That's How We (Stop, Drop, &) Roll

This little tale, the tale that lead to the raddest name for a blog ever, begins several months ago...with a baby shower. It involves black socks with shorts, a gigantic bar back, a bar constructed from horror movie set parts, and me.

Lucy and I went to Austin, our favorite city (let's face it, it's everyone's favorite city) to attend a baby shower. Because we had been gone so long the first inclination we had when we got there is to grab our lovely friend we were staying with and venture to one of the greatest places I hadn't been yet: The Mean Eyed Cat. Word on the street is that it's made from parts of the set of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. So that's creepy.

The great thing about bars in Austin, especially ones off the beaten path of the college-white-hat littered 6th Street, is that you can go have a drink with your friends, hang out in a chill atmosphere, in this case a porch with heaters, and normally be left in peace. And we almost did it. We almost made it the whole evening without being bothered.

This was due to a few important factors: one, we weren't really wearing 'come hit on me' outfits. Second, our Austin friend knew the bar back/bouncer, and he kept checking on us and frequenting our table...and he's a giant, giant man. Third, there was a huge table next to us of very obvious 'come hit on me' outfit wearers, that had all obviously been drinking a really, really long time. To a certain kind of man, they might as well have been wearing targets.

We watched as a group of awkward looking guys wearing things like hoodies and shorts, black dress socks, and, yes, there was flannel and high tops, made their best efforts on the neighboring table with no results. The women stumbled out at last call, but thanks to our giant friend we got to stick around to finish our pitcher. Then, it happens. One of the guys realizes that there is another table of girls...dang it.

He plops down next to Lucy, tooter-magooed, and starts to attempt conversation. All I kept thinking about was the black socks flannel shirt tennis shoes shorts guy...and how this fine specimen of male now trying to engage in conversation with us was black socks guy's friend. Seriously, who looks in the mirror and thinks that is an okay thing to wear?

Don't even get me started on jean shorts.

Anyway, this guy asks us what we're up to, blah blah blah. Which honestly is the dumbest question ever, because if you're in a bar, and there's beer on your table, and you're with your friends, isn't it pretty obvious what you're up to? Lucy and I say that we are in town for the weekend, and he asks, naturally, where we are from...well, Abilene, we say...and then...

He stands up, looks at his friends and says "Yo, yo! These girls are from the 'lene! 'Lene town"

When someone says something like that, it's not like your never gonna use it to name your blog...