The "Village" at Short Pump - Seeing the sights!

First off, the location I went to was not a village. It was as much a village as OJ Simpson was not a murderer.

Rt. 64 appears to be "scenic". You can experience the effluent of people who drive to DC like assholes everyday if you start in Richmond. If you manage to get past the crime and poverty that resides directly below your vehicle as you drive west, you will be rewarded with a sprawling suburb called "Short Pump".

When I first dropped anchor in Virginia, I was told of a shopping mecca off of 64 that I would find if I only drove west towards Goochland and Bumpass. I was told it was a land of stay at home moms, yoga pants, wheat grass smoothies, Starbucks, and Ashley Madison connections.

The person who told me could have been Kunta Kinte at a Merle Haggard concert that one night I strolled on into Uncle Limpy's Hump Palace lookin' for love. Short story. It was true.

Short Pump, or as the Powhite (Po' white) indians call it, Short Pump, is full of all the things a lonely sailor with crabs (on the boat for sale) can ask for.

Take, for instance: The ACAC gym at Short Pump. You can almost smell the yoga pants from Keagan's!

If the night goes well in that lovely little village made up of plywood three story townhouses full of pretentious assholes who make way too much money that will never mow their own lawn (thank you Tinder), hire a Mexican nanny/maid, carry a wallet-sized shit dog, and drive a vehicle that resembles a silver dildo (it's electric, boogey ughgey woogey woogey), you can stay at the A Loft.

I met a nice 50 year old woman at the A Loft a few years ago that asked me to rub her feet. I swear on my life it was not Hillary Clinton. I was confused at first because her feet smelled like vinegar and old socks from the crab trap on my trawler, "Miss Interpreted".

All things being told, I did end up with a sandwich from Jimmy John's and a cigar from a nice little place called Mona.

Long story short, there is paradise by the dashboard lights in Short Pump. Highly recommended!

If you see her, tell Janice that I'm sure it was just "her soap".  *shudders*

Hi, my name is Lex. I'm a fisherman.

From the coasts of New England to the muddy shores of the Chesapeake Bay, I am Lex Lesotho. I am a fisherman. I was raised in the cold waters off the coast of Gloucester, Massachusetts and learned what it meant to be a man in a tent at a Boy Scout camp in Rhode Island called Camp Yawgoog. In that tent, I learned how to properly twirl a line around my ring finger and create a net that would capture some of the most notorious predators.

Commercial fishing for a living takes a toll on a person and after many decades fishing the coasts of pastoral New England, I moved south.

It was this year, in 2015, that I moved my 56ft trawler to a berth on an inlet to the Chesapeake Bay and met a fellow traveler that shared many of the same opinions as I have. Being that he is extremely comfortable with the internet, he suggested that we begin "blogging" together.

This blog will be our shared insight to Virginia and all the things we have learned and continue to learn about the state that is obsessed with dogwoods, has a bird that St. Louis, MO is pissed about, a flag that drives mentally challenged people crazy, and a song which actually uses the word "Virginny" in a non-humorous manner.

Welcome to our humble blog and please take a complimentary condom at the door. I'd also suggest you try the mini corndogs. Those things are the shit.

Welcome to the Coastal Plains.