"On the Lake" can mean so many different things

I've always had this idea in my head that Geneva on the Lake was some sort of cookie cutter Quaintsville place, with little wineries and restaurants and campgrounds. I mean, it sort of is that. But it's way more "Let's get smashed and eat hot dogs." We ended up there instead of the Cleveland Wine Festival, because while driving to Nautica, I saw the river cruise boat pass by, with the hordes of overly tan stringy women in Ann Taylor, and I knew I just couldn't take it. So I'll go there today after work, now that my spirit has been fortified with the true spirit of Ohio Lake People, which is "Let's get smashed and eat hot dogs."

Ohio wines tend to be sweet, too sweet for me, lacking that pampas bite I like. So I was okay with running from the Jimmy Buffet cover band at the ferris wheel winery to the conflicting dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra inside/Afroman outside on the patio at the skank bar across the street. Business in front, party in the back, right? We were there before it got super skanked, when it was mostly just harmless looking older gentlemen in cut off tees, and young girls going on 40 in halter tops. But as we left, several gorillas shoved right past us in the doorway, without even glancing, beelining for the cornhole and the baby's mamas. So we left there right in time. Afroman got replaced by Tik Tok, like over and over again. In fact, it felt like every bar we passed was playing Tik Tok. Tik Tok all the time, to shake your little white shorts to. My friend said every girl there smelled the same, which I told him was a creepy observation.

Liquored up, we hit up one of several arcades, and blew all the quarters on skeeball.

Then the requisite Slovenian sausages, with onions and sweet pepper relish, with summer job kids in paper hats grilling under greasy green lights.

Finally a few drinks at a place called "Vegas on the Lake" where the band introduced themselves as "I'm Mr. Covert and behind me is the King Sausage" but the older Asian lady who owned the place had fresh squeezed pineapple juice in the fridge. The bartender actually warned me about it, said lots of girls didn't like it because it was fresh, instead of from a can and diluted with sugar, made me try it in front of her to make sure I liked it. The skank bar behind us started playing Pitbull as we walked back to the car.