…said the man with the hot poker lodged in his bum. Please, oh please take it out, he screamed! I just laughed and tossed greasy potato chips on his fat, swollen face. Got anything else to eat in here, I said, ‘cept these fatty chips? My ass, he shouted, it burns like fire! Got any Twinkies? Or peanuts? Or Snikerdoodles? My ass, he shouted! Are you being sarcastic? Get it out, you jack hole! Tell you what, champ—you give me what I’m looking for, and I’ll getcha a whole big tube of Preparation H, ‘kay? You’ll burn in hell for this, Michael! Granted—I see why you’d think so. ‘Cept I feel pretty cool right now, mate.

A tornado touched down in Loudoun/Fairfax yesterday. The storm raged outside our office windows. Nobody was doing any work, except me. My co-workers huddled by the windows—right where they should be during a tornado—while they gasped and giggled. I put my headphones on and blocked out everything but my work. The 28 Days Later soundtrack was my ominous theme. At one point, I saw everyone leaving and motioning for me to leave. I thought they were crazy. If they wanted me to try to “beat the storm” by leaving early and racing home, they could forget it. The storm was here, and it’d be gone by the time the business day was over. It turns out, later, I discovered they were all heading to the stairwell to keep safe. I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was in West Virginia. Whatever, freaks. While they were playing fort, I got a ton of work done—enough so that I can take a few days off next week.

After a short sleep, I got up as soon as the first ray of sunlight came through the open window. I tried to read some of my Kingdom Come paperback book, but me on vacation—reading words hard. We went down to the pool around 8:30 AM. It was so peaceful there. Only one other person was hanging out, and I think only because he worked there. I lied out in the sun for a couple of hours, while Roberta chilled in the shade, reading a book. After a quick dip in the cool pool, I dried out in the sun, and we headed out to lunch.

We drove a mile or so down Shore Drive and ate at a place called Dockside. We sat out on the boardwalk/patio—right beside the boat dock and rippling bay. It was gorgeous outside. Our waiter had an interesting eastern shore accent. After ordering a serving of lumpia as an appetizer, I told him I was surprised to find lumpia on the menu—but I was glad, being half Filipino. He started talking to me in Tagalog, so I replied, “Je ne comprend pas.” He said that his girlfriend was Filipino, and that the two of them had recently been in Manila for vacation. I asked him if he knew my dad—Tony the Tiger, but alas, he did not.

When we got back to the condo, I had to take a nap. I was exhausted, and it was the hottest time of the day outside anyway. We eventually headed down to the private beach for about 5 minutes. Roberta’s beach umbrella broke, so she couldn’t stay out in the sun. I didn’t like the sand anyway, because it was so damn hot. We headed back up to the condo pool. I laid out again for an hour or so, until Roberta told me my chest was burnt. Waterproof, my ass. All-day protection, my ass. Me likes the Hot Tropic dark tanning oil, because it gives me a great tan—unfortunately, it’s pretty weak protection (SPF 4).

We went upstairs and took showers. While I was cooling down and getting dressed, I decided I was through with Virginia Beach. We came and did everything we wanted to do: hit the boardwalk, do a little shopping, hit the pool, hit the private beach, get tan, relax. We were planning on leaving early Sunday morning, but I couldn’t think of any benefit to staying overnight and getting up early in the morning. Why don’t we just leave tonight? So, we did. We cleaned up the place—washed sheets, took out the trash—and packed up the car.

On the way home, I had to exit the highway and get some caffeine in me. Coincidently, we ended up at the same McDonald’s Michelle and I had stopped by going to and from Virginia Beach the last time.

We got home around midnight, and I welcomed the long, deep, comfortable sleep my messy bed provided.

Around lunchtime on Friday, I decided I wanted to go to Virginia Beach. I found out which hotels were on the main Atlantic Avenue strip and called them all. Because of the July 4 holiday, none of the hotels had any openings—those that did required a 3-night stay. Around 9 PM Friday evening, I called my dad in West Virginia and asked him if he could talk to our cousins and get them to let me stay at their beach condo for the weekend. Around 11 PM, he called back and said I could—for $200.

I didn’t get up until around 10:30 the next morning, because I stayed up all night packing and doing research online (directions, etc.). On my way out the door, Roberta asked if I wanted some company. I did, so she got ready, and the two of us left for Virginia Beach at 12:30. We left the cats to take care of themselves for 3 days.

The drive to the beach was pretty long, due to the holiday traffic, but the weather was beautiful, so I didn’t mind it so much. In fact, it was supposed to be sunny and in the 80’s/90’s all weekend, so we were very excited.

Once we arrived, Roberta wanted to rest at the condo for a while, so I took off in search of some food. I found a restaurant located beside a go-go club in a strip mall. While I was drinking my Coke and eating my cheese nachos at the bar, a young woman sat next to me and started up a conversation (again, the ice breaker being my apparently-fabulous watch). She said that she was from Minnesota and had been here for 3 weeks. She asked me what kind of music I liked and told me she could play some of my favorite songs next door, while she danced for me. I thanked her for the offer, but declined her invitation. Not that I wasn’t interested (she was a cute brunette), but Roberta was waiting for me at the condo.

