So Jim and I went to Myrtle Beach on Tuesday. Mind you, this was not a pleasure trip, per se, as we would not have selected this locale as a destination of pleasure. That’s what day trips to Charleston (for the ambiance) and Charlotte (for the shopping) are for! My father and step-mother were staying at their time share for the week, so I figured I’d better go see them. I don’t get too many opportunities. I didn’t want to put my good ole’ ten year old jalopy through the stress, so I asked Jim if he wouldn’t mind going with me and driving his more reliable car. We got free lunch and dinner out of it, so it wasn’t all that bad. At least not after I got my father off the topic of the misdeeds in my past. Heh. Anywho, the simple act of driving through the downtown area reminded me of why I don’t go there. It’s kind of a joke amongst all the rest of us South Carolinians (except probably to those that live there)… no one really goes there, except for tourists. And yes, it is a tourist trap. The mother of all traps, even. Jim states that it reminds him of the cheesy parts of Vegas, except for the fact that Vegas also has a high class side. So if you were wondering where I was, now you know. And if you ever HAVE to go to Myrtle Beach, might I recommend Rossi’s restaurant. I had the best alfredo that I’ve ever had there, and I’m from New York, so that must count for something! Plus, their cooks apparently know what al dente means. So many don’t. See? It really doesn’t take much to impress me!

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