Will NOT have sex for carbs or money!

Warning: Long entry ahead!

Nashville is…not my friend. My first ever road trip was a Cleveland-Nashville double shot at the end of the summer before the 04-05 lock out was announced. I think I was actually in Nashville when they made that awful announcement – strike one for Music City.

That trip started off badly too. I had never crossed the border by car on my own before. I was with my friend, Agata, but I mean I had never crossed without my parents. In fact, I had only ever crossed by car once, and that was a very long and awful trip to Florida (a regular flying location for us) when I was much younger.

We were both extremely nervous waiting in line at the Queenston-Lewiston Bridge. It was four in the morning, and neither of us were actually born in Canada – that’s sometimes a red flag to the Yanks. We had the worst possible border guard we could have had. He was very creepy and spoke in what can only be described as a pedophilic hush.
“Does your Daaaaadddddy know you’re here?”
“Yeah” *nervous smile*
“So if I called your Daaaaadddddy right now, he’d know you’re here?”
Creepy, I know. Of course, this could have been averted if we just went straight to Nashville. If that were the case, I would have gone over the Ambassador Bridge at Windsor/Detroit. But, noooooooo, I had to see a baseball game, and the Indians were the only team remotely en route that had a home game.

That was really the end of my trouble as far as Nashville was concerned for this trip. Cleveland was actually the bigger problem this time. My friend’s mom worked for Days Inn, so she insisted we stay there. This was before I learned not to cut costs in hotels. The room was AWFUL! Apparently, a non-smoking room meant that the staff took away the ash tray when you checked in. It reeked! We had to buy room spray! The room itself was hardly cleaned. The bathtub was full of water, which I found very disturbing. How do I know the room’s previous occupants weren’t chilling a dead body in there?

We called for house keeping before we left for downtown, and by the time we returned from the game nothing had changed. We called again. They sent a woman up that looked at me like I was some kind of Prime Madonna and simply pulled the plug in the tub. I looked at her and said, “Umm, I’m not the one who filled the bathtub.” She actually thought I was a princess that needed someone to drain my baths! Suddenly she seemed very alarmed, and she should have been. I don’t know what kind of crazy serial killer substance was in that water.

Anyway, we were all too happy to check out of there. Little did I know, I’d be back in Cleveland four times in the following year for Barons vs. Admirals games. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that I never stayed there again!

Nashville was a blast, despite the fact that the A/C decided to conk out in my ride (Boysie –RIP), and that I had developed a seatbelt tan line. Looking back I wonder what I really saw in that place, and how I managed to enjoy it at the tender age of nineteen. I had a habit of smelling the ice at the Sommet (then Gaylord) Center everyday. I also remember going around lecturing people on the privileges of having an NHL franchise in their city. This was long before the talks of the team folding or moving – or at least long before I had caught wind of it. The bartender at the Wildhorse Saloon took pity on me and gave me one of the Nashville Predators beer glasses they used in the bar. I still have it to this day! Getting that glass was the highlight of my trip…seriously. How sad is that?

I’m sure by now you’re wondering where all the sex (or lack of sex) is in my story that I promised you in the title. We fast track now to the start of the 2006-07 season. After establishing an affinity with the Milwaukee Admirals during the lock out, I looked to the Predators to reward myself for a job well done dieting in the off season. I had lost twenty-five pounds, which was surprising because I didn’t know that I had that much weight on me – I was never overweight or anything like that.

My conditions were that if I lost twenty pounds I would go to Nashville. But twenty pounds wasn’t enough. I learned the meaning of eating disorder that summer. Not that I had one per se, but more like I developed a minor obsession/addiction to the dieting process. I was actually eating a lot. I made sure to eat anything and everything that was coming to me within the confines of the diet. The main thing was not to eat major carbs – avoiding the starches and that.

Worst of all, I was being “rewarded” for being this way. I had a total of three modeling contracts thrown at me by various agencies. I didn’t sign any of them – I don’t take myself THAT seriously. No offence to any models out there, but I would never be able to look at a camera with that thoughtless slut mouth expression on my face and not die of laughter. Plus, I was trying to keep myself at a healthy weight. I was one pound below the healthy lowest ideal weight for my height (as explained to me by my doctor), which is still about fifteen pounds too heavy to be a model. That should put things in perspective for all you assholes out there that want to nail models, but still want a girl that eats.