When I got back, we freshened up and headed out for Atlantic Avenue. The roads were packed, because of the holiday crowd. I immediately knew it was going to be a miserable experience. It took us an hour to get down to 18th Street. I wanted to park there, because I at least knew that Harley Heaven was located on that block. We went there first, and I bought a black Harley Davidson lighter as a souvenir (just like I did for Miss Michelle two years ago). After pushing our way through the crowds for several blocks, we found a decent, Beatles-themed restaurant called Abbey Road. We tried to eat quickly, because the fireworks show had started on the beach. We wanted to be on our way to the car before the great exodus. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. When we left the restaurant, we got caught up in the hassle of leaving. By the time we made it to my car, I was already on my last nerve. Then came the driving, and that was even worse. A couple hours later (plus a stop for directions at a local gas station), we made it back to the condo.

We decided that we weren’t going back to the main beach strip again. We were just going to hang out at the private beach at the condo and maybe spend some hours at the pool there. The goal for Saturday was simple—relax and get a tan.

On my third trip out, I wanted to cover the Herndon area. I had three spots picked out—one of which I had already been to.

After stopping by my bank for some drinking money, I headed down Centreville Rd. and over to the big clock tower building (where Chuck E. Cheese’s is). I parked my car and headed into the building lobby. I took the elevator up to the 4th floor, and that’s where I found Breakers Billiards. I was immediately impressed with how unpacked it was inside. The look of the place was very classy. They had lots of professional, clean tables and a nice cherry wood bar that stretched from wall to wall. I went up to the bar (no one else was seated there) and asked the bartender for a hard cider. He pulls out a bottle of Cider Jack and tells me it’s $2.50. Whoa. Two-fifty for a drink? I’m definitely sold. In order to get a pool table, I had to cash out with the bartender, then go to the pool counter. I asked for a table, and the guy asked me what size pool stick I wanted. I told him I didn’t know—whatever he thought I needed. He smirked a little in disbelief. Obviously, I had no idea what I was doing—and he let me know that. I got the feeling this place was for serious pool playing only. He gave me a table all the way in the corner—far from anyone else, which actually suited me just fine. I had fun playing several games by myself. I ordered a couple more Cider Jacks, as well as some tasty treats from the waitress (those potato popper things were soooo good). I even found decent songs to play in the jukebox. I don’t recall how long I spent there, but my bill was $19 for food, drink and pool. Before I left, I finished my Cider at the bar and asked the bartender why there weren’t more people. He said that last Saturday it was packed, but this week was oddly slow. I noticed they had an upstairs loft/floor with about 8 more tables. This place was big. The lighting was low. The music was okay. And the prices were great. Because of its close location, I decided this was the best local hang out, so far. (Grade: venue A-, people B, music B, drink A)

After that, I drove by Carpool, still undecided whether to go in or not. I checked out the “action” in the windows and saw none, so I just kept driving.

I went by the former Revolution Coffee Lounge for old time’s sake. There was a disco ball inside and lots of people dancing. I parked on the street and walked up to the door. Two men were carding and collecting a cover charge. I tried to see if the bar was still in there, but could only see a bunch of people dancing. It was Latin music, so I just dropped the idea and headed back to my car.

Next on the list was a place called Scrooples Lounge—right off Rt. 28 by a Holiday Inn. I drove around the building complex and didn’t see anything with the name Scrooples. I saw Chantilly’s Restaurant and O’Malley’s and decided to head into O’Malley’s to ask around. It was cramped in there—not because of the people, but because of the restaurant/bar layout. The place was randomly filled with weary, older travelers. I asked the bartender where Scrooples was, and he said that this was the place—just with a new name. I asked him if he had any hard cider, and he said no. I said thanks anyway and left. (Grade: venue D, people D, music ?, drink D)

I then went back to Chantilly and stopped in Bungalow Billiards. I wanted to go back there at a later hour to see if the clientele changed. Sad to say, it didn’t. I had a Cider Jack at the bar, while watching the Washington Freedom game on TV. The Freedom lost, and so did I. A severely drunk man fell off his stool at a table right beside me at the bar. His mug shattered on the floor, while he looked up at his friends. Meanwhile, his stool tumbled towards me. It didn’t hit me, but if it had…I probably would have said, “Ow.” To redeem the experience, I saw two hot girls making out at the bar. And that’s a wrap! (Grade: see Day 1)

On the way home, I stopped by the post office to pick up my mail. I looked over at the Shark Club and decided to go in. There was dancing on one end of the room, a bar in the middle, and pool tables lining the other end. I noticed there were a lot of attractive young people sitting outside, and was optimistic to find more inside. Sure, there were lots of duds (like myself, I’m sure), but for the most part, the place was filled with good-looking folks, albeit somewhat younger than I. The downstairs area was closed for a private party. I went to the bar and asked for a hard cider. They didn’t have any. I asked for a Vodka Collins and the one they served me tasted like piss. A sexy girl was dancing on the bar at one end, so I stayed until the song ended. She got down, and I got out of there. Cool people, but the place was a hole. (Grade: venue D, people B+, music F, drink F)