Giddy Gawdamn Up

For some crazy reason, about 50 of us are headed to the Saddle Rack tonight to celebrate Valerie's birthday, and as a sort of hurrah for everyone that worked on the Surf City series.

Now, the Saddle Rack is a C&W joint. I've never been there, but I'm picturing hay on the floor, Coors Light on tap, and one of those spinny psuedo-sexual bull ride things in the corner. I've got nothing against beaver fur hats and snakeskin boots (well, wait, maybe I do), but a place like the Saddle Rack, is usually not my scene of choice.

Now, invite 50 of my favorite people in the whole world, and all of a sudden, there is no place I'd rather be. (okay, there is this one place, but well...never mind)

So, last night, while drinking too much wine with my roomates, I brought up how scared I was of this "line dancing" thing. Line dancing. Everyone dancing the same thing. At the same time. In lines. Creepy.

But my roommates start busting out with all these line dancing names (Apparently there are a bunch of different kinds of these line dances). I just looked at them both, bewildered. I thought I knew these women. Seems as if I didn't. Dawn has this whole Texas past going on. And Jeni. My dear little Stumpjumpin, doubles hopin, face plantin, Jeni was a ...get this... RODEO QUEEN.

Ro-Day-O Queen.
Jeni.
Well, I'll be.

"We expect lady-like behavior and appropriate behavior from the moment you are crowned until you give up your title"

Ha! Yeah. Right.

Tonight is going to be a hoot. Can't wait.