This weekend was mostly hilarious. Between the two of us, Libby and I are horrible at making decisions. Instead of making up our damn minds, already and doing something fun and new and exciting, when she arrived on Friday afternoon, we had dinner at Macaroni Grill, because we are BORING. (Last year, in DC, we ended up at Cheesecake Factory because we were even more boring then.) But, we had a nice dinner and afterward we met Katie and Joey for drinks and a crappy cover band at the Tin Roof.
Saturday dawned cloudy and ugly, after a night of more loud, ungodly thunderstorms, but we managed to entertain ourselves by going to Hillsborough Village to shop (I blame Libby for the super-short blue and yellow polka dotted dress I bought) and eat brunch at Jackson’s. We puttered about for a few hours, then hair dye was bought, my hair was dyed, and we were, naturally, running fabulously late for our evening out with Ross.
After more indecisiveness, Ross finally stepped in and suggested we brave the wilds of East Nashville for Mexican food and “stupid strong” margaritas. Dinner was followed up by furious rounds of Twittering, because basically, if it weren’t for Teh Internets, we would not have had Ross as our evening entertainment.
We ended up spending most of the night at 3 Crow Bar, calling our mothers at midnight to wish them happy mother’s day (Libby’s mom was asleep, mine didn’t answer, Ross’s mom thought he was in jail and calling because he needed to be bailed out), and ordering a round of Red-Headed Sluts for Libby’s birthday. The shots turned out to be a source of hilarity for the rest of the night, as Ross thought that they smelled like urinal cakes and he insisted on polling our bartender to see if he agreed. I don’t remember what the bartender’s thoughts were, but they did end up high fiving each other.
After several hours at 3 Crow, we walked gaily down the street to the Red Door, making inappropriate phone calls on the way. Red Door was allegedly a pirate-themed bar, but I did not notice anything that really suggested that. The bathrooms were oddly shaped, there was a room decorated entirely with PBR paraphernalia (see my thoughts on PBR here
), and a room with walls covered in wine corks. But no pirates that I saw. We stood on the deck with Jager Bombs in hand, which, for some reason, we seemed to think was a good idea. What I’m still trying to process is why we thought it was just as good of an idea to order a round of Jagermeister shots after that. Whatever our alcohol-saturated reasoning, we were smart enough not to try to drive, so instead we walked the mile through East Nasty to Ross’s house and PTFO’ed.
FOR SOME REASON, Libby and I woke up at 8:30 and instead of me remembering that there was an IHOP just a few minutes from my apartment, we enjoyed a Mother’s Day breakfast buffett at Golden Corral. With ice cream.
Our plan to end our weekend getting tattooed together never came to fruition. After all the hype and all the nerves and all the saving money, we showed up at the shop and were told that everyone was booked solid. Apparently, there were a quite a few people who needed to get “I ♥ MOM” tattooed on their ass on Mother’s Day. So, being possibly the most ridiculous person in the world, I cried my eyes out for about ten minutes because I was so disappointed, and then we met Ross for pizza.
Libby and I took about a million pictures together before she left because neither one of us could agree on one where we both looked presentable. But finally, we settled on one, and she hopped in her car to head back home, and I hopped in my bed to nap away the residual hangover.