I'm a fighter, not a lover.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006


The Ramada Limited. It's like a regular Ramada, only limited.

Rural Georgia's an interesting place. Especially when you visit a wealthy resort located just past the poverty.

At Barnsley Gardens, the high-end resort where the wedding was held, nearly every sentence directed toward me ended with a "sir"—often by men twice my age. A good example would be something like, "May I bring you another pina colada, sir?"

Yes you may.

Surprisingly, the motel I stayed at didn't offer the same amenities. While it did have a LARGE POOL—or, at least a sign that read LARGE POOL—the swimming area lacked bikinied-women and a menu full of cleverly titled cocktails. Come to think of it, I also didn't notice the steam room, hot tubs, spa and salon, shooting gallery, European-themed beer garden, private canoe pond, croquet lawn, mountain bike trails or tennis courts. But I'm sure they were all there.

Next up in the never-ending slew of weddings for mid-20s urbanites is the Andrew and Erica affair. For them, I head to Maine, one week from Saturday.


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