Lynchbore, how I haven’t missed you.

Four days in Lynchburg. Long enough for me to actually smile when I got off the dry-heave-inducing roads of Rt. 29 and I-66 and on to the Beltway.

I realized on the drive down that it had been exactly a year since I last invaded that delightful town. It felt much longer than that. Within 10 minutes of being in Lynchbore, I had a shopping cart full of delightful alcoholic yumminess. One of the very few nice things about Virginny is the ability to buy booze at the grocery store and Wal-Mart. I miss that.

One thing they did have at Kroger was a pleasant surprise: Cape Cod potato chips!! In fact, I found more flavors there than I can in DC. Usually I can get regular, reduced fat and sea salt/vinegar and that’s it. In Lynch-hore I found Beachside BBQ and cheddar cheese/sour cream. WTF.

True to form the drinking started pretty much once I got there. A quick stop at the Drowsy Poet for the best chicken salad sandwich ever, and I was off to Drinko de Mayo central.

DDMC (aka my friend Chihuahua’s house) looked pretty much like a frat house by the end of the night. Empties on the porch, butts aplenty in the trays and a lawn loveseat chair that had a tragic run in with my hips (it was old and literally threadbare, but still…). And this was just me and Chihuahua. The rest of out partying clan, Sex Therapist and her hubby The Dude, weren’t coming til Saturday night.

Once Sex Therapist and The Dude arrived it was like old times, but with more booze: inappropriate photos involving a big ass wine bottle, West Virginia accent mocking, open flame (drunk burgers are the best burgers) and belching. By the end of the night my stomach was in pain from laughing and ST had finished off the job I started on the broken chair.

Next day ST and TD were off to check out campus. I hadn’t really been through the Liberty University campus in about 4 years. I’ve stopped by 2 or 3 times, but went straight to the newspaper office to see my favorite professor and promptly leave good ol’ Liberty Mountain, Korn blaring from the car and ciggie ablaze.

Since our escape from Liberty Mountain, many, many things have changed. The little bastards have an ice rink, swimming pool, hot tubs in dorms and no dress code. When I went, girls were only allowed to wear pants to class during the winter months and NEVER jeans in any of the academic buildings. After that? Skirt city. Now? Gah, bitches can wear whatever they want.

Campus has close to doubled in size and with it brought a huge only-for-show reception area in the 2nd floor of main academic building. Pretty white steps take you past the large, Jeffersonian columns and into room with a white marble floor and bright blue paint. A “subtle” portrait of Jerry hangs on the wall, which is the only thing in the room save for the school emblem in brass (or gold maybe) in the floor. The shiny emblem is roped off, no doubt to prevent people from stepping on it. FAIL. Takes more than a velvet rope to deter ST and me.

The reception area leads to a room that was the Alumni Reception room and Falwell museum. A perky Liberty gal in a booth outside the room greeted us with her perky Liberty spirit. This room was pimped out. Soft, plush couches, big screen TV, computers, trophies (not nailed down, but who wants a lawn sport trophy) and for some reason, dead, stuffed wildlife. Not sure why there was a full-sized bear in that room, but it made for some great (and inappropriate) pics. The room also had what seemed to be free food. Muffins, chips, honey buns…after what we paid for tuition, I think a little free food is in order.

The Dude has a much rosier view of LU than ST and I. Boys had a much easier time of it than chicks. He was no doubt embarrassed by our antics (there were some new entries in the guestbook…bwhahahaha), but was a great sport about it and did make out with ST in one of the rooms. (PDA was a no-no back in the day)

Hard to believe I spent 3 long years at that place, but I did. Seems so long ago, yet as we walked through the courtyard, it felt like so familiar. I remember cutting through that courtyard on 9/11 with other newspaper staff on our way to the radio station where they had a TV. There huddled with other newsies and radioheads we watched everything happen. Crazy.

That same courtyard held many a bitch session as ST and our other friend another person we knew, She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named (really hard to say when drunk) would sit trying to tan and mocking certain students.

So, that was the weekend. Oh, and two bits of advice boys and girls: When intently listening to your friend tell you something, check before sitting down or you might sit in the broken chair w/ no seat. And that’s no fun. Also no fun? Ending a day of drinking Barcardi Mojitos, random red wines, and some sips of beer with a couple of glasses of a nice, Riesling. Trust me, it ain’t a good mix.

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~ by pithycomments on May 7, 2008.

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