Woody & My IBF

On my trip I saw the most sensible signs. They are like I would write: Old Stone Fort, Busy Corner Visitor Plaza (the isi was burned out). I saw a Stuckey's. I didn't know they still existed. When I was a kid and we went on road trips, we would love the two-packs of tiny pecan pies on white cardboard enclosed in cellophane. I can still taste them. My parents call them Sticky Stuckey's.

When I drive, particularly on the I-whatevers, I always leave some room between Woody and the guy in front of him so that I have enough room to stop with my non-power brakes. Some jerk flew in front of me, then slammed on the brakes. This happens from time to time, but not like this. I pushed down as hard as I could, downshifted as fast as I could, and jammed my back into the seat. I leaned on my lame aooga horn. Barely made it. I mean really barely made it. But I still had to get to Opryland! and my nerves were shot. I didn't even know if I had missed the exit. When I thought all was lost, I saw the signs. Opryland! My kind of place.

The Gaylord Opryland Hotel has 2283 rooms, according to my lovely check-in girl Elizabeth. But I'm getting ahead of myself. There are miles and miles of self-park areas when you come in to the complex. It's like Disneyworld without the helpful "you parked in Goofy Row 2" reminders. I missed the turn for reception twice. Pulling in to the hotel, there are six, yes six, lanes of cars. You are directed to one of them. It seems that I had reached the valet parking place. I joked, will you valet it? The guy said yes (!). I asked him if he knew how to drive three on the tree. Yes he did. Must be a farm boy. 

Anyhow, he let me pull up to the curb in the front of the line while I checked in. Of course, I didn't have a reservation, but with 2300 rooms, how hard can it be? Very hard, as it turns out. I got the last room in the place. She said all she had was a "sofa" room. Uh? I turned out to be the non-bedroom half of a suite. Fine by me. I take sleeping pills. 

Miss Elizabeth was helpful beyond belief. She got me a space in the employee parking lot where it is constantly patrolled (bad sign or good?). Not to be outdone, the bellboy played chicken with the valets, and I got to park in front of the hotel. He said they sometimes have Rolls Royces that do that. All night. Woody was my entree to all things Opry. Elizabeth got me the standard room rate for my deluxe "inside" room. I got to sleep overlooking the waterfall. Only problem is, the curtains don't open as far as I can tell, and the water makes me want to pee all night.

Here's more of the Opryland! lobby:

They print you out a map with line by line instructions on how to get to your room, including which of the numbered elevators to use. Mine was C1. I figured out later that Cascade was the really great place to stay. Just think, I had a sofa in Cascade! When I was trying to find a window out of which to see the cascade next to which I will sleep, I passed a security guard and asked. I finally got an answer and after walking 200 yards to the window, I returned. He was standing in front of double shiny wooden doors. I guess there was a VIP in there. Me, with a sofa in Cascade, somewhere near a suite with an actual security guard! Boy oh boy was I lucky tonight. 

Back at check-in, Elizabeth asked me if I would like suggestions on dining. We have new american, sushi, mexican, ....... As always, I asked her what she would have. Without a hesitation she said Solario. Man, another red sauce joint. I just couldn't do it. But, it turned out to be Mexican (I'm not hungry for anything, but, hey, this is Opryland!). She whispered to me that the best thing is the strawberry jalapeno margarita. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, she said, it's great. Their guacamole is great, too, and so is the queso dip. Now I like guacamole as much as the next guy. In fact, I love it. Queso, I can live without.

For the first time this trip, I feel filthy. Not that I'm particularly dirty, but everyone here was dressed to go out. I was wearing my beat up clogs and jeans pair 2. So, I went upstairs, said hello to my couch and put on some real shoes and jewelery. That's as much as I'm going to do. I got my map out and did a few laps before I figured out how to get to Solario.

The hostess asked me if my pearls were real. Uh, yeah. She likes the ones that come in an actual clam shell. I didn't have the heart to tell her that pearls grown in oysters, not clams. And then I met Tiffeny. I didn't have my glasses on (I look way hotter that way, and when I pass a mirror I don't notice that I'm not wearing makeup). My sister says to date blind guys (well not really blind, just those who have to wear glasses) because you don't have to worry what your body looks like in bed. I read that all men care about is that it's naked, and the rest is just details. I choose to believe that's true. Anyhow, I knew that there was something screwy about my waitress's name tag. Did it have the wrong number of f's? It took all night, but I finally figured out that it was Tiffeny with an e, not Tiffany with an a. 

Tiffeny was a white girl with cornrows, you know the Bo Derek kind your niece gets on a Caribbean cruise, with beads. Only Tiffeny didn't have beads. She had a one year old with kidney disease. And, she is dating a very rich guy and she is very poor, according to her. He's retiring in four years, and she doesn't want to feel like she's with him because of his money, so she is working two jobs in order to save and pay for her son's antibiotics. The medicine costs as much as her mortgage payment. Curse the american health care system. Anyhow, Tiffeny wants to travel. She wants to go on safari and eat zebra meat. And lion meat. And tiger meat. She asked me if I knew that in Italy they take 45 days of vacation a year? We only take a week, or none at all, she said. I decided to be very nice to Tiffeny.

Of course I had the strawberry jalapeno margarita. She said that they infuse the strawberries for at least three days! Then it's muddled. She told someone else it was muzzled. I heard her. The drink was really quite good, although a bit heavy on the ice. I wondered if I'd get any buzz off of it and decided to drink my way down the margarita list. The next one was blueberry, black raspberry and rosemary. After that, I had no idea what I was drinking. 

Tiffeny said the guacamole is prepared table-side by their chef! Tiffeny speaks in exclamation points, so she is a good employee for Opryland! I remember Elizabeth telling me that the chicken tacos were good. Tiffeny described the special meal for the evening. I later found out it was the special Valentine's Day meal, but Tiffeny was probably just trying to spare me sorrow. It's okay, I wanted to tell her, I have an imaginary boyfriend. I think after a few margaritas I did tell her. Anyhow, if Tiffeny sold five special dinners, she would get one herself. So I found myself drinking margaritas with filet mignon and a heart-shaped desert. The flourless chocolate is only made in two places, but now it's three because we have it here! And the whipped cream is made with tequila! If Tiffeny says so, I'm sure that's true. I'm glad I was all liquored up because I had to haul my belly out of the booth.

The table next to me was filled by two women after I sat down. They weren't sure what to order. Tiffeny went through her whole spiel, including the sang-a-ria. They ordered two Bud Lites and decided the salsa was too expensive. Poor Tiffeny. I had to tip her extra well. Before I got up to leave, Tiffeny pointed out some bottles on a lit glass shelf. We actually pour tequila out of these. Patron, that's like the best there is, is $85 a shot. Pass on that one.

I spent the rest of the evening walking off the margaritas trying to find my room. After a bit, I caught on to the fact that the different areas of the hotel have different carpets. This is essential, as there are at least fifty rooms on each hall, six levels high, god only knows how many halls, and all of this is repeated in each hotel area. I got lost in the Garden Conservatory, but followed the trail of roses and picket fences on  the floor to get back to go. This was the correct elevator. The sign looked exactly like this because I couldn't see straight from the naughty libations.

I finally did find my room. The security guard down the hall was gone. I guess someone went to perform.

Tried to leave voice message for college boyfriend on his cell phone. It wouldn't let me. Check out is at 11, with a "grace period" until twelve. Wonder if I'll see him.

Oh, and this is the land of yes ma'ams. I am over being old enough to be a ma'am.