Trust me this dieting information is part of the story. Anyway, I was counting down the pounds and the days until Nashville. I couldn’t get two Preds home games together before the American Thanksgiving (and I didn’t want to be anywhere near the States at that time) so I did a Detroit-Nashville combo around Remembrance Day because the Preds were playing in Detroit on the 10th and at home on the 11th. This was my first ever NHL road trip – the beginning of the Golden Era, if you will. I was traveling alone this time, and I’m not going to lie, part of me was concerned for my safety being on my own in Detroit. But much like how Toronto does not harm its fearful small town visitors, Detroit did not harm me. Nashville was another story.

I was staying at a much nicer hotel in Nashville this time – $400 a night. The nicer the hotel, the more you are led to believe that you are safe. “Can’t put a price tag on your safety!” Both the Colorado Avalanche and the Baltimore Ravens were guests while I was there. I remember hearing little children complaining because the Ravens decided to go swimming and had the pool closed to the rest of the hotel. Nasty brutes. The highlight for me was an elevator ride with a very handsome Avs player – he wanted me! Oh my.

The game was pretty boring to tell you the truth. The final score was 1-0 Preds, which means I only got to hear that Tim McGraw song once after Scottie Upshall scored the lone goal of the game. Afterwards I went back to my hotel. My room was on the nineteenth floor. Nineteen is my crazy conspiracy number, like in that movie, The Number 23. Although, I’m not so OCD about it like Jim Carrey is.

Anyway, I get off at my floor and there is a guy lurking around the elevators. He said something to me, so I said, “Hi” and kept walking. He followed me.
“I was looking for beautiful girl to take to dinner.” It’s eleven o’clock at night.
“I already ate, sorry.”
“You already ate?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I open the door to my room. Where I come from, Canada, this would be a big clue to get lost. Not so much in Tennessee. He grabs the door and suddenly he’s in my room.

Oh, fuck.

So, now I’m thinking I have this huge guy in my room that could snap me in two if he wanted. No way for anyone else to get in the room, and even if I managed to call the front desk the elevators take eleven years to get where they are going. The last thing I need to do is make him upset or else he might steal my “greatest gift.” He says,
“Maybe I should order up some drinks.” My mission is to get him out of my room without him thinking that the pussy probability is any lower than it is in the room with the king sized bed.
“Actually,” *batts eyelashes* “I saw this really cute bar downstairs. I would love to check it out.” *tee hee!* It worked.

We get to the bar and he starts double fisting screw drivers. After taking about one sip he starts slurring and acting completely drunk. Like how someone might act if, say, they were trying to not seem responsible for their actions. I guess he wasn’t impressed that I ordered water. Now he starts talking to me in a slightly angrier tone. He must have determined the ass wouldn’t be free that night
“So do you like bread?” What he meant was money. But like I told you before I was a dieting psycho case and I thought he meant REAL bread. This is honest to God, 100%, my actual Shaggy from Scooby Doo reaction to his question:
“Buh-buh-buh-breaaaaad?!?!?!?” This was scarier than that time some asshole got into my hotel room.
“Yeah, you know, MONEY!”
“Oh.” Relief. (Pause: 1…2…3). “OH! No! No, I don’t like anything like that!” It was shocking to him that someone would say that they didn’t like money.

I tried several times to excuse myself, but he was adamant about following me. Finally, I resorted to meanness. I can’t remember what I said, but he got the hint. Two older women in their thirties came up behind us. Now that I had broken his little john heart, he turns to them and says,
“Can I come home with you she’s being mean to me.” Fine by me!
“Yeah, in fact, you can even have my seat!” The perfect getaway. I wasn’t worried about their safety. They’d use the buddy system. I was able to get away without him following me.

I spent the rest of my stay in Nashville locked away in my hotel room. I was actually terrified to leave the room even for check out. As I drove away from Nashville, not even the playing of SexyBack on repeat could make me feel better. I knew then that I’d never go back there – and I still haven’t. Just like that, my affection for the Nashville Predators and the Milwaukee Admirals was a thing of the past.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 28th, 2009 at 2:32 PM and is filed under Nashville, Nashville Predators, hockey, prostitution. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.