Well… the drive to Dallas took at least three days.  Luckily, Brosa and Kendra brought their CD collection (you remember CD’s… back before there were ipods).  I rode shotgun because I’m the best at calling it (I always have 50% of my mental capacity on recognizing and calling shotgun at the appropriate moments), which meant I was in charge of music.  It was 3 ½ hours of straight Freestyle Kings and DJ Screw.  Nah, I kid.  We had some Nelly and Lil Wayne in the mix too…

By the time we made it to Dallas, it was time for dinner and dancing.  We went to Blue Goose for tacos and margaritas (plug: it was delicious).  Our waiter gave us a list of places we should hit, and some insider info, saying (and I quote), “This MY hood, girl.”  He touched my heart. 

On we went.

Our first stop was The Loon.  I believe it is notoriously a meat market.  It was quite Frat-Central, and the mixed drinks were ALL double shots.   It was a dangerous mix, but there’s safety in numbers.  Thumper met the only Midwesterners in the bar, and I managed to develop a love-hate relationship with a fella who is debatably named Darren or Dan.  I am a fan of categorical insults, and Dan/Darren is a bit sensitive.  This did not bode well for either one of us. 

Thumper made friends with a guy who looked remarkably like a skinny Seth Rogan.  I don’t really know if he was funny or not because I was too busy talking football and insulting the Big Ten.  Brosa met up with an old friend who took us to the Liar’s Den, which is now my favorite place in Dallas.  If you were there on Friday night, I probably met you, and I probably made you a sandwich.  That’s the kind of night it was. 

I found an entire packaged loaf of bread at the bar, and made some salt and pepper sandwiches for the hungry folks.  A line of drunkards started to form for these “sandwiches.”  I really don’t know if anyone ate them, but they were requested and acquired by quite a few people. 

The moral of the story is I danced a lot that night.  I wore my sky-highs so my feet were wrecked.  I put my best foot forward and danced with everyone on the second floor until about 1:30.  I think I may have met Taylor Swift, but that’s a big leap.  In fact, it probably didn’t happen.  Scratch that. 

We took a $50 cab ride back home (it only took us $15 to get there… so where the other $35 went is an interesting question). 
I woke up the next morning at eight in the morning surrounded by birthday cake and beef jerky.  The room looked like a war zone, and I was craving breakfast tacos.  We gathered our grits and headed to the sports bar around noonish to catch some college ball where we encountered the worst waitress in the history of the service industry.  By 2, we were exhausted, full, and ready for a large nap.  I chose to take mine by the pool.

The evening was filled with shopping and Cheesecake Factory.  The girls went out that night, but I stayed in because I had somewhere to be at six in the morning (despite the implications in my blog postings, I am quite responsible).   Really, there wasn’t much to it.  Just a nice day with the ladies.

I spent all night being the recipient of drunk dials.  True story.  They only ended when I threatened (via text) to strangle the person if they sent me another text.  By the end of the weekend, I had received no less than three morning-after apologies, which are my absolute favorite.  Yea… you know who you are. 

It’s the beginning of the week again, and I’ve got a few things on the weekly agenda.  Most importantly, we’re going to a wedding Saturday (we= Brosa, Thumper, and I).  I anticipate that it will be a blast…