Southern Nightlife

I love the kind of adventure that just sort of finds you.

It has been way too long since my friend Mandy and I had taken a girls night out.

So long, in fact, that we couldn’t even figure out where to go actually.

We ended up in downtown Greer and decided to try out a local joint called The Mason Jar.

Our waters were served in mason jars.

Obviously.

I think I must have lost a bit of my mind when ordering.

Although we did stay away from the fried bologna on the menu.

But I didn’t venture far from that delicacy, I’m afraid.

Everything I consumed last night was the same shade.

Deep fried.

Deep fried pickles.  Deep fried potatoes.  Deep fried chicken.

(The salad was Mandy’s.  She’s smarter than I am.)

My whole basket was a muted brown.

Shoot, for dessert I might have enjoyed a choice with a fruit, but it was still the same basic shade – banana pudding.

I ate a plate of brown.

I can still feel it swimming inside I think this morning.

(It was an unwise choice. I knew it then. I know it now.)

Somehow we got roped into what was apparently a Mason Jar weekly tradition of a semi-intense trivia game.

At first it was amusing.

Then it was fun.

Then we started to be real competition to the serious other teams who outnumbered us – some of them with teams of twelve to our team of two.

And as we fell behind when we couldn’t remember any senate majority nor minority leader it became hilarious.

We were required to provide a name for ourselves to participate.

That was easy.

What else could we be?

Deep fried.

Did you know that four famous rockers all died at the age of twenty-seven?

Yeah – but can you name them?

(Without the help of the world wide internets?)

And there was the moment, mid-game, when a patron from another table approached us and loudly explained the unfairness of the game to allow teams as big as thirteen who come every week and win every time – running away everyone else.

But don’t worry guys – our new friend is handling that.

Which was good.

Since I could barely handle my plate of brown, let alone control the fairness of an evening trivia game.

Oh, that and she invited Mandy and I to join her roller derby competition.

Should we try?

Even the drive home after leaving Mandy’s house was fabulous.

Windows down.

78 degrees.  (According to Mandy and Jody – the perfect temperature at which to set the thermostat.)

Back roads.

The Brothers Avett uncomfortably loud.

Here’s to new restaurants, great friends, good bands, random trivia knowledge and well-spent evenings.

Cheers!