paid my check to leave. I already felt like some of the locals were not happy about my arrival, and I wondered if I would make it back to my hotel with my wallet, watch and face still on me. I thought it best not to provoke them by asking out the one cute girl in the room, so I grabbed my credit card and phone and left. In retrospect I think it was an easy layup that I missed out on.

Thursday night I was in Raleigh and was very excited to go to another restaurant I had found over the years, Prime Only. However, Prime Only wasn't able to survive the downturn in the economy and closed a few months ago. Too bad, the place was pretty good. I began walking around this small district with a lot of bars and pubs and spotted a strange place set back off the road. It was strange because it had no sign, but was packed. I walked up the steps, across the outdoor deck (which was jammed with women in short skirts) and into the bar. The bar was also packed with chicks and I wondered if it was a lesbian bar. I sat down, ordered a drink, and thumbed through a menu. The menu was mostly bar appetizers, so I eventually asked the tall blond next to me if there were any good BBQ joints around. She was really friendly and started rattling off BBQ pits within walking distance, including one place called The Pit. We chatted for a little while longer, and she introduced me to her group of friends, who were also cute southern girls. They had all just graduated from NC State last year and were still living in town. Then one of them asked me "So, how do you know Sarah?". I didn't recall any of the girls being named Sarah, but I figured I either forgot one of their names, or misunderstood it when she told me, so I said "Oh, we just met". This produced six sets of scrunched up eyebrows, and I knew something was not right. I tried to sway the conversation back to slow-cooked ribs but I had obviously said something wrong and they were a little freaked out. All I could think was "Shit, I bet Sarah's dead." I decided to finish my drink and get out of there. Before I could get my check someone got on the microphone and said "Sarah and Jake just pulled up, everyone quiet, sshhhhhhhh!" (she's alive, praise the lord, it's a miracle). Two minutes later Sarah walked and everyone screamed "surprise". When I asked for my check the bartender said "No, everything is on Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so this evening." I thanked the girl next to me for the BBQ recommendation and got out of there before I had to meed the birthday girl.

The draught continues.