Tuesday, October 14, 2008


This past weekend was the annual Red River Round-Up. Actually, in my heart of hearts, it is still known as the Red River Shoot-Out - even though a certain telecom company (hint: starts with an A and ends with a T&T) changed the name when "shoot-out" was deemed far too violent.


The Red River Round-Up, Texas/OU weekend, Red River Shoot-Out, whatever you want to call it - so long as you don't call it OU/Texas - was this past weekend. Just like every year, this weekend completely kicked my ass.

Before I go into the weekend details, there's something you should know about me: I'm not a sports fan. I don't enjoy football, I don't enjoy basketball, I definitely don't enjoy baseball, or really any other organized sport. When I was involved in athletics when I was younger, it was always of the non-team variety. Danny Zuko and I had a lot in common. I enjoyed water skiing, snow skiing, running, biking - basically anything that didn't involve a large group of people depending on my coordination or athleticism to win the game. Because, guess what? It wouldn't.

However, as much as I have never enjoyed team sports and the watching thereof, there is one thing I have always enjoyed: day drinking.

I'm not sure exactly why, but day drinking has always been one of my favorite activities. I think that it stems from that feeling of rebellion that courses through your liver when you're drinking vodka before the clock strikes noon. I know it's silly, but my conservative background still provides my psyche with a cheap thrill at being naughty and drinking so early in the morning. There are only a few times a year that this behavior is acceptable, nay expected, and they are:

- river trips

- lake house trips
- Pride Parades
- Sunday Funday
- Mexican vacations
- St. Patrick's Day
- Texas/OU Weekend

I like to think I take advantage of each and every one of them. Which means, because the day revolves around day drinking, I have to become a sports fan for 1/365th of the year and root for the Horns to kick some Sooner ass. Although, you should know this mostly involves me occasionally yelling "SPORTS!!" at the television set and asking my friends (who actually are true Texas fans) annoying questions such as "So who's winning the match?" and "Wait. I always forget... are we for the orange ones or the red ones?" They love me, they really do.

So this past weekend was no different. We arrived at the Designated Watching Location bright and early at 10 a.m. Well, my friends did. I, predictably, was 30 minutes late. I had two screwdrivers before the 11:00 kick-off and was feeling good about my understanding of the odds, the spread, the offense, the defense, and all the other sporty terms that people throw around prior to kick-off.

Around 11:45 a.m., my interest in the sports was waning and therefore decided that the only cure was more vodka. I completely gave up on orange juice as I believed it was holding me back and moved on to my go-to beverage of Ketel and water with a lemon.

At 12:00 p.m., genius struck. I decided that it was very, very important that we have some sort of half-time activity of our own. After perusing the Specialty Drinks menu (every bartender's worst nightmare), I discovered that they were able to prepare what they called a "Category 5!! This 44 oz. monster is the hurricane for 2 or more people!" I made this announcement loudly to my friends and declared that the half-time show would involve a Category 5 drinking contest and that everyone should go ahead and find a buddy.

At half-time, four pitchers of red nightmares were placed on our table, each with 2 straws sticking out.

My friend Lynn and I did not win. We were barely even contenders. However, we did finish the pitcher all by ourselves, just like big girls, with everyone in the small bar cheering all of us on.

And that's when the wheels came off.

The rest of the afternoon is a bit of a blur. There was macaroni and cheese eaten, fried green tomatoes passed around, shrimp cocktails ordered and - least of all to my interest - sports matches watched. My friend Lynn thought another Category 5 was the best of ideas, but I thought it was the worst of ideas. I compromised with her by ordering us two Ketel and waters and two Royal Fucks (our signature shot).

A compromise, that is not.

I've heard that Texas won the game.

Post-sports, it was time to stumble next door for celebratory Mexican martinis. I vaguely remember eating three chips dipped in salsa, diligently drinking my Mextini, having a few political discussions, then announcing that it was time for my annual nap.

Three more chips, one drunken attempt at seduction, one glass of water and one fight picked with my boyfriend later (exact words from me: "Why do we always have to talk about our FEELINGS?!"), I got that nap. It lasted 5 hours.

A smart person would have woken up, eaten a Quarter-Pounder-with-no-onions and gone back to bed.

Guess who has two thumbs, bad judgment and ended up standing in line at some random club in hopes of hearing an underground performance of ?uestlove, then giving up and drinking at her local neighborhood bar until close, listening to her friend shout "WON'T YOU TAKE ME TO!!" to the bartender, then hearing him follow up five minutes later with "FUNKY TOWN!!!!"?

This girl.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

lesson learned

I learned a very valuable lesson last night. Sometimes, I guess because of a time-space continuum or something else science-y that I don't understand, text messages will completely change as they travel from your phone to the other phone. I fell victim to this phenomenon last night.

When I sent the text it read: "So I miss you. Are you coming to Dallas anytime soon?" Based on my best guy friend's response to the text, I can only assume that in transit the content changed to "I want to have sex with you."

Or maybe it wasn't the text that changed. Perhaps his penis just finally acquired literacy?