Flora Bama 2010

Florabama 2010 Summer 3, Trip 1

Every time I go to the Florabama, the people I find there who crack me up. There are always weirdo freaks who come out at night and provide free entertainment for the crowd. In fact, last year, one of those weirdo freaks was my own sister….Tonight, was my first trip of the season, and I looked forward to the evening’s festivities. Little did I know that this night would even surpass the escapades I experienced in summer’s past.
I will try to tell this story in a way that brings it to life. I will give it my best shot; but words cannot adequately express the things we experienced that night. My friend Tanya says: “There are no words to describe”. When Tanya Hibbard has no words; trust me, there are none!!

Picture it: Nine women taking on the floorbama on a weeknight in early summer! We look like the Israelites marching around the wall of Jericho! We had two DDs, two SUVs and the rest of the night to find trouble! Our army found a comfortable perch at a front-side picnic table, outside, under the big tent where the live bands play music late into the night. We had just come from The Hangout where we had watched this girl dance so badly that boys from the crowd were being paid money to try to keep up with her unique and indecipherable rhythm. Here at the FB, her twin was stealing the show on the dance floor. Tanya called her “Freebird”, a perfect codeword to describe her behavior. That girl was high as a run-away kite. She had her arms pointed straight out, flying around like a bald eagle on crack or a very, very bad helicopter pilot; I’m not sure which. We didn’t even have to be drinking to enjoy her performance.

Just about the time that “Freebird” landed from her flight, a new weirdo came out of nowhere to take her place. This portion of the story is where I really struggle to find adequate vocabulary. This female, probably in her early to mid-twenties, strutted to the very center of the dance floor. She had her…uhm…female friend in tow. At first glance, she reminded me of the drop dead diva. Long black hair, lots of confidence, loud, obnoxious. She wore a sundress. First of all, it ought to be illegal for that print to be used to make a SUNDRESS in a size that large. It was some sort of leopard print (aka big ole’ polka dots). Secondly, if the print itself is not illegal, wearing that print in a sundress two sizes too small must surely be illegal!

The two of them danced the night away, completely oblivious to the crowd, gathering around them. They weren’t even doing anything socially inappropriate; it was just the sheer oblivion that they shared as they danced. It was sorta like seeing a woman on the beach wearing a bikini, when her body screams to be covered with a moo-moo. Ya’ll know what I’m talking about! Often times, I sit back and watch these types with intense jealously. I’ve always thought I had plenty of confidence, but I couldn’t tote a bikini on a beach regardless of how much liquor I had ingested beforehand. Some things just cross right over confidence and slide into bad taste! Anyway, Drop Dead Diva and company continued their two-woman ho-down and hoards of patrons at the Florabama began to gather around and watch. Remember when you were in jr high school and a fight was brewing? Remember how people began to gather around the “fighters”, like buzzards to a fresh road-kill. That’s how you knew it was coming? Well, it was kind of like that, but the crowd around these girls didn’t grow quite that fast.

Tanya made a comment that cracked me up. She does that, frequently. She turned and said, “Have you ever seen something so completely disgusting that you don’t want to look. You don’t WANT to look, but you just can’t look away?” If you had been there, you would have understood completely. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Those massive gallon –sized balloobas moved and swayed inside that pitiful strained little sundress, much like a beach house might sway from the tidal waves of a Category 5. Know what I’m sayin’? We all knew that catastrophe was near, but no one could predict the time it would take to get there or the manner in which it would reveal itself.

Eventually, Tanya couldn’t take it any more and had to walk away. She took a couple of girls with her, but I am not real sure where they went. Bless their hearts – they missed the best part. The band began to play a song with a beat much too heavy and fast for dancing. Diva thought that the best option was to jump up and down in one spot like a headbanger on stage. AS many of you already know, when I get scared, real scared, my hand goes to my chest like Fred Sanford having the big one. When Diva began to jump rope without a rope, my hand went to my chest and I stated…just for the record….”Wardrobe malfunction on the dancefloor”. If everyone around me had not been in their own state of shock, they would have heard me mutter: “Awww…naawwww!”

She continued to headbang, completely unaware that one of her “gallons” had erupted like Mt. St. Helens spewing out of the straining seams of that little sundress. Bless her heart. By this time, I was standing, my hand still on my chest, walking backwards in large awkward steps and waving my free hand toward the sky (just like Fred Sanford, now that I think of it). All I could say was awww…naawwww. There were no words. None.

Kristy and Tanya returned to the table. They had missed the most impressive performance of the evening…or so we thought. How could we know that the third weirdo freak was about to join the party? Just as I turned my head to the left, I saw – yet another 20-something fly from one picnic table top to another. That leap would have been bizarre enough, but she wasn’t finished. Anna Nicole jumped up and grabbed the top of the pole – yes – the one that holds the large tent to the FloraBama!! She proceeds to execute a very, very bad pole dance. As she descends to the bottom of this pole, she apparently forgets the need to put her feet in a downward facing position. Lands butt-down feet up in a 50 gallon trashcan strategically placed at the bottom of the pole. Picture it…the little starlet wanna-be, giving her first live pole dancing performance and must have help to pull herself out of the trashcan! Again, I detect no display or remorse or embarrassment. These people have guts. I want to know where to get some.

For the record, the story is true and correct and was personally witnessed in a state of complete sobriety. I have witnesses.

The social mixer I created with the pace-maker salesman from Mississippi, immediately following these stellar performances, deserves a blog of his own. The memory of that night will continue there.